Delusional Hope

POTUS

2009-01-20T21:48:00.001-05:00

Christmas Memories

2008-12-30T12:58:00.004-05:00

My former roommate Jennifer reminded me of the only time I have ever had my very own Christmas tree. This was our apartment at school--GreenVilla 104!! I miss that apartment more than I should--the extraordinarily high temperatures, the lack of water in the shower, no (I mean no) counter space in the kitchen, throwing the garbage out the window, our "fish" and their offspring, moving the furniture every other day, full length mirrors that matched our skin tone, all of the rules, and the couch! Sigh...

2008-11-11T18:32:00.000-05:00

Coming Down from the Mountains

2008-09-03T22:03:00.002-04:00

I drove from the Adirondack Mountains to the "flatlands" of New Jersey yesterday. I woke up yesterday to the sound of...nothing. I peered out my window to see the slightly hazy sky, hemlock trees, and Indian Paintbrushes just waiting for the sun to shine on them so they would know it was time to open up and show off their bright yellow paint. Beyond these things, Lake Sacandaga lay still as glass. The air was crisp, but warming. I bid farewell to this, not believing that a whole summer had actually passed, got into my car and drove...south. I don't know how geese do it. I hate going south for the winter. I imagine they find it easier because they travel in flocks. I was all alone in my Honda. I drove down past the already changing leaves, down out of the mountains, over the Great Sacandaga Reservoir, outside the Blue Line, over the Catskills, and finally into New Jersey. I left the place where I know who I am, or at least who I will be, and entered a place where I am less certain--a place where I forget and lose my way. But this is the way it is with mountains, beyond the wilderness. God appears in strange and marvelous ways on mountains--in cloud and thunder, in burning bushes that are not consumed...and to leave holy ground makes the shoes on one's feet feel heavy.

But then a funny thing happened. I went to chapel at Drew this morning. I was handed an order of worship and two hymnals (why have just one?). As I looked down at the bright pink paper in my hand, I smiled. The first song we would sing would be "Bring Forth the Kingdom." (Of course, in true Drew fashion, the words were changed from "Kingdom," which is far to hierarchical and masculine, to "reign." Personally, I don't see how "reign" is any less hierarchical, but it's good to try). And then it was time to read the scripture passage. I looked down again and saw that it was Exodus 3: 1-15, the story of Moses and the Burning Bush which was the text every Sunday this summer. That's when I knew that God had gone before me and is even in this place...and is probably winking at me.

Polar Bear Swim!!

2008-07-22T12:12:00.002-04:00

This is what I did at 7:15 this morning! Woohoo, I love camp! (And, if you couldn't tell, polar bearing is Jonah the dog's favorite camp activity ever!)

Summer Sermon Number 1

2008-07-14T23:05:00.002-04:00

Turn and Be Healed
Camp Fowler – July 13, 2008

We find JC frustrated in this passage…and actually he’s been in a bad mood for at least a chapter (which is really just the same day). He’s just been yelling “You brood of vipers!” at the Pharasees…and then his mother and brothers show up and someone tells him they are there, but instead of greeting them, he ignores them and calls his disciples his brothers, sisters and mother. (I’m sure he prefaced it, as Kent always does, with “I love my mother…”). He has also been busy doing a lot of healing, which is probably why such great crowds are following him around—such a big crowd, in fact, that he goes out in a boat to teach from there. His frustration only continues because no one is getting it. He tells parables, and no one understands. It’s like he’s talking to a bunch of bored, spaced out, “I’m too cool for everything” campers. He can’t get them to sing Pharaoh, Pharaoh—he can’t get them to play four square—he can’t even get them excited about oatmeal. Nothing is working. He probably wants to give up and just say, “Hey, go sit in your cabin for the rest of the week. See if I care.” But he doesn’t. He tells them parable after parable: The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field—The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed—The kingdom of heaven is like yeast—the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field—the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls—the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind. “Do you get it yet? Hello? Is anyone listening?” But they aren’t listening. Jesus, like Isaiah before him, is speaking truth, and no one is hearing him.

And this is exactly what the author of Matthew is trying to get across. That this Jesus is just like Isaiah. He’s trying to tell his Jewish readers that JC is legit. He goes out of his way to point out all the ways JC is like Moses, and Isaiah, and all the other connections he has to the Jewish scriptures and traditions. Matthew wants to make it clear, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jesus is the one that Israel has been waiting for. Two chapters before our story today, John the Baptist, who is stuck in prison, sends messengers to ask Jesus just that. “Are you the one? Or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answers him this way—he says, “Tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” In other words, Jesus says, “Tell John what you hear and see. The things that Isaiah talked about are happening now. I am the one he was talking about. Don’t wait for another.”

And Jesus isn’t done quoting Isaiah. He does it again in our story. When the disciples ask, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” he pulls out old Isaiah again and recites from the sixth chapter:
“The reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.’ With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says, “You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn—and I would heal them.’”

“ And I would heal them.” If they turned. We have to turn to be healed, but what does that mean? Turn or burn? I’d like to think not. What does it really mean to turn? To open our eyes? To listen with our ears? To understand with our hearts? To understand and perceive, not just listen and look? To remove the dullness from our hearts? How do you do that?

Maybe it has something to do with what Isaiah said—what Matthew says JC is all about—proclaiming good news to the oppressed, binding up the broken-hearted, proclaiming liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, proclaiming the year of the LORD’s favor (Isaiah 61). I wonder if we are really the oppressed, broken-hearted, captive ones. Are we trapped by our own failure to perceive and understand? Maybe Isaiah (and Jesus) aren’t talking about people who are literally in jail, but instead people who are captive by their inability to see and hear. If we could see and understand, maybe we would be free—free, that is, to give up things. Free to let go of things. All of the parables that Jesus tells in this section of Matthew talk about the Kingdom of God, and all of them say one of two things about the Kingdom: the Kingdom of God is something that you search for and search for, no matter how long it takes or how much you have to leave behind to find it, OR the Kingdom of God is a place where the good is found, and the bad is burned away or thrown away. It seems, the only way to realize the Kingdom of God is to let go of some things. And I bet these things are things we don’t even know we are holding onto. They are things we are blind and deaf to—things we’ve held onto for so long…or things that so many people hold onto…that we no longer can perceive them. When things become “normal” they disappear. (And the trouble with “normal” is, it always gets worse).

We all know what is “normal”—what is acceptable in our society—what we are “supposed to” do—what fits the mold and stays inside the box. But the thing is…there isn’t really a box. The box is something we impose on ourselves. We bump into it when we say things like, “We have to do it this way because we’ve always done it this way.” Or “We do it this way because we just do.” Camp is one of those wonderful places where we can open our eyes and see that there isn’t really a box out there. Here, we have the freedom to take apart how we do things, and even to take apart ourselves, and then to put the pieces back together in new, creative, inspired ways. Here, there can be trains with square wheels, cowboys who ride ostriches, and squirt guns that shoot grape jelly. This is a place where we can recreate and reinvent how we live.

Scripture tells us that there are two things of utmost importance in life: one is to love God, and the other is to love your neighbor as yourself. There are actually three things to love in there: your God, your Self, and your Neighbor. The more we hold onto “normal,” the less we can do these things. When we try to make ourselves fit a societal mold instead of being true to who we really are, we do violence to ourselves. We carry around anger, guilt, blame—we oppress ourselves with inferiority—we imprison ourselves with disappointment. When we try to make others fit into our “normal”—our only one right way of being—we do violence to them. We cling to ideas and stereotypes about others that are racist, sexist, heterosexist, ageist, ableist, religionist, etc, We push people out and label them as inferior.

We can’t hold onto injustices AND look for the kingdom of God at the same time. If we cannot love ourselves, and we cannot love our neighbors—then we cannot love God, and we cannot realize the Kingdom of God.

I think most of all, we need permission to let go of these things. It’s okay if we are not perfect—it’s okay to forgive ourselves if we mess up (and we will). And it’s okay to love people even when they are different from us—when they act differently, practice their religion differently, think differently. Difference doesn’t hurt—intolerance of difference does. It is, in fact, more than okay. It is what we are called to do. Proclaim good news to the oppressed, bind up the broken-hearted, proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor. Recreate the way you live—recreate the way we live together—recreate the way we teach campers to live. Dare to love yourself—dare to love your neighbor—dare to love your God and to catch a glimpse of the Kingdom so that we might all turn and be healed. Amen.

The First Week of Camp

2008-07-09T10:25:00.003-04:00

The first week of camp, I was the director/chaplain of the daycamp program that we run at First Reformed Church in Albany. I had also been the director/chaplain last year at First Albany, but this year struck me differently. Last year, things were rough and we were exhausted by the end of the week. We actually drove into camp and jumped out of the van and kissed the ground. The campers were tough, there were problems with volunteers and the staff had been fighting amongst themselves. I couldn't wait to be home and not be in charge anymore! This year, however, the staff was amazing and worked extremely hard and extremely well together. This is, perhaps, what helped us to see where the real problems in the program are.

We had 26 campers, most of whom were from the inner city of Albany. Three of them were white, and about three of them came from the suburbs. They rest were minority kids who lived in or near the projects. It became clear to us right away that these were kids who did not have adults in their lives who spent time with them, or listened to them, or played with them. Most of the time, their parents or guardians were working so hard to try to earn enough money to survive, that they just didn't have time or energy to play or listen. Many of our kids would come in in the morning and devour breakfast (two bagels and three muffins at a time) and then heap their plates full at lunchtime. There was hardly any leftover food--they ate it all. They simply don't have food like that at home.

Many of our kids also had special needs. We're pretty sure one of our nine year old boys is OCD (he only eats food in even numbers) and probably has something else as well. He had a complete meltdown on Wednesday afternoon. We had taken them on a field trip to a suburban church that had a lot of open space and a nature trail through the woods to a lake. There was all sorts of environmental ed. programming, and arts projects, and fun games. It was a great day...until the water balloon toss. The toss itself went fine and the kids had such a good time, but then there was one balloon left...and then it was popped, and then our little friend went off the deep end. He yelled and screamed and kicked and punched and bit for about an hour. We have ZERO training for situations like this. I can do CPR and first aid and save you from drowning, but I have no idea how to restrain a kid or calm him down from a fit like this was. And I had to figure out how to get him home. In the end, we got him back to the church and he was fine, but fell asleep standing up and I had to catch him as he fell over. But then he and I went upstairs to the parlor where he picked up a guitar and proceeded to write a song. He taught it to me, and then asked me what the notes were so that he could write it down. Then he wrote it down exactly as he had played it. It was completely amazing.

One of our other kids absolutely broke my heart on the last day. She has been pretty clingy and affectionate all week, but on the last day, when it was finally time to go home, she refused to let go of me. She is one of the youngest in a family of 10 adopted/foster children. Three of her siblings were at camp with her, and a few others had come to pick them up and walk them home. As she clung to me, I walked with them to the corner. Her brothers and sisters kept yelling at her to let go and to stop crying, which only made her hold me tighter and cry harder. I am quite sure that she gets yelled at and ignored all the time by her siblings...and her father just seemed too exhausted to do anything about it.

This week was the most challenging and probably the best of my summer. I miss these kids a lot, and can't help but wonder how they are doing...

Hangin' With My Muslim Friends

2008-07-09T10:06:00.002-04:00

Our Muslim sisters and brothers, led by their Imam Mohktar, had their prayer retreat at camp again this year. This was the ninth year they have retreated here (one more year than I've been here). There were about 75 of them who joined in for this rather rigorous retreat. There were prayers at the appropriate times, including sunset and sunrise (which are very close together in the summer!), lots of teaching by Mohktar, and outdoor activities such as canoeing and hiking. We were again invited to prayers and I went three times. The first two times, I wore a pillowcase on my head because I didn't have a scarf. The women giggled when they found out, but then said, "Actually, that's not a bad idea..." On my second visit, I was waiting for Kent as he talked with Mohktar, and some of the women invited me to have tea...and strawberry shortcake. So I sat at a table surrounded by Muslim women filling myself with delicious desserts and talking. We talked about where we were from, and what we did, etc. Then one of the younger women walked by and poked me and said, "Pillowcase again, huh?" and we both giggled. One of the older women, Victoria originally from Turkey, jumped up and disappeared out of the room. She came back in a minute with a gift bag and presented it to me saying that it was from all the sisters. I peered inside and found a gorgeous black scarf from Turkey with a hand stitched edging of multicolored sequins. (Kind of like our Turkish scarves, Elizabeth!). It was absolutely beautiful! Kent finally came upstairs to see me in the middle of a gaggle of Muslim sisters and laughed. He said, "Should I wait for you?" "Nope!" I replied. It was a great night. I felt as though the Muslim sisters were somehow my mothers, aunts, and older sisters and that they were sharing their wisdom and what they had learned about being women who are faithful to God. So, of course, I had to go back to prayers a third time to see my friends and wear my new scarf!

Salaam.

Help from my Friends!

2008-06-12T13:32:00.002-04:00

Ok guys. I need some help. I need any brilliant insights you might have on Daniel 3 (the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego). This is our story for Tuesdays this summer, and the theme for Tuesdays is "A Fire that Tests." (The theme for the summer is "Light the Fire"). So...what would you pull out of this story? What speaks to you? Thanks!!

Daniel 3

King Nebuchadnezzar made a golden statue whose height was sixty cubits and whose width was six cubits; he set it up on the plain of Dura in the province of Babylon. 2Then King Nebuchadnezzar sent for the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counselors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces to assemble and come to the dedication of the statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. 3So the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counselors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces, assembled for the dedication of the statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. When they were standing before the statue that Nebuchadnezzar had set up, 4the herald proclaimed aloud, “You are commanded, O peoples, nations, and languages, 5that when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble, you are to fall down and worship the golden statue that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. 6Whoever does not fall down and worship shall immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire.” 7Therefore, as soon as all the peoples heard the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble, all the peoples, nations, and languages fell down and worshiped the golden statue that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up.

8Accordingly, at this time certain Chaldeans came forward and denounced the Jews. 9They said to King Nebuchadnezzar, “O king, live forever! 10You, O king, have made a decree, that everyone who hears the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble, shall fall down and worship the golden statue, 11and whoever does not fall down and worship shall be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire. 12There are certain Jews whom you have appointed over the affairs of the province of Babylon: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. These pay no heed to you, O King. They do not serve your gods and they do not worship the golden statue that you have set up.” 13Then Nebuchadnezzar in furious rage commanded that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego be brought in; so they brought those men before the king. 14Nebuchadnezzar said to them, “Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, that you do not serve my gods and you do not worship the golden statue that I have set up? 15Now if you are ready when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble to fall down and worship the statue that I have made, well and good. But if you do not worship, you shall immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire, and who is the god that will deliver you out of my hands?” 16Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to present a defense to you in this matter. 17If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. 18But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.”

19Then Nebuchadnezzar was so filled with rage against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego that his face was distorted. He ordered the furnace heated up seven times more than was customary, 20and ordered some of the strongest guards in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego and to throw them into the furnace of blazing fire. 21So the men were bound, still wearing their tunics, their trousers, their hats, and their other garments, and they were thrown into the furnace of blazing fire. 22Because the king’s command was urgent and the furnace was so overheated, the raging flames killed the men who lifted Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. 23But the three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, fell down, bound, into the furnace of blazing fire. 24Then King Nebuchadnezzar was astonished and rose up quickly. He said to his counselors, “Was it not three men that we threw bound into the fire?” They answered the king, “True, O king.” 25He replied, “But I see four men unbound, walking in the middle of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the fourth has the appearance of a god.” 26Nebuchadnezzar then approached the door of the furnace of blazing fire and said, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here!” So Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came out from the fire. 27And the satraps, the prefects, the governors, and the king’s counselors gathered together and saw that the fire had not had any power over the bodies of those men; the hair of their heads was not singed, their tunics were not harmed, and not even the smell of fire came from them.

28Nebuchadnezzar said, “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants who trusted in him. They disobeyed the king’s command and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God. 29Therefore I make a decree: Any people, nation, or language that utters blasphemy against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego shall be torn limb from limb, and their houses laid in ruins; for there is no other god who is able to deliver in this way.” 30Then the king promoted Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the province of Babylon.

My First Backpacking Trip in Pictures

2008-06-04T00:25:00.014-04:00

Woohoo! I'm hiking!

Yeah...that water is REALLY cold.

No sleep and it's really flippin' cold. I'm miserable. So is Jonah.

For those unfamiliar with such things...this is a lean-to.

Jonah the faithful guide dog.

Lindsay demonstrates a little trail yoga.

It really is pretty out there.

Mini golf anyone?

No, Jonah. See? We have to hike 16 miles out tomorrow.

An Adirondack Tang Sno-Cone.

After we couldn't possible eat any more (and still had food left over).

Happy Campers.

Phoebe the Fish

2008-06-01T18:31:00.004-04:00

This is Phoebe. Phoebe Bobert St. Paul, to be exact. Phoebe is a goldfish that belongs to the Sunday School of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Chatham, NJ and who is in my care for the summer. Phoebe will accompany me to camp where I am sure we will have many wonderful adventures. She tells me she can't wait to try kayaking.

Why, you may ask, does the Sunday School at St. Paul's have a fish? Well, it all started with Creation Season, which we observe at St. P's in the fall. Each week, the children and I studied another day in the creation story found in Genesis 1, and each week we brought a tangible item to represent that week up to the altar with our offering. Round about week four, 6 year old Sarah said to me, "I know that this week is the sun, moon, and stars (It was hard to miss with the large blow up planetarium in the Parish Hall), but what is next week?" Next week, I replied, is fish and birds. Sarah got this twinkle in her eye and mischievous grin on her face, "We should get a fish!" she cried. And I thought to myself, "Well, why not?!" You should have seen Rev. Elizabeth's face when we carried Phoebe forward during the offertory. Priceless. Phoebe has been with us ever since.

Today she made the move from my office at church to my apartment. She seems pretty happy, as you can see below. She loves to swim up and down the "corners" of the bowl. Next week she will make the trek to camp. Pray for safe travels for us both!

The Joy of Baking

2008-05-31T17:38:00.004-04:00

I love to bake...especially bread. I spent most of today baking banana bread. It was a wonderful day. The weather kept switching back and forth between sunny and breezy and thunderstorms. And I kept measuring and mixing and greasing pans. There is just nothing like a warm loaf of bread right out of the oven. The smell, the feel, the taste. I also love the baking time...the time in between the measuring, mixing and greasing pans when I can play on my blog and read my friends' blogs. It's been the most relaxing day. And now I have 15 mini loaves and 1 large loaf of banana bread to share tomorrow.

Newark Bears Game!

2008-05-31T15:02:00.012-04:00

Last night was St. Paul's Night at the Newark Bears Stadium! Our choir sang the national anthem, our rector threw out the first pitch, and we collected some dough for the music program at the church. A lot of people turned out for the event and we had a great time! I watched very little of the game...which went into extra innings and took FOREVER. But there was the promise of "the best fireworks in New Jersey" after the game...so you couldn't leave early! I think the Bears lost, but at that point, we were just happy that the game was over. And the fireworks were...well they weren't bad :)

Here are some pics from the evening...

Our choir singing the national anthem. They sounded really great!

The Rev. Dr. Canon Elizabeth Kaeton throwing out the first pitch. A good, solid pitch. And yes, she does throw like a girl--because she is one--and girls can throw too!

Olivia and I. She had quite a grip on my neck. I think she was feeling a little grumpy right at that moment.

All Star Director of Music, Brandon Dumas...and our fantastic Missioner for Youth and Young Families, Tim Wong enjoying the game (and the beer).

The 8 o'clockers (who are very dear to me) seated nicely in their own row.

This was a great fund-raiser, and a great community event. I highly recommend it!

Before and After (WARNING: Squimish readers of this blog may want to skip this one.)

2008-05-31T14:14:00.011-04:00

These are my toes before backpacking for a week in the ADKs. I think they are kinda pretty.

And here are my poor, dear toes after backpacking for a week in the ADKs.

I am pretty excited that they might fall off. I feel as though it is some sort of badge of honor to have your toenails fall off after doing something physically challenging.

Sexist Tea

2008-05-31T13:20:00.001-04:00

After a morning of watching the news in which the presidential election was being discussed and blatant sexist was being overlooked, this was what my tea bag said to me. Perfect.

2008-05-27T08:19:00.002-04:00

Worrying About Tomorrow

The Episcopal Church of St. Paul, Chatham

May 25, 2008

Matthew 6: 24-34

A few months ago I learned that my camp would be offering a “Wilderness Leadership Training Backpacking Trip” this May, and I immediately signed up for it. I have worked at camp for seven years now, and I have seen my friends go off for a week of backpacking or canoeing or kayaking with a group of kids…and then come back a week later exhausted and filthy with lots of great stories about their experiences. And, while I had been camping before, I had never been backpacking—never been out on the trail in the wilderness for a week. I was dying to know what it was like, and a little concerned that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. That’s why I had never volunteered to lead a trip myself. I would have no clue what I was doing, and I wasn’t really sure I would make it. So, when I saw this opportunity to go on a trip and learn how to lead in the wilderness, I couldn’t wait!

There were six of us on the trip: two leaders—Kent, who some of you met when he preached and told stories here, and my friend Lindsay who has lead at least 20 trips for camp over the last six years—and three participants: my friends Dan and Karen who had also led trips for camp, and me. The sixth participant was, of course, Jonah the spaniel, Kent’s faithful dog. As soon as I arrived at camp, I realized that I was the only one on the trip who had never done this before. Even the dog knew more than I did, and had his own pack.

I began to feel a bit self-conscious. What if I did something wrong? What if I looked stupid? What if I really couldn’t keep up physically? There were so many things that came as second nature to my friends that I had all sorts of questions about.

The first day was fine…well except for the pain in my shoulders from the backpack, and the need to hike a mile further than we had expected to find an unoccupied campsite, which also required us to make a frigid stream crossing without the aid of a bridge…or a log…or rocks, and then a night on the very hard wooden floor of a lean-to where the temperatures must have dipped below freezing. I didn’t sleep all night, and in the morning, had another frigid stream crossing to look forward to. I was beginning to wonder why people did this by choice as recreation.

Day two saw my uncertainty and self-consciousness increase. I felt as if everyone was watching my every step and judging whether I was doing things right or wrong. Even the dog kept coming to the back of the line to check on me. And then they asked me to lead for awhile, which I know is what you do with the slowest hikers to keep the group together and not let anyone lag behind. “I’m too slow,” I thought, “And they want to see if I can read the map and know where I’m going. I’m going to get us lost.” I felt completely inadequate. And now, being in the front of the line, they could really all watch me. We hiked over ten miles that day, at the end of which I was exhausted. I could hardly lift my legs and I felt clumsy—like I would trip and fall with each step. And, I was lagging behind again. Everyone else seemed just fine—and I was about to collapse. I was physically tired, and mentally beating myself up because I couldn’t go further and faster.

When we finally made it to the campsite, Kent said, “Wow, that was some beautiful country today, wasn’t it?” And the others agreed. I thought to myself, “What country? I didn’t see anything but my feet.” I had hiked through 10 miles of one of the most beautiful parts of the Adirondack Park and hadn’t seen any of it. I was preoccupied by my worry. I was literally worried about my life--what I would eat and what I would drink (whether I would cook the ramen correctly or instead blow up the stove…whether I would purify the water, or instead give everyone dysentery from giardia) and I was worried about my body—what I would wear (Did I bring the right clothes? Did I bring enough clothes? Would I freeze or overheat? Should I have packed a bikini instead of long underwear? Would my body give out before we made it to camp?). Plus I was worried about a whole host of other things. I was, in fact, so worried about being the weakest or doing something wrong that I couldn’t experience the trout lilies which were in bloom with their green and purple mottled leaves and bright yellow flowers—and I couldn’t consider the haunting song of the loons on the lake. I became blind and deaf in my preoccupation with worry.

After the trip, a friend shared some words of wisdom with me. He said, “Be open to experience life.” I think that it is worry that keeps us from being open to experience life. Most of the time, we worry in anticipation. We worry about what might be coming. I was worried about the impending judgment of my friends that would surely come when we reached the next campsite…or while hiking the next day. We worry in anticipation of “bad” things. We worry that pain and loss is coming, tomorrow. The anxiety we feel is a natural reaction. Not one of us wants to feel pain, or to be lonely. We worry because what might be coming will hurt. We fear being open to experience the painful things, and so close ourselves off from experiencing the pleasurable things as well. We cut ourselves off from fully embracing the joys of today. We allow ourselves to get so caught up in what tomorrow might feel like that we walk right by the lilies and the birds, which are the very things that will sustain us tomorrow.

But it’s hard not to worry. If you are anything like me, you worry about tomorrow all the time. My tomorrows are uncertain. They are full of questions about career, and home, and relationships, and identity. All around the edges the fear of failure and loneliness creeps in. I worry because I’m not sure what to do with tomorrow. I know many of you also worry about tomorrow and what might be lost because of an economy that’s in bad shape, or because of sickness and disease.

The thing about tomorrow is that it will come. No one can stop it from coming. Worrying won’t keep it from dawning. We have little control over tomorrow, BUT we DO have control over today. We have the power to fully experience today—to stop and take a deep breath and look around—to spend time with each other and get to know each other better—to appreciate the people and things in our lives that are truly important to us. We have a choice. We have the power to decide to be open to fully experience all the lilies of the field and all the birds of the air in our lives.

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

And today’s joys—today’s hopes—today’s faith—today’s love—these are the gifts that we have to share with each other and to treasure in our hearts. These full and joyous experiences are what will burn within us when tomorrow does come, no matter what it brings.

Because, “[m]y friends, life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who make this earthly pilgrimage with us. So be swift to love and make haste to do kindness.” Do it today.

Amen.

Reflections on Backpacking

2008-05-20T21:17:00.003-04:00

Recently I spent almost a week backpacking in an area of the Adirondack Park known as the West Canada Wilderness. I was on this trip with four friends (and a spaniel), all of whom had more experience backpacking than I had (I had none), some of whom had A LOT of backpacking experience. It was an incredibly humbling experience. As soon as I arrived at camp, from which the trip was to start, I began to feel self-conscious. I was the only one who didn't know what she was doing. I didn't know how to pack, I didn't know how to put on my pack, I didn't know what it would feel like to hike mile after mile with that pack on, I didn't know how and where to set up my tent, I didn't know how to hang a bear line, I didn't know how to cook or how to clean the pots and pans, I didn't know how to find my way using the map, I didn't know how to dig a "cat hole," and worst of all, I didn't know how I would react to anything I would experience. I didn't know who I was when I was backpacking. I have not been that unsure of myself in a long, long time. It felt awful. I worried about every move I made--worried I would do something wrong, or look stupid, or disappoint someone, or not be able to keep up physically. All my confidence was sucked away--I was nearly paralyzed. I did not expect this to happen to me. I tried over and over to talk myself out of it, but the uncertainty and vulnerability I felt was powerful.

Day 2 of the trip was perhaps the longest day of my life. We hiked more than 10 miles. By the last mile, when we were approaching French Louie's fireplace (the old foundation of an old hermit's cabin), I almost lost it. I was exhausted and in a great deal of pain. It was really hard to keep lifting my legs and I felt clumsy. Physically I was reaching my limit, and emotionally I was beating myself up for not being able to go further. Tears stung in my eyes. I felt as though I was failing.

If there is one thing that hiking mile after mile gives you, it is time to think. And I did. I came to the conclusion that I felt as though I was failing because I was comparing myself to my friends and I was trying to be more like them than like myself. I will always fail at being someone else. What I can succeed at is being myself.

Further along in the trip, I learned that my friends' muscles hurt as much as mine did, that I could in fact hang a bear line and bake a quiche, and that I love being out in the woods. And there were moments when I laughed so hard that tears flooded my eyes. It was a trip of extremes and of self-discovery. It was humbling and enlightening. But we didn't have quite enough food.

Once Upon a Time...

2008-05-01T19:46:00.004-04:00

The other day, after my run (which was crappy), I almost got in my car (grumpy) to drive home. But I saw a crane or an egret or something flying over the lake playing on the wind, and I was drawn into what soon felt like a fairy tale. As I was gazing into the lake from the bridge trying to see the koi that inexplicably live there, an older woman with snowy white hair rode up on her bicycle. It was one of those cycles with a big wheel in the front and a smaller one in the back, and a basket on the front. She leaned on the fence to look at the waterfall on the other side of the bridge. Suddenly she said, in a heavy european accent of some sort, "Did you see the turtle?" "What?" I said walking over to the other side of the bridge. "The turtle, there...between those two rocks." And there it was, with the water from the waterfall running over it's back: the largest turtle I have ever seen. He or she was a big snapping turtle with a head bigger than my fist. I felt as though I was gazing upon Old Turtle (wonderful story by Douglas Wood). Then the woman left me and rode off on her bicycle.

I walked around the lake and sat down on the bench, and swung my feet because they didn't reach the ground. I noticed that another older woman with a crazy head of white hair was walking with her cane toward me from the bridge. I thought, "She's going to come talk to me...no she's not, why would she do that?" So I turned to look back out over the lake and got lost in my thoughts again. And then there she was! She said, "Did you see the turtle?" "Ummm, yes." I said smiling. We then had a conversation about the creatures that live at the pond. "Is the heron back?" "Oh, yes, I saw it the other day." "Did you know there used to be rabbits over there before they cut the brush down?" "No, oh that's too bad." I suddenly felt like the white-haired witches that guard the pond had been watching me, and had revealed themselves to me. They had shown me the great turtle and identified me as a fellow caretaker of the park. Or...ya know, the women who live around the park and watch it like I do had recognized me as someone who feels the same way they do about this little bit of land. Same difference, really.

2008-05-01T10:17:00.000-04:00

All God's Creatures...

2008-04-27T21:41:00.003-04:00

Another reason I'm glad to not spend summers in NJ. This guy was crawling on my pants leg after my run today (ok, not so much the run as the sitting in the tall grass watching the heron...). Totally creeps me out!

(Yes, of course I checked myself for others when I got home.)

Time to Migrate

2008-04-26T15:10:00.007-04:00

I wonder if birds feel this way when it is time to fly south for the winter or return north in the spring. I am dying to go--it's time for camp. I know that some of you will think that this means I don't love you. Well, that's just not so. But it's time to go...and later, it will be time to come back. I've chosen this migratory lifestyle for myself, spending September through May in NJ and June through August in the Adirondacks for the last seven years. I haven't seen a NJ summer is 7 years--haven't felt the NJ humidity, haven't been to the Jersey shore, haven'tchased an ice cream truck down a suburban street, haven't washed my car in the driveway (well, who does that anymore anyway?). I don't miss NJ summers, except for the shore. I have spent the last seven summers waking up in cool mountain air, swimming in Adirondack lakes, canoeing over beaver dams, hiking mountains, and sitting by campfires. I can't wait to live in a cabin on a lake. I can't wait for an exciting evening out to be going to Charlie John's to buy Ben and Jerry's...or going to sit on the front porch of Melody Lodge with a beer. I can't wait to eat Jenna's cooking EVERYDAY! I can't wait to spend 98% of my time with campers--playing, singing, talking, learning, teaching, laughing, crying. I can't wait to have a dog, even if I am borrowing him from the director. I can't wait to walk everywhere, instead of driving all the time. I can't wait to live in a community where we actually try to work on being a community--where we've agreed to live together and work together in ways that support one another, and where the most important things are kids. I really, really miss living in a community like this--like the one that is formed in college or seminary where everyone is basically there for the same purpose. The kind where you live together, and work together, and play together. Hmmm...perhaps I should be a nun. Or maybe I just need to go to camp :)

Me, a Tank Top, and a Turtle

2008-04-24T14:12:00.001-04:00

Fun fact #37 about me: If you dare me to do something, odds are I'll do it.

If You Meet The Buddha On The Road...

2008-04-12T10:01:00.006-04:00

(Some thoughts on John 9 and 10)

I think the gospel for this Sunday is not even a little bit about sheep and shepherds and following Jesus like a good “little Christ” sheep should. The Pharisees and the Jews and, well, just about everyone else, are try to figure out who on earth this Jesus guy is. Are you God? Are you God’s son? Are you the Messiah? Are you King of the Jews? Weren’t you that carpenter’s son? Who are you that you heal on the Sabbath? Hey wait, who are you that you heal? We think you are blasphemous…but you do things that seem like they are from God. Who are you???

And the Pharisees (out of fear probably) think they’ve got it nailed down. Whoever he is, he’s not God and can’t claim to be God—that’s blasphemy! So stone him!”

“Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

“But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” You’re missing the point! It’s not about figuring out who Jesus is! It doesn’t matter! (I’m so glad the boys in Nicea in 325 got this.) It’s not about who Jesus is. It’s about what happens through Jesus. A wise man once told me it is the job of a pastor/priest to stand there and point to God. I can hear Jesus saying, “Hello? Guys? It’s not about who I am! Stop trying to figure it out! It’s about WHO MY FATHER IS!” I think he’s probably jumping up and down in the dust on that last sentence.

After Jesus compares “seeing” to “having sin”, he goes on to describe a bunch of overlapping and seemingly contradictory images. There are sheep and shepherds and gatekeepers and thieves and gates. First JC is the gate, and then the good shepherd, and then one with the Father. None of it makes a lot of sense, which I think is part of the point. You can’t put Jesus in the dictionary. “Jesus Christ: noun, 1. Son of God. 2. Messiah.” It doesn’t work that way, and even if it did, it’s not important. Jesus is the gate to go through, the shepherd to follow. You don’t stop at Jesus and admire his golden locks and pretty blue eyes—you go through him and with him to somewhere else.

If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him. It ain’t the real Buddha, but more likely a manifestation of your own longings and desires. You can’t see the Buddha. You’re not supposed to. As soon as you “see” the one you are to go through, your way is blocked. The Buddha says, "[E]ven this view [about no one in particular possessing The Truth], which is so pure and so clear, if you cling to it, if you fondle it, if you treasure it, if you are attached to it, then you do not understand that the teaching is similar to a raft, which is for crossing over, and not for getting hold of." Listen—follow the voice—keep going. OCICBW...

(Buddha quote: Rahula, Walpola. "What The Buddha Taught." Grove Press, New York, 1959. Pg. 11.)

A Day At The Park

2008-04-10T18:13:00.002-04:00

It was a beautiful day, and my day off, so I decided to spend quite a bit of time at the park. I packed up a blanket, some grapes and an Anne Lamott book--played some George Michael really loud in my car with the windows down--and headed toward my favorite park. And thence commenced my adventures.

Now, as I believe has been earlier established, I'm crazy. I love things that many people don't love. I love kids. Most people would say that they love kids, but I LOVE kids. I'd rather be around kids than adults almost 100% of the time. Without kids, life just doesn't sparkle. I also feel this way about the outdoors.

When I got out of my car, a smile spread across my face. I began my trek around the lake and noticed a willow just starting to put out leaves. It was at the end of a small peninsula that stretched out into the lake. And surrounded, of course, by cattails, brush, and thorn bushes. I worked my way through the brush, avoiding the thorns and over to the willow, where I found a small turtle hanging out in the shallows. I settle down by the edge of the stream that flows into the lake. As I watched the water flowing by, I had a thought. Getting to know my park is like reading scripture. (See? Totally crazy!) I've walked through this park many times, but now that I had settled down in one spot and was taking the time to look around, I was seeing spiders walking on the surface of the water, little yellow flowers beaming in the sunlight, and the tiniest snail I have ever seen making his way over blades of grass. I have read lots of biblical stories many times, but it is when I settle down with one and take the time to look around that the Bible becomes the living word. I could walk past and know that I had seen a story about Jesus, or I could settle down and explore all the tiny details that might actually be meaningful in my life. And the best part? It's different each time, just as the park is different each time. Isn't scripture cool?

Well, apparently I was not quite observant enough, because after watching the snail for awhile, I fell asleep. I was so excited to be outside, I had just flopped down on the earth, and ended up taking the first of several naps on a bed of stinging nettle. Brilliant. Now my leg burns. I'm one with the earth...and it hurts.

After nap number three or maybe four, I looked up at the tree branches above me and saw a red-winged blackbird. I love red-winged blackbirds--favorite bird. Just then the bird puffed up and let loose a fairly ridiculous noise. I giggled like a delighted 4 year old and said, "Do it again!" Mr. Blackbird obliged. When I stood up to leave, I caught sight of a very large turtle making his way across the narrow, muddy part of the peninsula. He plodded into the water, took a really big breath (I actually heard him) and dunked under.

I think I'm really just an very tall 8 year old with a great vocabulary and a driver's license.

Me and My Girls

2008-04-06T22:51:00.003-04:00

Mr. Mollo took this picture at church today when the 4 year olds ganged up on me. We played an exciting round of Hide And Seek and then rested on the couch. Well, I needed to rest anyway...

Sex Ed.?

2008-04-06T20:50:00.003-04:00

I was talking to some of the girls at Youth Group tonight. The conversation started because some of the older kids had just been forced to watch "The Miracle of Life"--a video showing a woman giving birth--in health class. I'm sure it's to scare them out of having sex...maybe ever. (I did not see this video in middle school health.) So then the younger girls started to tell me about their puberty and sex ed. classes. They said, "Well first they show you the pancakes shaped like body parts. And then the ketchup. Then when you are older they show you that video." "Ketchup for menstruation?" I asked. They nodded.

Now, I have not confirmed this with anyone, but is this really how we talk to kids about sex? Pancakes and ketchup? Why are we so uncomfortable talking about sex, especially with kids? It just seems silly to me. I'm sure it is because the adults doing the teaching are uncomfortable with their own sexuality, but why? I'm really asking a much bigger question, but I'm feeling overwhelmed trying to figure out how to ask it...

Why She Is The Way She Is...

2008-04-03T21:10:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, when I was somewhere between 7 and 10 years old, I was walking to school with my friend Alayna. Alayna lived four houses down from mine, but on the other side of the street. We met one day walking home from school when she was in 1st grade and I was in 2nd grade. We spent a lot of time together after that. So one day we were walking to school together and Alayna (who is quite the opposite of me in every way imaginable) spit her gum out on the sidewalk. I walked a few more steps, and then suddenly stopped, turned around, picked up the gum with my bare hands, and continued on the way to school giving Alayna a lecture about how long it takes chewing gum to biodegrade.

So, you see, this picking up trash thing is just in my bones.

It's Ok...You Can Pretend You Don't Know Me...Addendum

2008-04-03T19:08:00.002-04:00

Next time...I'll be wearing these. Ain't no piece of trash in that park going to escape me.

I know...I know... Freak!

It's Ok...You Can Pretend You Don't Know Me...

2008-04-03T18:26:00.005-04:00

I was going to try not to get muddy today. I went running at the usual place, and I always walk around the lake after my run...which means I walk across the field. But the field is perpetually soggy, which tells me that it is not supposed to be a field at all, but wetlands just like all the land around it--that's another story. So today I was going to be careful of the soggy so that I wouldn't have to wash my pants before I go running again on Saturday. And I managed to do that, until...

I realized that my pond is a dump! I don't know why I never saw it before. I had seen a plastic bottle here and there, but it never really registered that there was garbage EVERYWHERE--and mostly around the edge of the lake. Also, lots of oily residue on the surface of the lake. Well, before I knew it, the Nature Freak came out. Yup, I was that girl. The one that everyone else at the park is whispering about because she has gone to her car, found a garbage bag (that was still in her trunk from dropping off her comingled recyclables the Saturday before), and is now ankle deep in mud and muck picking up bottles and cans and plastic bags and styrofoam. Yup, that was me. I got about halfway around the lake (maybe) when my medium sized garbage bag was stuffed (and pretty darn heavy). There were some things I couldn't get to (not without actually getting in the lake) but things did look better when I left. Oh and, when you bring your dog to the park and throw tennis balls for her, could you make sure you take them back home with you? I picked up more tennis balls than anything else.

It just makes my heart hurt that we humans do this to the earth.

Wicked!

2008-04-03T08:08:00.003-04:00

I went to see Wicked last night (yes...for the first time!). I actually teared up a bit during "Defying Gravity" because it has become such a powerful and meaningful song in my life as I've stood with and walked with friends on the long and winding (and sometimes terrible) road that is the ordination process for so many. I wonder all the time why it is such an abusive process for those who simply want to tell the truth. Not the truth the Wizard describes, "Truth is just what we've all agreed on." That "truth" is about denial and about finding someone to blame. Nor am I talking about a universal truth. That "truth" doesn't exist. The "truth" that I've seen my friends try to tell is the truth that they know in their hearts...the truth they can see in the world around them...the truth they find in the written Word. It's a truth that is threatening, because it means we might have to change the way we do things in order to help someone else.

So, for those of you who have defied gravity in my life, and for those of you on your way...here ya go!

Happy Birthday Differ!

2008-04-01T11:34:00.002-04:00

Today is my dear friend Jennifer's birthday! No foolin'! Now, I'm awful at remembering birthdays, so this is kinda a big deal for me...but Jennifer and I did have a rule when we lived together in seminary: Never forget roommates birthdays! And I hate to break rules.

Have a great day Jennifer! I miss you!

Clingy Disciples

2008-03-30T11:29:00.004-04:00

My dear friend Kent came to tell stories and preach at St. Paul's on March 30. He couldn't make the 8:00 am service, so I preached in his stead and tried to be the best storyteller I could be. Here it is...

As you probably know, my dear friend Kent will be here later this morning doing some storytelling, but he could not be here at 8 am. So…I thought you all deserved a story too…

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away (yet not so far away), there lived a couple of clingy disciples. Clingy because of nostalgia, perhaps…or fear…but mostly because of love. See, the problem with clingy disciples is, they don’t know how to let go.

The first one’s name was Mary. She had been following this teacher for awhile now. He had become her rabbi, her mentor, her confidant, and her friend. He spoke of things she could believe in—ideas she could get behind—radical new thoughts that just might change the world. So she followed this Jesus. He, and his teachings, had become her whole world. She was his student, his follower, his disciple, his. When this happens, it’s hard to let go.

The second was Thomas. I get the feeling Thomas was pretty quiet. He never got the attention that Simon Peter got, nor was he as outspoken and opinionated as Judas. But he had listened to every word Jesus said. He didn’t always understand it all, but he listened and he watched. He was there when Jesus washed their feet, and there to witness Judas’ betrayal. He had seen the body on the cross. He knew what was going on. Maybe it was because he was so quiet, because he liked to mull things over by himself, that he wasn’t in the house that night with the others. And maybe, because he wasn’t ever quite sure that Jesus knew how he had listened, that he just wanted to make sure—he just wasn’t ready to let go yet, not until he was sure Jesus knew that he loved him.

“Don’t hold onto me.”

Mary had gone to the tomb to prepare the body. She never imagined that it wouldn’t be there! Who would take his body?! Did they really hate him that much? They had killed him, wasn’t that enough? She had to find him—his body—that was all that was left and she had to care for it. To anoint him. She looked around frantically. And then there he was! Saying her name! He was standing there talking to her. Her heart jumped into her throat and she reached for him…

“Don’t hold onto me.”

Thomas hadn’t been there, but the others told him what had happened. Jesus had appeared in the house! He was standing there, talking to them. He showed them the wounds from the crucifixion. He had actually been there among them. That’s what they said, anyway. But that was crazy. Or it wasn’t, and he had missed the single most amazing moment of his life. It was hard to wrap one’s head around. Was he back, or…just…what? Passing through? Thomas wanted him to be back. If he could just see him…If he could just touch him…

“Don’t hold onto me.”

You see, the disciples didn’t know it yet, but it wasn’t about touching anymore. Mary couldn’t hold onto him—she couldn’t take him home—she wouldn’t see him everyday. It wouldn’t be like it was before. And Thomas, the one who will not believe until he touches—Jesus offers him the chance, but they both know it is past the time for touching. They have moved into a time of knowing—a time of trusting. Mary must trust that her identity will remain intact—that she can still follow the teachings—still change the world—still love and be loved. Thomas must trust that Jesus has not left him alone—that Jesus does, in fact, love him, and that he knows of Thomas’s love. But there are no reassurances anymore. None of them can go to him in the middle of the night with a question anymore…or tug at the hem of his cloak…or sit at his feet and listen. The time for these things has passed.

They both want to touch him, but he cannot be held unto. They must believe without seeing now. Believe without holding or possessing. It’s all about that strange tension—that awkward trust—that is belief. Now it is about knowing—it’s about certainty without reassurance—it’s about trusting—because you can’t hold onto him, and you won’t be able to see him.

Thomas wasn’t a failed disciple because he doubted—and Mary wasn’t a failed disciple because she wanted to hold on a little longer. They were just on the journey—finding their way into a new relationship. Thomas tries to will it not to happen. “I will not believe.” But you can’t will unbelief, just as you can’t will belief. You must come to believe. You must grow into certainty and learn to trust. I wonder if the other disciples—the ones who ran to the tomb with Mary, looked in, and then ran off—the ones who were in the house when Thomas was not—I wonder if they believed because they had come to believe…or because they were supposed to believe. I wonder this because I’m not sure you can come to believe without facing your unbelief and your disbelief—without wading through them—without asking the questions you are afraid to ask—before coming to believe…or not...

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe. …[T]hese things are written so that you may come to believe…”

And they all lived happily ever after? Perhaps not. But I imagine they lived as we do: ever on the journey. Blessings on your way.

The End.

Amen.

All About the Identity Quizzes,,,

2008-03-28T12:36:00.000-04:00

Your Score: Kanga

You scored 13 Ego, 15 Anxiety, and 15 Agency!

"I am not Roo," said Piglet loudly. "I am Piglet!"

"Yes, dear, yes," said Kanga soothingly. "And imitating
Piglet's voice too! So clever of him," she went on, as she took
a large bar of yellow soap out of the cupboard. "What will he
be doing next"

"Can't you see?" shouted Piglet "Haven't you got eyes?
Look at me!"

"I am looking, Roo, dear," said Kanga rather severely.
"And you know what I told you yesterday about making faces. If
you go on making faces like Piglet's, you will grow up to look
like Piglet -- and then think how sorry you will be. Now then,
into the bath, and don't let me have to speak to you about it
again."

You scored as Kanga!

ABOUT KANGA: Kanga is Roo's mother and Tigger's foster mother. While she is a kind and motherly sort of person, the other inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Wood suspect that underneath, she is a Fierce Animal. Her hobbies involve talking about Roo's health and development, watching Roo while he practices jumping, and making Roo and Tigger take their strengthening medicine.

WHAT THIS SAYS ABOUT YOU: You are the kind of person who takes on other people's worries. You are efficient and a person of action - the type of person who Gets Things Done. Your friends tend to rely on you to get them moving and keep things running.

The problem is that you tend to forget about yourself in all of this. You need to remember that you are an important and worthwhile person, and sometimes it is okay to say "no" to people's constant requests and demands. Give yourself some time off.

Link: The Deep and Meaningful Winnie-The-Pooh Character Test written by wolfcaroling on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test
View My Profile(wolfcaroling)

Which Theologian am I?

2008-03-28T08:45:00.002-04:00

I'd like to note that all the theologians on this list are male, so I'm probably not any of them. Really, I'd rather be Marjorie Suchocki.

Which theologian are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Jürgen Moltmann

The problem of evil is central to your thought, and only a crucified God can show that God is not indifferent to human suffering. Christian discipleship means identifying with suffering but also anticipating the new creation of all things that God will bring about.

Jürgen Moltmann

60%

Charles Finney

40%

John Calvin

33%

Paul Tillich

33%

Friedrich Schleiermacher

27%

Martin Luther

13%

Augustine

Jonathan Edwards

Anselm

Karl Barth

West Wing

2008-03-24T22:55:00.002-04:00

My roommate and I just finished watching the West Wing...all seven seasons...in about 6 and a half weeks. Best damn show I've ever seen. I'm totally Donna Moss. I want to be CJ Cregg, but I'm all Donna. Just looking for my Josh...

Vernus

2008-03-15T13:56:00.005-04:00

Well, the calendar tells me it's not for a few days yet, but I'm pretty sure it's spring in Morris County. While running and enjoying some "nature therapy" the last two days, I have seen a plethora of wildlife. The pools and ponds are a cacophony of croaking. I stopped to spy on the amphibians floating around near the surface of the water. They didn't seem to mind me too much.
The red-winged blackbirds are out and yelled at me from the bushes around the lake. Turtles (red eared slider turtles, I think) are swimming in the shallows and sunning themselves on old logs. And as I was crossing the bridge over a particularly calm part of the stream, I saw something swimming toward me. It took me a minute to actually believe I was seeing what I was seeing because I have tried for years to see one of these, the largest of North American rodents, in the Adirondack Mountains where their dens and dams are plentiful. I always thought it would be only after great searching and great patience that I would see one. But, there s/he was. Just swimming down the stream in the park where I go every week. A small, and quite cute, beaver. S/he looked at me, and then dove down to the underwater entrance to the den on the stream's edge.

The Canada geese are mostly gone. I haven't seen the swan in awhile, and the heron has been missing for months. I do hope they return (well, maybe not so much the geese) soon.

Heretical Harlotry

2008-02-14T19:29:00.004-05:00

So why is it that the church, in so many incarnations, is completely preoccupied with sex, and more specifically with sexuality? Why does it matter? Why do sex and sexuality pose such a threat? Why must we get our panties all in a bunch? Why must we put people on trial, call people horrible names, and banish people? What does sex have to do with religion anyway? Dare I say, what the f***?

Well, it may have all started with a woman who had tone. In the Gnostic text, Pistis Sophia (if you will permit me to cross a canonical boundary) portrays Mary Magdalene as a prominent, although female, disciple. She manages to frustrate Peter to no end with her constant questions and comments on Jesus’ teaching. He finally exclaims, “My Lord, we are not able to suffer this woman who takes the opportunity from us, and does not allow anyone of us to speak, but she speaks many times.” Mary is too much and is out of place.

Catherine Keller uses this text and the prostitute tradition that eventually grew around Mary to make a fascinating connection between harlotry and heresy. She says, “She who had too much to say was framed as she who had too much sex; she who knew too much, that is, too many men. The heretic becomes the harlot.” She goes on to quote Virginia Burrus,

“The fourth-century figure of the heretical woman, who is almost invariably identified as sexually promiscuous, expresses the threatening image of a community with uncontrolled boundaries. Just as she allows herself to be penetrated sexually by strange men, so too she listens indiscriminately and babbles forth new theological formulations carelessly and without restraint; all the gateways of her body are unguarded…The figure of the orthodox virgin is the counterpart to this figure of the heretical woman…The virgin is typically described as maintaining the enclosure or privacy not only of her sexual parts, but also of her mouth (she is silent, diligently guarding the received tradition), of her physical location (she rarely leaves home or receives visitors), and of her social location (she does not presume to enter the public sphere of men or to challenge their hierarchical superiority).”

Keller follows Burrus’ quote with this, “In other words, both the speech of the heretic and the spatiality of the whore exceed the boundaries of orthodoxy—and so any heretic is marked with an illicit femininity. Any spirituality that slips beyond the prescribed limits, no matter how rigorously celibate and ascetic its practitioners, can be associated with off-limits sex.”

I think it works the other way too. Any sexuality “that slips beyond prescribed limits, no matter how rigorously” faithful and true its practitioners, “can be associated with off-limits” spirituality.

Keller, Catherine. “She Talks Too Much: Magdalene Meditations,” Toward a Theology of Eros: Transfiguring Passion at the Limits of Discipline. Ed. Virginia Burrus and Catherine Keller. Fordham University Press, New York, 2006. Pg. 243-4.

Which Fraggle am I? (I bet you all knew that)

2008-02-02T21:12:00.001-05:00

I took this quiz because my roommate Jon and I just bought a Fraggle Rock DVD. So we both love the Fraggles! What's wrong with that??? I should have known that I was Wembley...I even have a banana tree shirt...

Which Fraggle Rock character are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Wembley Fraggle

You have never been good at making decisions. You can wemble (which is a Fragglish word for, "to go back and forth between options without choosing either one") for most of the day about anything at all. Part of the reason you're so indecisive is because you're very eager to please and you honestly care about other Fraggles' feelings... especially the feelings of your best friends.

Wembley Fraggle

100%

Mokey Fraggle

67%

Madame Trash Heap

33%

Doozer

33%

Sprocket

33%

Traveling Matt Fraggle

33%

Red Fraggle

33%

Boober Fraggle

17%

Gobo Fraggle

17%

Junior Gorg

I WON! I WON! I WON!

2008-02-02T12:52:00.000-05:00

I've been playing racquetball with my good friend Laura for nearly six month and I won my first game today!! I know that sounds pathetic, but I'm really excited!! I won! I won! I won!

My Fortune Cookie

2008-01-16T09:14:00.000-05:00

My Fortune Cookie told me:
If you do not yet have a moose, take pains to acquire one.
Get a cookie from Miss Fortune

Excellent. I'll start working on it straight away!

The Road to Becoming a Grown-Up...

2007-12-29T09:11:00.000-05:00

is paved with new furniture?

I have a couch! I own a brand new couch! I am, in fact, sitting on it right now!

Bye-bye, Jo-Jo!

2007-12-27T08:11:00.000-05:00

I learned yesterday that Jo-Jo's is gone. Jo-Jo's was the best place in the world to get italian Ice and was located on Lanza Avenue in Garfield, NJ. Jo-Jo's had been there forever, or at least as long as my mother's family had lived on Lanza Avenue. When I was little, my grandfather (who I called PopPop John, who is the son of John, Sr., father of John III, grandfather of John IV, and great-grandfather of Johnny 5), would babysit me. And in the summer he would put me in my red and black checkered stroller and walk down the street (past the park) to Jo-Jo's. He would buy lemon italian ice and (as he describes it) put it to my lips and a huge smile would spread across my face. It really was the best italian ice in the world. It came in all sorts of flavors. My favorite eventually became chocolate, which tasted like frozen YooHoo. Jo-Jo's operated out of what would have been the living room of a house. They put in a counter and freezers and opened one of the windows to take orders through. And they lived in the rest of the house. When you picked out your flavor and ordered (either small or large), they would scoop it just like ice cream and put it in paper cups. The cups didn't have a wax coating on them, so that when you started to get down to the bottom, you could squeeze the cup this way and that to get the last bits out. Mmmmm.

Georgie's is also gone. Georgie's was a couple of blocks over and was the corner store. Literally. It was on the corner and the entrance was at the corner of the building. They just cut off the corner and put a door there instead. I always thought that was really neat. Sometimes, when PopPop was babysitting, we got to go to Georgie's. I remember there was a distinct smell to the place, but I have no idea what it was. It wasn't bad...although it wasn't good either. It was just what Georgie's smelled like. There was candy, and gum, and toys. I'm sure there was stuff for grown-ups too, like cheese, and newspapers, and cigars, but I always got a Tootsie Roll Lollipop. PopPop used to give those to us all the time. And, of course, PopPop knew Georgie. PopPop knew everybody in the neighborhood. So they would talk and I would look around at the candy and gum and toys. It was a little like walking into Mr. Gower's drugstore in "It's A Wonderful Life", or something out of Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.

But these places are gone. And the buildings stand empty, or are turned back into living rooms. And you have to go out to the main drag to get to a store. And your only choices are brightly lit, commercialized chains--Walgreen's, Drug Fair, Dunkin' Donuts, Dairy Queen. I'm glad I got to experience some little neighborhood stores. I hope they aren't really all dying, but I fear they are.

Bye Jo-Jo! Best wishes! And thanks for the best italian ice in the world!

Christmas Dinner

2007-12-26T21:43:00.000-05:00

I fear that this may be one of those “you had to be there” stories…but I can’t help but try to tell it anyway. This is the story of my 27th (I think) Christmas at my grandfather’s house.

The gathering at my grandfather’s house on Christmas Day is one involving my mother’s side of the family. My grandfather, at 92, is the oldest living member of this family line (at least that I am acquainted with) and thus head of the family. Therefore, we all flock to his house, at his request, on Christmas. His house, the house in which he and his wife raised their four children (the four children who return with their own families each year) is located in Garfield, NJ. Although both of my parents were born and raised in Jersey, my mother’s side embodies the Jersey stereotype far better. As soon as we walk in the door, “things” become “tings.” For example, Aunt Janet might ask, “How’s the ting?” and the correct response is, of course, “The first ting, or the second ting?” Phrases such as, “not for nothing,” “you follow me?” and “let me put it to you this here way” abound. And the television literally did fall off the truck. Really. (Grandpa: No, no! That TV come from Nick! Dat’s definitely a good TV, no doubt about dat, definitely a good TV.)

My grandfather (John, Jr.) was born in Pennsylvania in 1914. His parents had immigrated here from an unknown Slavic country (perhaps part of Austria-Hungary) and settled in PA to work in the coal mines. My grandfather managed to get about a 5th grade education before joining the workforce. He married a nice girl named Ann who came from the same village in the unknown Slavic country (or so the story goes). She didn’t know how old she was until she was married and someone managed to find her baptism certificate buried in the church records somewhere. She was horrified to find that she was older than my grandfather! When work became scarce, they moved to Garfield, NJ. My grandfather tried to join the army to fight in WWII, but was 4F on account of his leg, which had been burned severely when he was 3. And so he and my grandmother worked in factories. When the war was over, he became a butcher, and they had four children. The eldest, John III, who my mother calls Brother, and my brother and I call Uncle Brother—the twins Janet and Patty (we’re pretty sure Patty was in the CIA for awhile)—and the youngest, my mother.

On this particular Christmas, tings went as they usually do, which means that my family and I arrived in the early afternoon (with Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in tow, because Grandpa’s old percolator only makes mud) to find the whole gang assembled, except for Aunt Janet and her two children. Our first question as we walked in the door was “Is Janet here?” Janet is late…to everything. If you don’t make it before Janet, foggedaboudit. We made it, even with the stop for coffee. Grandpa has strategically rearranged all the furniture in the house to accommodate the crowd, which means that the refrigerator has been moved to the other side of the kitchen, and this leaves the heating pipe exposed. The table has also had a number of leaves added so that it takes up most of the kitchen, which in turn means that two chairs are placed dangerously close to the heating pipe. The second ting we do, after making sure Janet has not arrived yet, is to make sure someone else has to sit next to the pipe. We’ve all taken our turn…only two years ago…so it can’t possible be our turn again. Just as Joann (the wife of John IV, son of John III/Uncle Brother) is volunteering to sit by the pipe (which she should because she is new to the gathering, and she’s Polish), Aunt Janet’s two children arrive…without their mother. They are greeted by shouts of, “Hey! Where’s your modda?” But of course, they don’t know.

About 20 minutes later, Aunt Janet comes bursting through the door yelling, “You wouldn’t believe this day! I cut my finger and it won’t stop bleeding. And it’s all Alicia’s (her daughter) fault. She kept asking me about her scarf and I was thinking, I don’t care about the scarf, because I told her to get ready to leave and…” She is interrupted by Jimmy (brother of John IV, younger son of John III/Uncle Brother) who has noticed that she is carrying black shoes and wearing tan sandals over her black tights (Aunt Janet always wears black). He points this out to the rest of us, and Aunt Janet says, “Yeah, well that’s because the black shoes have paper mache on them.” At which point, we all fall on the floor laughing trying to figure out how she cut her finger, and how that can possibly have anything to do with Alicia’s scarf and paper mache on her shoes…and why on earth she couldn’t wear paper mache covered shoes outside, but it’s ok to wear them inside. My two cousins (John IV, a.k.a Johnny, and Jimmy) tease her mercilessly and keep the rest of us in hysterics. They remind us that it was only last year that Alicia stepped in dog shit on her way to Christmas dinner and Aunt Janet spent a good chunk of time outside trying to pick it out with a plastic fork. What is it with that family and shoes?

Just as I was drying the tears and catching my breath from this first bout of hysterics, Aunt Janet says, “Brian (her son), tell them about the State Police.” Brian, clearly embarrassed by his mother, says no. So Janet begins to tell the story herself…

Janet: I was making cookies the other night…

Jimmy: Cookies? Where? Did you bring them?

Janet: No, would you listen? I was making cookies…

Johnny: Out of paper mache?

Janet: No, stop! I was making these cookies, ya know what I mean? And the kids were out. And Alicia calls me and says, she says, she’s coming home in 15 minutes. And I says were you at that party Brian went to, but she says no, which is good. So I pack up the cookies and get in the car to go home…

Jimmy, Johnny, Me…well, just about everyone in the room: Home? Where were you making cookies???

Janet: Washington Township.

Us: What? Why were you making cookies in Washington Township?

Janet: I was at my friend Sue’s house. I always make cookies there.

Us: Right, of course.

Janet: So Alicia says she’s coming home in 15 minutes, and I get in the car with the cookies and drive home…

Johnny: Is Alicia wearing the scarf?

Janet: What? No. So I’m home, ya know, and I lay down but I don’t go to sleep because I’m waiting for her to get home, ya know what I mean? And it’s like three o’clock in the morning. And then I hear knocking, loud like ya know (at which point she raps on the table for affect). And I says, “Alicia?” And I hear “State Police.” And then I’m like all worried and panicking, ya know, and I think Oh my God, something happened to Alicia. So I answer the door and they tell me there is a car abandoned on the side of the road and it’s in my name, and I says, “Silver? Is it silver?” And they say yes, silver and I think somebody took Alicia, and I says, “Wait, let me call Alicia.” So I call her and she says, “Hi Mom.” So I know she’s alright and I say, “Here talk to the State Police.” and hand them the phone.

Johnny: What? You make Alicia talk to the police?

Janet: Well yeah…well, but anyway…so then we think it must be Brian’s car (also silver) so I call him up, ya know?

Brain: And I’m at a friend’s house at a party and I’m completely hammered.

Janet: And he’s drunk and I ask him about the car and he says it’s just parked on the side of the road, but the police are telling me it’s abandoned.

Brian: (Thank God he jumped in or we never would have understood what was going on). I parked my car on the side of the street in front of a friend’s house. It’s not abandoned, it’s parked. The party was at another house, so I’m about ten minutes away. After I parked there, a firefighter parked his car on the other side of the street but directly across from mine so that there was not enough room for emergency vehicles to get through. So instead of asking the firefighter to move his vehicle, they go to my mom’s house and tell her I’ve abandoned the car.

Janet: And so I handed the phone to the police and said, “Here, talk to Brian.”

Johnny & Jimmy: (slurring their speech) Yea, Officer. No I can’t move my car right now…

Janet: But it’s all the Brubanker’s fault, ‘cause he saw the car and…

Johnny: Wait, who? What? You can’t just throw in new characters!

Janet: Eh, Burbanker…he’s a state police officer, but he lives down the road and he musta seen the car and said it was one of ours…and…it was three o’clock in the morning for crying out loud! So anyway, I says to Brian you better call up whatever town your car is in and tell them you can’t move it and explain everything…

Brian: So then I had to call while I’m completely drunk…

Janet: But I can’t even hear Brian on the phone ‘cause all I can here in the background is Jon the Filipino yelling and…

Johnny and Jimmy: What??? Seriously?? Who?

Me and my brother: Jon, you know, the Filipino…he’s friends with the Brubasher guy, ya know what I mean?

Janet: He’s a friend of Brian’s. And then the police leave and run into Alicia in the driveway…

Jimmy: But what about the cookies?

Janet: Brian ate them all!

You just can’t make this stuff up. I still have no idea how the cut finger, the scarf, the paper mache, and the state police all fit together.

While Aunt Janet was providing lots of fodder for laughter, various members of the family were being summoned to the basement to help Grandpa with the cooking. Grandpa cooks in the old kitchen in the basement because the kitchen upstairs is too crowded, and besides the oven downstairs is from 1930, so it still works great! It’s a good thing that the battry in the (beep) carbon monoxide detector went 2 years ago (beep). And where the hell is the spoon with the holes in it? No, not that one! That has slots in it…we need the one with the holes. He just bought it! At the dollar store!

Grandpa has shoved all the steaks in the broiler where they will be overdone in about 30 seconds, however, Grandpa is making me fish and Johnny is forced to run up and down the basement stairs (which have, over the years sunk into the ground on one side so that it is almost like a rollercoaster ride to get up or down them) to ask me, with a smirk, things like, “Do you like your fish crispy?” We’re sure that it’s a specimen straight from the Passaic River until Jimmy reminds us that the neighbors two doors down have a coy pond. I’m just happy that Grandpa understands my non-meat-eating-nature, which he does because his younger brother was a vegetarian and a quiet and reserved individual (Grandpa told Mom once that he thought I was his brother reincarnated…I think that is probably why I needed to be exorcised before baptism…).

And finally, Grandpa emerges from the basement and says, “Let me put it to ya dis here way, we got food. How’s that for a Christmas dinner? Melisseh, pass me one of dem steaks! (beep).

Happy Winter Solstice

2007-12-20T22:48:00.000-05:00

A light shines in the darkness, and the darkness shall not overcome it.

A Pageant Curiosity

2007-12-17T20:46:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday was the Christmas Pageant at St. Paul's. It was a sight! The angels sparkled, the stars shone, the wise-people acted more like wise guys, and Mary and Joseph took good care of little plastic baby Jesus while the shepherds tended stuffed sheep. And this year, we were graced with the presence not only of cows and donkeys, but of a bunny with a fuzzy tail, a beautiful butterfly, and Jerome the Unicorn. "Well of course there was a unicorn present at the birth of Jesus! Where do you think Jesus got all of his magic powers from?" (At least that is what the young thespian playing Jerome told me). And, of course, through it all, the band played on.

I was reflecting on the pageant in light of the sermon that no one heard. This was the sermon to be preached at the 8 a.m. service (the 10 a.m. service contained the Pageant in lieu of a sermon) except that no one showed up in the snow and ice. It was only later that I got to read the sermon, and this paragraph quoted from an essay by Lane Denson caught my imagination.

“There is always an element of uncertainty in a life of faith. For this, faith must have an open mind. And open minds are not only marked by curiosity, they are also marked by risk. Curiosity and risk are two of the hallmarks of a faithful life. To make faith into a closed system, nailed down in some century long past and for all time, is not faith, but dogma. It has its place. It is orderly. Above all, it is safe, for there is little or no risk. It is the life blood of religions. But it is not faith."

Some might ask why I would allow an obviously fictional creature like a unicorn to be in the story of the Nativity. Isn't it offensive to the story, or to God? Won't it confuse the children? Well, no to the first. I believe God is insulted by far graver things. And maybe to the second...but not for long. These children know as well as we do that there was no unicorn present at the birth of Jesus. What they may not know, and what concerns me more, is that the story is a myth. It may have happened this way, and it may not have. And it doesn't matter. This story, like all biblical stories, contains much truth, but not necessarily many facts.

And so I allowed a unicorn because it was more important to me to let this young man be his dear and delightfully creative self. It was more important to me to let all my kids know that they can be themselves and bring whoever they are with them to church -- and that we will honor, love, and respect them. I have no desire to create a closed system for these children, or to nail them down in any way. I don't need to hit them over the head with dogma. I hope to help them explore their faith wherever they are and whoever they are. I hope not to stifle them, but to encourage them. Encourage them to be curious, to ask questions, to think in ways no one has ever thought before, and to risk having faith.

Elf Yourself (Since when is "elf" a verb? Since now!)

2007-12-13T07:29:00.001-05:00

I think this is hysterically funny. My friend Lindsay calls it "hysterically horrible and EVIL!" I am much amused. If you go over to the Rev'd Canon Deputy Elizabeth M. Kaeton's blog, you can see what I did to St. Paul's staff. Now, Laura, I swear I didn't know that she was going to post it to her blog for all the world to see and I promise you that if I had known, I would have used a better picture of you...except that I don't have any other pictures of you...but I love you! Really!

And here is what I've done to some of my beloved camp friends, Jenna, Kent, Lindsay, and Annie. I'm hoping they still love me...and that I still have job this summer.

Blessed Advent all! And Happy Solstice!

The Green Grinch, Part II

2007-11-26T07:46:00.000-05:00

That's what it is, I think, that rubs me the wrong way about a green holiday. All the preaching and trying to convert people. Not really my style. That's not how I preach, and I don't try to convert people...to anything. This paragraph from the article below says it very well:

"This Grinch, however, is not out to spoil Christmas, but merely to use it as a platform to advocate ecological responsibility. Perhaps emboldened by the “Live Earth” benefit concerts and Al Gore’s Nobel Peace Prize, this is the family member who is the first to point out, over the bountiful Christmas dinner, that the 2.6 billion holiday cards sold each year in the United States could fill a landfill the size of a football field 10 stories high, or that those conventional lights on the Christmas tree contribute up to nine times as much greenhouse-gas emissions as the leaner-burning L.E.D. models; or that some Christmas-tree growers use as many as 40 different pesticides, as well as chemical colorants, on their crops."

In the end, that's not what Christmas is about either. Christmas is not a platform. And, to simply stand on the other side of the spectrum--to do the opposite of the societal norm and tell people everything that is bad about how they celebrate...well I just don't think that is helpful. I'm not saying we shouldn't be green. Of course I think we should. It's just the way of going about it that is bothering me. It seems like there should be a way that doesn't involve judgment and guilt and fighting. And really, I just wonder what it would be like to actually celebrate the Nativity of our Lord.

The Green Grinch

2007-11-26T07:44:00.000-05:00

From THE NEW YORK TIMES

Jolly and Green, With an Agenda

By ALEX WILLIAMS
LAST Christmas, Donna Hoffman, an ardent environmentalist who lives in Austin, Tex., came up with an unlikely gift for each member of her family: an energy-efficient compact fluorescent light bulb.

“I wanted to connect through the gift-giving tradition,” said Ms. Hoffman, 45, who works as a coordinator for the Sierra Club. “I also wanted to communicate my own deeply-felt environmental conviction.”

In particular, Ms. Hoffman said, she hoped to make a point to her sister, Cynda Reznicek, who works for a construction company that builds “a lot of nasty, old-style fossil fuel-related stuff,” including highways and coal-fired electricity plants.

While Ms. Reznicek, 50, found the light bulb an amusing gift, and even useful (she has since replaced all the incandescent bulbs in her house), she said she wondered if the holidays were the time to preach austerity.

“We spent so many years so poor, where we didn’t have the money to do much,” Ms. Reznicek said. Now that she and her husband, Steve, a lawyer, are doing better financially, “we’re at the point now where we can be a little more extravagant,” she said. “It’s just a joy.”

Cut back now? With all due respect to her sister, Ms. Reznicek said, “We thought she was nuts.”

Frivolity versus severity. Materialism versus sacrifice. Welcome to the “green” holidays.

The holidays have always been an emotionally combustible time for families, bringing together a sometimes volatile mix of siblings, crotchety grandparents and ill-behaved children. But in recent years, a new figure has joined the celebration, to complicate the proceedings even further: the green evangelist of the family — the impassioned activist bent on eradicating the wasteful materialism of the holidays.

Otherwise known, at least to skeptical traditionalists, as the new Grinch.

This Grinch, however, is not out to spoil Christmas, but merely to use it as a platform to advocate ecological responsibility. Perhaps emboldened by the “Live Earth” benefit concerts and Al Gore’s Nobel Peace Prize, this is the family member who is the first to point out, over the bountiful Christmas dinner, that the 2.6 billion holiday cards sold each year in the United States could fill a landfill the size of a football field 10 stories high, or that those conventional lights on the Christmas tree contribute up to nine times as much greenhouse-gas emissions as the leaner-burning L.E.D. models; or that some Christmas-tree growers use as many as 40 different pesticides, as well as chemical colorants, on their crops.

The question that an increasing number of families face is whether the proselytizing green member of the clan adds spice to the proceeding, like, say, a cup of whiskey in a bowl of eggnog, or an explosive element, like that same cup of whiskey tossed into the fire on Christmas morning.

IT’S not just the greens who feel this emotional tug at the end of the year: A 2005 survey by the Center for a New American Dream showed that 78 percent of Americans wish the holidays were “less materialistic.” At the same time, the average American spends about $900 on presents each year, according to the National Retail Federation.

Still, to some ears, the call for less excessive consumption during the holidays sounds almost un-American.

“The point of the holidays for many people is the joy people get in giving,” said Kenneth P. Green, a resident scholar on environmental issues at the American Enterprise Institute. Environmentalists who scold their families are simply making “ritualistic gestures that won’t solve the problem,” he said.

The concept of a green holiday is so new, said Amanda Freeman, a founder of the environmental Web site Vitaljuicedaily.com, that no one has yet codified the etiquette. “I think you have to watch the line between giving people helpful tips they may not know about, and criticizing everything they do,” she said.

The drama is heightened because “everyone already feels pressure this time of year,” said Pauline Wallin, a clinical psychologist in Camp Hill, Pa., “The roads are more crowded, the malls are more crowded. There are expectations to be nice to people you don’t necessarily like. When somebody comes in and starts preaching, it’s one more thing they have to think about.”

Indeed, Claire Roby, a senior majoring in environmental studies at American University in Washington, said she is already preparing for conflict when she travels home to Oklahoma this Christmas. Ms. Roby plans to spread the green message with the gifts she gives: handmade clocks made from discarded CDs and scavenged electronic components, wrapped in newspaper.

“We’ll see how much we can avoid a dinner table argument this year,” Ms. Roby, 22, said. “There’s always that uncle or grandfather who knows what you care passionately about and is going to say anything he can to rile you up.”

Dr. Wallin said that environmental activists can avoid arguments by trying to lead by example, not by lecture. “Don’t force them to change,” she said. “It may take two or three seasons, but you are not going to get anywhere by showing up and thumbing your nose.”

(Anxious greens can consult the Sierra Club’s Web site, which provides actual scripts to recite during dinner-table debates. For example, when “Aunt Mim” shrugs off global warming, the activist might respond: “A delicate balance has been thrown out of whack, and the consequences are really rather frightening. At this pace, Mim, we could see an ice-free Arctic by midcentury.”)

Jenni Skyler, a sex and relationship counselor from Miami, said she already achieved results this year by shifting her strategy away from guilt trips.

This year, Ms. Skyler, 26, decided to cap off a year in which she moved from Florida to ecologically conscious Boulder, Colo., and gave up her car for a bike, with an all-out assault on holiday waste.

When Ms. Skyler first floated the idea to her family of replacing all presents with time donated to charity, she faced resistance. “They’d give me grief,” she said. “They’d say, ‘Those are your values, not ours.’”

So Ms. Skyler wrote a passionate letter to the family, detailing her own conversion, spurred by concerns about global warming. She hoped others would follow suit. When her stepsister started to show interest in the proposal, Ms. Skyler recalled, her father joked, “When you sell your engagement ring, we can talk about fighting consumerism.”

But after lengthy conversations, her stepmother, Mercy Bach, a state judge, finally brokered a compromise. She suggested the family trade chores and services, not material gifts.

“I’m really looking forward to simplifying and not having to go to all the malls to buy 10 Christmas presents,” Ms. Bach said. “I think it’s going to be a relief.”

It remains to be seen if that view will ever come to prevail among the most vocal champions of conspicuous yuletide consumption: children.

Victoria Perla, the author of the children’s book “When Santa Turned Green” (Plan G) and a mother of two, said she tried to introduce her children to an ecologically conscious holiday by increments.

With children, Ms. Perla said: “You don’t need to take them along in baby steps. Kids can learn faster than that.”

Still, she said: “If you turn around and say this Christmas is going to be 180 degrees different from every Christmas you’ve ever had, that wouldn’t be fair, or realistic. You have to bring them along slowly.”

In her own family, Ms. Perla said she read her children her book — in which Santa’s home at the North Pole is melted by global warming — before bed, but also conditioned them to anticipate experiential gifts, as well as robes and slippers for the winter when she keeps her thermostat down. Already, she said, her daughter, Julia, 6, has dozed off “absolutely wired up, talking about her green ideas, speaking about carbon dioxide correctly.”

Ms. Perla’s 10-year-old son, Paul, who routinely used Christmas to stock up on the latest electronic toys, also sounded convinced.

“You don’t have to wrap your presents and stuff,” he said. “You waste paper by doing that. And sometimes there’s a lot better things than toys, like if you got taken to a really good show.”

The same may be true for adults as well. Last year, Kristine Gardner, 31, a Pilates teacher who lives in Pacific Palisades, Calif., decided to go green for the holidays with her husband, Scott, who works for a private equity firm and specializes in the renewable energy field. They gave their extended family donations to TerraPass, a company that allows motorists to buy carbon offsets for their cars, and gave each other donations to charity in lieu of traditional presents.

“It’s taken me a little while to adjust to it,” Ms. Gardner admitted, “because I’m one who would like to wake up on Christmas morning and get a new pair of Jimmy Choos, or a new iPod.”

But, Ms. Gardner said, “My husband has helped educate me on that.”

More or less.

“I probably wouldn’t return the Jimmy Choos,” she said about this year. “But I won’t cry if I don’t get them.”

What to buy? All or Nothing.

2007-11-24T21:18:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Black Friday—the first shopping day of the “Christmas Season” when every single store in the US (well, ok, I’m assuming) has a sale or promotion of some sort. And when tons of us go out to get the big deals so that we can give our loved ones lots of stuff to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. I find this disturbing, although it’s not because I don’t like shopping or giving people presents.

Yesterday was also Buy Nothing Day—the alterative, green holiday that was purposely placed on the biggest shopping day of the year. I also find this disturbing, although it’s not because I don’t believe that reducing consumption would be good for the planet and humankind.

I was thinking about these two simultaneous observances yesterday while cleaning out my room. I suppose I was observing the latter, as I did not buy anything, unless you count heat and electricity. I was thinking about it because I was pitching a lot of useless crap that I have accumulated over the past 4 years or so. And I was dreading the useless crap I am soon to acquire under the Christmas tree—which led me to think about the useless crap I will put under the tree for others—which reminded me of how much I hate it all and how much I wish I could just celebrate Christmas without the pressure, stress, and guilt of the whole present thing. And really, I wish I could observe Advent at all.

I think Buy Nothing Day bothers me because it seems to juvenile. I can just see a little liberal hippie stomping her foot and saying, “Oh yea?? Well, I’m not going to buy ANYTHING today! So there!” (And, just so we’re clear here, I am a liberal hippie who has said that in the past.) I just wonder if that is really helpful. Maybe that isn't fair. It does raise awareness, I'm sure. And that is important.

I am not sure what I will do about this this year…but I’ll keep you posted.

Belief-O-Matic

2007-11-05T18:27:00.000-05:00

Using Law of Cyberspace #763, which states that one may use one online quiz to define and explain another online quiz because they are all equally inaccurate, I have found another quiz to help me understand my liberalism. I am most confused about the "non-Jesus-based though" portion, so I went over to the "Belief-O-Matic" so that I can better understand my spiritual beliefs. Here are my results, in full:

Your Results:

The top score on the list below represents the faith that Belief-O-Matic, in its less than infinite wisdom, thinks most closely matches your beliefs. However, even a score of 100% does not mean that your views are all shared by this faith, or vice versa.

Belief-O-Matic then lists another 26 faiths in order of how much they have in common with your professed beliefs. The higher a faith appears on this list, the more closely it aligns with your thinking.

1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Liberal Quakers (99%)
3. Neo-Pagan (91%)
4. New Age (82%)
5. Secular Humanism (81%)
6. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (80%)
7. Reform Judaism (78%)
8. Mahayana Buddhism (76%)
9. Bah�'� Faith (66%)
10. Theravada Buddhism (61%)
11. New Thought (60%)
12. Taoism (59%)
13. Jainism (55%)
14. Sikhism (55%)
15. Scientology (54%)
16. Hinduism (50%)
17. Nontheist (49%)
18. Orthodox Quaker (48%)
19. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (41%)
20. Orthodox Judaism (41%)
21. Islam (37%)
22. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (25%)
23. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (24%)
24. Seventh Day Adventist (22%)
25. Jehovah's Witness (15%)
26. Eastern Orthodox (13%)
27. Roman Catholic (13%)

The most disturbing part of this, I think, is that Scientology has made the list at all! And at 54%!! Which question did I answer wrong for that to score so high!

In any event, I feel as though I know myself much better now and from here on out will refer to myself as a "Unitarian Universalist Liberal Quaker Neo-Pagan New Age Secular Humanist Mainline Liberal Christian Protestant."

If anyone else wants to play:

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/76/story_7665_1.html

I'm What Kind of Liberal???

2007-11-04T20:57:00.000-05:00

My Liberal Identity:

You are a Reality-Based Intellectualist, also known as the liberal elite. You are a proud member of what’s known as the reality-based community, where science, reason, and non-Jesus-based thought reign supreme.

Take the quiz at www.FightConservatives.com

Thanks to Grandmere Mimi for this quiz. I'm not sure what this means. I mean, I'm pretty fond of Jesus. I just don't happen to be all that fond of the religious right, and I tend to be in favor of the separation of church and state. I wonder if this quiz allows for being a liberal AND a Christian. What does "non-Jesus-based thought" mean anyway?

A New Friend

2007-11-03T10:31:00.000-04:00

Well, it's taken awhile, but it's happened. I've fallen in love with Anne Lamott. I read her because...no, I had one of her books because the pastor of the church I did my supervised ministry at gave it to me when I left. She and I both loved books and she asked me what books I wanted when I left. I told her. And she gave me Anne Lamott instead. And I didn't read it.

But a dear friend from camp really likes Anne and said I would too. So when I found myself without anything else to read, I picked up "Traveling Mercies." As I read it, I thought, "I don't like this as much as people said I would." But I did like it...sort of.

Anne accompanied me to most meals I ate alone and sometimes stopped by just before bed or just before getting up in the morning.

And then I finished "Traveling Mercies."

And then I found I missed Anne. "Damn, how'd she do that!" I thought. So I found myself a copy of "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith" and I think I like it even better than "Traveling Mercies."

She makes me feel as though the messed up parts of my life are actually fairly normal and common. This is not to say that they are less messed up--it's just that "messed up" turns out to be pretty common, it's just mostly covered up.

And she says such wonderful things like this:

When she is trying to get others to help her with the Sunday School at church and the only people who volunteer are more middle-aged white women, she says, "This was sort of frustrating, but one of the immutable laws of being human is that the people who show up are the right people."

"One secret of life is that the reason life works at all is that not everyone in your tribe is nuts on the same day. Another secret is that laughter is carbonated holiness."

"God must see me as so many people at once: beloved, nuts, luminous, full of shadow."

She tells her life as it is--or seems to. She doesn't leave out the bumps and bruises or the times when she feels crazy or hopless or like a failure. The thing is, she's not more so than anyone else. She's just okay with it. I think that's called humility. Or maybe grace. Gracious accommodation of the self.

The Powerlessness of Uncertainty

2007-11-02T07:55:00.000-04:00

I’ve been inspired by a friend. Recently she has written about “the power of seeming certain.” The power of seeming certain, that is, about who you are—about your identity. And about how one’s understanding of one’s identity then influences how one behaves in the world. She says, “[O]ur understanding of our identity frames the way in which we view the world and the language we employ in our conversations about God and religion and the human enterprise.”

She expounds upon this using two different views of the story of creation found in Genesis. One more Calvinist view that uses as a starting point the “fact” that humankind is broken, sinful, and fallen and another more Anglican view that starts with the goodness of all of creation (“and God saw that it was very good.”)

Well, well, well. If that doesn’t scream my name, I don’t know what does, as I continue to wrestle with my own identity and to hold in tension the Calvinist tradition of my upbringing with a new found attraction to the Anglican tradition.

And so, since she has inspired me, I will respire here and see if I can’t incarnate something interesting.

I am speaking here purely from my own experience of my denomination (“my” being the one I was brought up in, the one that my father was brought up in, the one that my grandfather was brought up in, that came out of the tradition that my ancestors carried with them from Holland) the Reformed Church in America (RCA). I believe the RCA (and perhaps other Calvinist traditions, but I cannot speak to those) may have very little sense of its identity. We are, I dare say, very uncertain of who we are, which makes some of us panic and grasp at things that seem certain. We are not who we were, and we have no vision or direction for what we will be. We were Dutch. We were Calvinist. But now? After over 200 years of being the Reformed Church IN AMERICA?

Now, I think, we are in transition and many of us are moving in different directions. Traditionally we believed in Total depravity, Unconditional election, Limited atonement, Irresistible grace, Perseverance of the saints (TULIP—ever wonder why there is a fine for picking tulips in Holland, MI?) We started from that place of broken, sinful, fallen-ness. We believed in predestination, and even double predestination. But now? Now many that I know say, “Yeah, but nobody believes in that anymore.” But if no one believes this anymore, what do we believe?

And certainly there are those who do still believe all of these things and who seem so certain—those that hold on so tightly to what was that they can look at a room of (somewhat) ethnically diverse people that represent the RCA and say, “But we’re Dutch!” Those who can’t figure out how to ordain people who have gone to seminary “somewhere else.” Those who make no room for women, ethnic minorities, or GLBT persons.

And then there are those who are simply lost—uncertain of who they are and who the church is. Those who float around and simply say nothing. Those who do not stand up for anything, including themselves. Those waiting for someone else to tell them who they are.

Finally, there are a few—only a very few—whose prophetic voices ring out with hope. Those who can see light at the end of the tunnel. Those who have a vision.

But the prophetic voices are hard to hear amid the cacophony of angry shouts and confused murmurings. As a whole we are unsure of our identity and we are unsure of our theology. And thus, we stand for nothing. We cannot be a prophetic voice in the world—we cannot demand justice—we cannot even seek out hope. Mostly, it seems that a majority are too afraid that our identity might change, that they cannot admit that our identity has changed.

We’re pretty much dead in the water. We’re supposed to be Ecclesia Reformata, Semper Reformanda. The church reformed and always being reformed. And being reformed is supposed to mean going back to basics—sola scriptura and all that. And it is supposed to be God who reforms us. God who re-forms us. But I think we’re too scared to let her.

And in the end, my stomach starts to turn a little sour and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I want to think about how to talk to kids about the fifth day of creation, and about what new and exciting things we can do with the Christmas Pageant this year.

Autumnal Musings

2007-10-24T23:24:00.000-04:00

The moon is full, the autumn nights grow longer,
In the north forests startled crows cry out.
Still high overhead, the star river stretches,
The Dipper's handle set to southwest.
The cold cricket grieves deep in the chambers,
Of the notes of sweet birds, none remain.
Then one evening gust of autumn come,
One who sleeps alone thinks fondly on thick quilts.
Past loves are a thousand miles farther each day,
Blocked from my drifting and my sinking.
Man's [sic] life is not as the grass and trees;
Still the season's changes can stir the heart.

-Wei Ying Wu

Going to Get a Pumpkin

2007-10-16T18:24:00.001-04:00

Well, the secret is out. One of the reasons I like working with kids so much is because I myself am a big kid. Alright, alright…so that wasn’t so much of a secret.

But when I was a kid, every year around this time my family (my mom, dad, brother and I) would pile into the car on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon to “go get a pumpkin.” We would always go to Tice’s Farm (which, unfortunately now is called “Tice’s Corner” and is a shopping center. NJ!). And EVERY year on the way to Tice’s Farm, we would get lost. And EVERY year I would be nervous because I hated to be lost. And EVERY year, we would eventually find it.

Once we finally made it to the farm and the butterflies left my stomach, we would go in search of pumpkins. The pumpkins were already picked for you and lined up as far as the eye could see…or as far as I could see. We would walk up and down the rows trying to find just the right one. The prices were written on them with black sharpie (which meant either you’d have to paint over that later, or that would need to be the back of your pumpkin). After a long, hard search, the perfect one would finally be found and would be hauled off to the car. Sometime during the search, there would be the obligatory pumpkin picture (this is one of those pictures where you have the same one of yourself every year and can watch yourself grow). At the back of the rows of pumpkins was a giant wooden cutout of a jack-o-lantern. So every year my brother and I would stand in its mouth and have our picture taken.

After all of the pumpkin activities, we would move on to apple cider. This was probably my favorite part. There was a store at Tice’s where you could buy things like apple cider, donuts, apples, Indian corn, and other autumnal items. But just outside the store was a wooden counter with a window above it. You could go to the window and give whomever was there a quarter and they would give you a small plastic cup. Then you could put your cup under the one of the spigots just above the counter and turn it on—AND APPLE CIDER WOULD COME OUT! It really was the most amazing thing. You could fill your cup as many times as you liked, although you did have to watch out for the bees. We would always then buy a gallon of cider and some homemade donuts and head home with all of our treats.

Well, we stopped going to Tice’s quite a few years ago, but I still get the urge to buy pumpkins, cider and donuts in mid-October. So when my parents decided to visit this past weekend, I suggested that we do just that. We found a new farm to go to—Wightman’s. It bore many similarities to Tice’s, although it wasn’t quite the same. We were able to pick apples, which we had never done at Tice’s. Then we headed over to the rows and rows of pumpkins and found the perfect one. And then, we went into the little shop and bought apple cider and donuts. There were no small 25 cent cups and no spigots in the wall, but we did get a cup to drink right away, and some to take home. And, well, the trip just wouldn’t have been complete without the picture.

Running

2007-10-06T08:12:00.000-04:00

I went running yesterday. I use the term "running" loosely, because, although I am indeed running, I am not running all that far. But for a body that has never really exercised all that much (at least not in its adult life), I don't think it's too bad. Anyway, I've been running several times a week--except for when my foot started to hurt from my VERY OLD sneakers and I decided not to run again until I got new ones, and then I did and I got sick--but I'm back at it.

I run at this wonderful place that is not unlike heaven along the Loantaka Brook. I run on a paved path through the woods (it wouldn't be paved in heaven) until the end. And then I have arrived at a place I have never been to by car, so it seems to be in the middle of a magical nowhere. There is a pond, and trees, and fields. So I walk around for a bit saying hello to the tree that stretches out over the brook, and watching the swan on the pond, and lying down in the grass to search for the moon just coming out.

This seems to satisfy the part of my spirit that needs to be in contact with natural things. I hadn't realized that I needed it. I knew I liked it. And I knew that when I felt really bad, a walk among the trees often made me feel better. But now that I go regularly, it has dawned on me that I actually NEED this. The regular practice of being outside with the crickets and birds and breezes and trees and grasses actually keeps me from feeling really bad. It's a million times better than therapy and yoga combined.

Yesterday, as I was walking around the pond to the place where I lie in the grass (a note to Karen: you can lie IN the grass because it is three-dimensional, unlike the floor, which is two dimensional and which you lie ON.) and as I came around a small grove of trees so that I could see the water again, there not only was the swan--looking all regal and stately--but also a Great Blue Heron. It was just standing there in the water with one foot up about 10 feet from me. Both birds were looking at me and were nervous. I sat down, right there in the path, to watch them. They tolerated me only for a minute or so and then took off yelling things back at me. I don't think I've ever seen a swan fly before. Their necks are very, very long--and they do indeed look like the constellation Cygnus.

I was too early for the moon, but the clouds were beautiful. High altitude cirrus clouds made the sky look like sand dunes. I learned somewhere that they signal that the weather will change soon. I'm really hoping for a gigantic thunderstorm. I feel as though we need to be thoroughly washed out after all this heat and humidity. But, alas, the weather prediction is for more of the same.

What goes perfectly with any bathroom decor? The BVM, of course!

2007-09-28T20:07:00.001-04:00

The latest in bathroom decorating! Holy women! Check out our new shower curtain here at "that house" in South Orange.

You can see how it ties in wonderfully with our night light and candle!

What can I say? I live a strange life in a strange house where you are bound to run into Jesus in every room, there are vestments strewn about the living room waiting to be ironed, morning prayer is said on the porch, and there is a healthy supply of bourbon in the kitchen.

The best part about the new shower curtain though... is NO MILDEW!! Mary and I are both happy about that.

A Second Summer Sermon

2007-09-20T15:26:00.000-04:00

Keepers of the Way
Sunday, July 29, 2007 – Proper 12
Genesis 18: 20-32 and Luke 11: 1-13
Camp Fowler
Melissa Brandes

Ask and you shall receive
Seek and you shall find
Knock and the door shall be opened

I feel like these are words from the Bible that get overused, and that, to my ears at least, have lost their meaning simply because I have heard them too many times. At a very basic level, they are but definitions. You ask in order to receive. You seek in order to find. You knock in order for the door to be opened. But the thing is that none of those outcomes is guaranteed. You could ask and be declined. You could seek and become lost. You could knock and be turned away. You could risk and succeed. But then again, you could risk and fail. And of course, the only way to never fail is to never ask, seek or knock. It is much safer to just keep quiet—to lay low. It would be quite convenient if Jesus were to say, “Hey don’t worry about it. Don’t pray at all. You don’t need to do anything. God will take care of it.” But that’s not what Jesus says.

Jesus says ask, seek, and knock…on God’s door. What are you kidding???

If you really think about it, it’s scary as anything. We do it every week…or every other week…or maybe just on Christmas and Easter…so it seems fairly normal—mundane even. But think about it-- we come to church for an encounter with the divine. That’s scary stuff. In Hinduism, they call it “darsan.” Darsan is when you see God…and when God sees you. Just you and the divine looking each other square in the face.

Annie Dillard, a favorite author here at camp, says it this way, “On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”
Annie Dillard, from "An Expedition to the Pole" in Teaching a Stone to Talk

Maybe the disciples are aware of how scary it is when they ask Jesus how to pray. Maybe that’s why they ask. How do we do this thing? How do we approach the divine? I wonder if they get the answer they are looking for. Jesus gives them words to say, but then he seems to say—it’s just important to pray. Keep asking, keep seeking, keep knocking.

But asking God seems a little bit like trying to pet Scamper, the Busmans’ cat. With Scamper, you can never be quite sure if the response will be purring or biting, so it’s best to pet and then run for cover.

Abraham seems to grasp the profundity of a conversation with God. He understands both that talking to God is risky and scary, and that it is important for him to do it. He asks, and asks, and asks again. God, will you spare Sodom for 50 righteous? 45 righteous? Don’t get mad at me if I ask again, but 40 righteous? 30? I know it’s bold of me to ask, but 20? Please don’t be angry with me, but what about 10 righteous? Would you spare the city for 10 righteous?

But why does Abraham risk this? Why is he so bold as to question God? To make sure God will do what is right? There is a fascinating little conversation that God has with Godself in this passage. God says, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, seeing that Abraham shall become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? No, for I have chosen him, that he may charge his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice; so that the Lord may bring about for Abraham what he has promised him.” And then God lets Abraham in on what is about to happen.

And Abraham doesn’t miss a beat.

He is cautious when he shares his insights with God, but he doesn’t let any fear he might have stop him from asking God to spare Sodom. Abraham has been let in on the plan and has been named “the keeper of the way of the Lord”—the keeper of righteousness and justice. He is to charge his children and his household to do what is right and just. He doesn’t shy away from his role. This is his responsibility, and in this particular case it requires him to ask God to be as righteous and just as possible with Sodom. “Please, don’t destroy the city if there are still righteous there.”

Abraham asks and receives. God listens and is moved. God is not angered by Abraham’s asking (in fact, God seems quite willing to stay and talk with Abraham as long as he’d like). What God is angered by is the wickedness of Sodom, which Ezekiel tells us is having pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, while not aiding the poor and needy. They were snooty and did abominable things. (Ezekiel 16: 49). Perhaps when those of Sodom talked to God they asked for the wrong things—for the things that cause injustice. Or perhaps they had stopped talking to God altogether. Maybe they had forgotten how to talk to God.

I don’t know if the disciples forgot, or if they never knew in the first place, but we find them puzzled by the task in this passage. Jesus, what are we supposed to do? What are we supposed to say? When you pray, say something like this:

Dear God, who is like a father to us, like a mother to us
Give us today what we need for today—but not any more—so that everyone has enough
Forgive us for those times when we have not cared for each other—and help us to forgive each other in the same manner.
Keep us from being tempted by pride, excess food and prosperous ease
Don’t let us fall into the evil of turning away from those who need help

But more importantly, when you pray be keepers of the way of the Lord. Ask, seek, and knock—for righteousness and justice. Again and again and again. Amen.

The Summer: A Summary

2007-09-16T16:47:00.000-04:00

July 1st, huh? That was my last post? That's pretty pathetic.

Well, then, here it is. The summer in review!

Week #10 (This is the first week of camp. Why are the week numbers by tens? No one really knows. It must be like tying up cats):
I spent the week at First Reformed Church in Albany as director of the daycamp program there. This means that four other staff and I loaded 4 square balls, hoola hoops, art supplies, guitars, and a large stuffed moose named Bullwinkle into the large blue van we affectionately refer to as "Babe" and set out for the big city! As we drove into town with all of our toys, songs, and fun, we couldn't help feeling like the gang from Scooby Doo. (I got to be Fred, because I was the driver and leader of the group. No, I did not wear an ascot.) I kept thinking, if you were a kid, how cool would it be to see us roll into town?? We spent the week with about 25 kids between the ages of 8 and 13. Not many of them were from the church, but from the neighborhood. In addition to coordinating everyone (the staff, the volunteers from the church, the kids) I also led worship times in the chapel and "Discovery Time," which is the Bible-study-lesson-for-the-day-time. One day, I asked the kids how many stories they could remember about Jesus, fully aware that some of these kids had never been to church before. They blew me away! They remembered so many stories that I started to get worried that they would remember more than I did! But then there were the kids who had not heard these stories before. Again, blown away. We were having a discussion about something, and all of a sudden we had to put the brakes on, when one boy raised his hand and said, "So wait. He rose from the dead???" Right, I suppose that is a bit shocking if you've never heard it before! We had great fun in Albany, and I learned a great deal about being in charge. Sadly, it was discovered upon our return that Babe has a serious injury (something about a cracked axel?) and we were actually in great danger while driving him. He was out of commission for the rest of the summer.

Week #20
This week I was back in camp and on the Nature Staff! We and our 5th-7th graders shared camp with a Lutheran Confirmation class on retreat. Because of the daycamp the week before, I had two days off this week and didn't begin the week until Tuesday. This made things a bit more difficult. No one knew who I was! I took some campers canoeing mid week on a very strange day at camp. Ordinarily, wind blows across the lake in such a way that it "blows you home." Paddling out from camp is usually the difficult part, but paddling back is easy. And this is great with young canoers who are tired. For some reason, the wind had changed and was blowing away from camp instead of toward camp that day. We paddled out with great ease and gunwaled up (lined the boats up side by side) and took water samples from the lake with the intention of looking for tiny creatures under the microscope. It took awhile to get our samples and the wind was blowing us further and further from camp. When we finished, we began to paddle home, but we were no match for the wind. It was the only time I've been with kids in boats that I ever really thought we were never going to make it. The boats began to get spread out and some kids were so tired that they really couldn't paddle anymore. And we weren't going anywhere. Because there had been an odd number of people, I was not in a canoe like everyone else, but in a kayak. So I switched places with the adult volunteer who was in the back of a canoe and sent him back to camp for some more tow rope with the hopes that by tying the slower boats to the faster ones, we'd all make it home. The volunteer I sent back had biceps the size of watermelons, so he flew back to camp. Well, apparently he found some people on the beach and asked for help because soon the rescue squad was out to save us! Three kayaks and a motor boat full of staff appeared! (A bit of overkill). The kayakers were ready to lash themselves to canoes and pull them home and those in the motorboat were poised to jump into canoes as relief paddlers. It was quite a sight! Needless to say, we all made it back in time for dinner.

Week #30
My second week on Nature Staff. Week #30 is Adirondack Quest week where some of the bravest 7th-9th graders in New York State gather to be challenged by the mountains and waterways of the largest State Park in the contiguous U.S. I got to lead the famous "Escape Canoe" trip. We began on our very own beach on Lake Sacandaga ("The Lake of Many Rocks" and they ain't kiddin') and paddled along the shore until we reached the outlet stream. The stream led us to Lake Pleasant, where the hard work really starts. Lake Pleasant is much larger than Sacandaga and we had to paddle across a large part of it. Everyone was doing very well. We gunwaled up by the island in the middle of the lake that is home to Camp Tapawingo, a camp for girls (why are the girls put out on an island? and where do the boys go?) and ate some granola bars to keep our strength up. Soon we reached the beach in Speculator where we stopped for lunch, discovery time, and a bit of swimming. Then it was back into the canoes and up the Kunjamuk Creek to Duck Bay where Jordan was scheduled to pick us up with the van and canoe trailer and bring us home. The Kunjamuk is a lovely winding creek with marshy land on either side. It would be very difficult to get from the middle of the creek to the bank because of all this marshy-ness, and it would be impossible to do it quickly. As we were paddling, I was watching not only the time, but the sky. Some clouds had begun to roll in. But Duck Bay was not far. We followed a blue heron upstream for awhile and then I heard it. Or I thought I heard it. It could have been a truck on the road. We weren't that far from the road. Or it could have been an airplane. But no, there it was again. Definitely thunder. Thunder plus water plus aluminum canoes equals trouble. The rule is: when you hear thunder, get off the water as soon as you can safely do so and wait. It there is no thunder for 20 minutes, you can get back on the water. Well, with all the marshy-ness, there was no getting off the water, except at Duck Bay, where Jordan was waiting for us. "Paddle faster!" I yelled to the group. But the thing about inexperienced canoers and winding rivers with marshy sides is that most of the time, the canoes are stuck in one bit of marsh or another. I could see Duck Bay, but there were a number of twists and turns before we would actually be there. So I sent the faster canoers ahead with the adult volunteer hoping that Jordan wouldn't be late and would be there to pull boats out of the water, and turned around to go back and help the slow-stuck-in-the-mud boat. As I turned my head, I saw perhaps the scariest thing I have ever seen. My slowest campers in their canoe stuck in the mud and directly behind them a HUGE BOLT OF LIGHTNING. "Crap! Paddle faster!" was all I could get out. But they didn't, probably because they couldn't. We finally made it to the edge of the bay, but they were still lagging behind. I started paddling hard, so that I could get my boat to shore, dump my campers, tell Jordan to get in the boat and go back to tow the tired and slow campers. (Jordan, thankfully, was there when the first boats arrived and had pulled all of the other kids out of the water). But as I began to execute my plan, I saw that there was no need. Something inspired that slow boat to work a little harder and they soon were off the water too. And we all lived happily ever after.

Week #40, #50, #60, and #70

And so begins my time chaplaining. There were four of us on staff this year with "Assistant Chaplain" in our contracts. We called ourselves "The ACs for JC" and the hot pink "Ask Me Jesus" was our mascot. (We only offended a few people, I think). The job of the AC is to, well, assist the chaplain, who is usually clergy from a church in the synod. The chaplain is only at camp for one week, so the AC is the glue that binds him or her to the rest of the staff. Weeks #40 and #60 this was my job. I assisted the chaplains. Week #50, the chaplain couldn't come at the last minute, so one of the other ACs and I took over as co-chaplains. And week #70, as planned, three of us ACs were tri-chaplains (which spurred many Trinity jokes...). These weeks were the most challenging for me, and the weeks where I learned the most. Week #70, the tri-chaplain week, was our week of high schoolers. We managed to do what no one thought could be done with high schoolers at camp: Bible study. (I'm not exactly sure why "everyone" thought it so impossible for high schoolers to talk with each other about the Bible...). The campers really bonded with their small groups and ended up having some great conversations. I think we often underestimate children and youth. They are, for the most part, capable of a lot more than we think, if we only give them the chance. We also offered a table where they could light candles and say prayers. We nearly burned down the chapel with all of our prayers every night.

Week #80

Back to nature staff, technically. In actuality, because of the fact that many staff were already leaving to head back to college, I got to try some new things. One day, I was on Arts and Crafts, the next on Waterfront, and finally on Nature and Wilderness. I made paper mache picture frames, taught kids how to canoe, identified wild edible plants, taught kids about the composting toilet, and supervised the sleep out in the wilderness area. This is also the week Jenna and Austin came to camp!!

Week #90
Family Camp! Family Camp is much easier to run, in many ways, because all of the children are accompanied by their parents. The staff provide activities and programming, but no one has to do anything, if they don't want to. Our job is to help families spend time together. We also begin to clean up and pack things away for the winter. I decided to lead the trip to Mud Lake, because it had been several years since I had been there. The group who came with me included Zoe Grace, one of my favorite 9 year olds, Rae, a young Japanese woman about to start college in NY, a quiet 12 year old boy and his father trying to spend some quality time together, and the chaplain, his wife and their four young daughters. We piled in canoes and set out across Lake Sacandaga to Burnt Place Brook. We had very little rain this summer, so the lake and the brook were very, very, very low. Burnt Place Brook is home to a number of North America's largest rodents. These remarkable creatures had constructed ELEVEN DAMS between Sacandaga and Mud Lake. And we had to go up and over all of them. But we made it! The chaplain's youngest daughter fell asleep at Mud Lake and had a lovely nap, until we started back...over ELEVEN BEAVER DAMS! That's 22 all together...just in case you weren't counting...because we sure were! And then the big paddle back to camp. Everyone worked very hard, and we were all very proud of ourselves upon our arrival back at camp. I was sore for days...

So there it is. That's what I did over summer vacation.

P.S. This is Jonah. No post about camp is complete without Jonah, the camp dog who lost his tail to a huge fish that lives in the lake...so the story goes...

Sabbath

2007-07-01T19:22:00.001-04:00

Every summer (for approximately the last 10 years) a group of Muslims use our camp for a spiritual retreat. The Imam is good friends with the director of the camp and I have witnessed their love and respect for each other, and each other’s religious traditions, over the seven summers I have been here. This year, I was invited to join the group for evening prayers along with the other ACs for JC. Three of us went, along with our director. Miriam and I found the longest skirts we have brought with us and tied scarves around our heads and headed out to meet Kent and Eric. Prayers were to begin at 10:30pm, so we walked in the dark over to the retreat house—enjoying the stars along the way. When we arrived, Miriam and I went down one staircase, and the guys went down another. The Imam was teaching and answering questions from the retreat participants who were all seated on the floor in front of him—the men in the front and the women in the back. When Miriam and I reached the door, the women looked over and smiled at us, moving over to offer us space on the floor. After the teaching was done, several of them introduced themselves and explained to us what was going on (including why all the women were in the back of the room). Then we lined up to pray—shoulder to shoulder—facing Mecca. As the Imam prayed and read from the Koran in Arabic, we followed the women next to us. Every now and again, helpful hints were whispered in our ears. First we stood, then we bent over halfway as if trying to touch our toes, then we stood up again, then we knelt down and put our foreheads to the floor, then we sat up with our hands on our knees, then raised the pointer finger on our right hands, then stood up again. We repeated this cycle several times, sometimes putting our heads to the floor a second time before standing up again. Soon we got the rhythm and could follow the pattern and the voice cues—even though they were in Arabic. It was an absolutely amazing experience to be praying together with so many people. And for me, it was incredibly meaningful to be using my body to pray.

After prayers, we talked with some more women who explained the different parts of the prayers. Being so warmly welcomed into one of the most intimate places in another religious tradition was humbling, and a great gift. We thanked them many times for allowing us to join them—and they always replied by thanking us for wanting to come. I was sad to see our Muslim brothers and sisters go, but will be glad to see them again next year!

The next morning we had our first Sunday morning service at camp. It was just the staff, which will probably never happen again. It was nice to worship with the new community that we had been working of forming for nearly two weeks. The rest of Sunday was to be our solo day. First, I practice yoga on the meadows. Aside from the mosquitoes, it was great! I even stood on my head all by myself (with the help of a wall)! That evening I ventured out to the local Episcopal church—St. Hubert’s of the Lakes (http://www.fullhomelydivinity.org/adirondack/S%20Hubert's%20page.htm). I figured that by the end of Sunday, I had pretty much covered all the bases: Muslim prayer, RCA worship, yoga practice, Episcopal service.

Staff Training

2007-07-01T15:54:00.001-04:00

What does one do when one is training to be staff at a Christian summer camp? Well, I don’t know what other summer camps do, but here is a small sketch of what we do here. Over the past three weeks, I have:

- Asked the question “Annie, Annie, are you ok?” to a plastic CPR dummy about 400 times.
- Played 10 different kinds of tag games.
- Rescued a dilithium cube from outer space to power my spaceship.
- Hiked Panther Mountain.
- Pretended to rescue a pretend drowning camper (pink t-shirt with a rock tied to it) from the bottom of the lake and then preformed pretend CPR until the pretend ambulance arrived to pretend save the life of said pretend camper.
- Planted many tomato and pepper plants.
- Tried to get across a Poisonous Peanut Butter Pit by way of tire swings (almost made it!).
- Spent much time planning out the summer with the other staff members who will be working as Assistant Chaplains. We call ourselves the “ACs for JC.”
- Sang songs around a campfire, made s’mores, and slept in a tent.
- Wore a funny costume, called myself a “Bandit” and stole gold from fellow staff members.
- Tried to figure out how to live in one building with 18 other women.
- Was reminded of how to load a canoe trailer—and that 15 passenger vans tend to like to roll over.
- Got to know some really great people a little better.

And apparently now I’m ready to be camp staff!

Transitions

2007-06-12T20:04:00.000-04:00

Last week I preached in a cassock and surplus at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in the “serious suburb” of Chatham, NJ. I reverenced the altar—I was blessed before preaching—I served the body of Christ, the bread of heaven. This week I preached in guachos, a T-shirt that says “Camp Fowler Staff” and crocs at a Reformed Church in the not-so-booming metropolis of Schenectady. I was introduced as “Aunt Melissa” (which is how camp staff are referred to by campers)—I played camp songs on a borrowed guitar—I served candy after the children’s sermon. Ack! Who am I? The two are so different, I don’t think that I could even begin describe it. The places are different, the people are different, the liturgy is different, the theology is different. Sigh. I guess I’m a little “churchsick.”

And, guest preaching is the strangest gig. It baffles my mind that a community of people would pay me to waltz in one Sunday morning, lead them in worship, and then leave as quickly as I came, with a check in hand. I don’t really know them—they don’t really know me. But they, for some reason, feel as if they need someone more qualified to lead them---or perhaps just someone willing to lead. And somehow, they think I am that person—at least for that one week. It seems to me that anyone could do it, but I guess maybe that isn’t true. Certainly not everyone would want to do it…

I actually do know them a bit. I guest preached (praught?) there in October as well. They really weren’t sure about me then, and, I have to admit, the sermon was kind of heretical. They seemed more comfortable with me this time. An older gentleman who was slightly bent over with silvery white hair summed it up, I think, when he said to me as he was walking out the door, “You done good.”

But what does “You done good” mean? Does it mean I said what you wanted me to say? Does it mean I said something that made you think? Does it mean I said something I believe to be true?

I’m sure finding myself in this transition will be just as interesting as finding myself in the transition after camp last year was. The difference this year is that I don’t feel at all threatened. Usually I feel that making the transition means that I have to give up something—that some part of me will be taken away—that I have to not only transition, but assimilate—that I will change, instead of my circumstances. But this year I’m happy to be me in different situations, instead of being different people depending on where I am and who I am with. And it feels good.

First Sermon of the Summer

2007-06-12T20:01:00.000-04:00

The Season for Resurrections
Second Sunday after Pentecost, June 10, 2007
1 Kings 17: 8-24, Luke 7: 11-17
Lisha’s Kill Reformed Church
Melissa Brandes

We are presented this morning with two seemingly random, and yet strikingly similar miracles. We have two prophets, two dead men, two widowed mothers, and two resurrections. With Eastertide in recent memory—perhaps it is still the season for resurrections.

Truth be told, I had forgotten that Jesus had raised another from the dead. I remembered Lazarus and Jairus’ daughter, but when I read the text from Luke this week, it was as if it was the first time I had ever read it. Indeed, the story of the resurrection of this nameless son of a nameless widow appears only in Luke. And, if you had asked me what story from the Hebrew Bible it closely resembles, well, I would not have blurted out, “When Elijah raises the son of the widow of Zarephath, of course!” I guess I lose the Bible trivia game this week. So the question that came to my mind first was, “What are these stories doing in our readings for this week—the second Sunday after Pentecost? Shouldn’t we still be reading about the Spirit who blew like a violent wind and rested like tongues of fire?” But perhaps, it is still the season for resurrections.

And indeed, I think it is. What is a resurrection, after all, but the birth of something new—a second chance—a transition. When we first glimpse the widow and her son in the gospel story, they are part of a funeral procession out of the city. The crowd that accompanies the grief stricken mother and the body of her son are just at the gate of the city when they run into the crowd of eager followers and curious inquirers who accompany Jesus and the disciples. One crowd in the pit of despair, the other holding tight to the promise of new hope. And they meet at the most appropriate place—at the gate—on the threshold—right on the line between life and death. Which is precisely what a city wall is. Inside there is safety and security—outside you risk encountering robbers and thieves, or worse. Inside there is food, friends, and family—outside, you’re on your own. Inside there is life—outside is where you carry the dead. And unless this widow has another male family member to take her in, she is watching not only her son be carried out, but herself as well. She will be the lowest of the low without a husband, son, or brother. She is quite literally fearing for her life when she nearly walks right into Jesus.

And Jesus has this tendency to suck the death out of people.

I don’t imagine you can ever be the same after an encounter like that. I’ve heard it said that there is a difference between being cured and being healed. I’m not exactly sure what the difference is, but I think it might be that when you are cured, you are made well so that you can go back to living life the way that you did prior to injury or illness—but when you are healed, you are changed so that you will never again live life the same way. The widow and her son are given a second change and I would be very surprised if they went back to life as usual. I think they must have been changed by this encounter at death’s door and that the change caused them to create something new.

We see evidence of this change in the transformation of the crowd. The text tells us that those who were mourning are seized by fear, and then begin glorifying God. We also see a change in the widow of Zarephath in the Old Testament. She is very upset with Elijah when her son dies. Blaming the prophet and her own sin for the tragedy, she says, “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance, and to cause the death of my son!” But when her son has been restored to life she responses very differently saying, “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the LORD in your mouth is truth.”

I don’t believe that it takes a miracle this significant or a transformation this profound to inspire the birth of something new. We don’t need to be standing on the line between life and death to find fertile ground for a new beginning. It may still be, today, the season for resurrections.

Some of us here this morning, are about to embark on the great summertime adventure known simply as “Camp,” and many of you will be joining us for a week or two. Some here are about to finish another year of school, and a few, I hear, are even preparing to graduate. Others, no doubt, are switching to summer schedules, hobbies, and routines. We all experience countless transitions and changes in our lives—some so small we hardly notice, some so large they are all consuming. These changes can be wonderfully joyful, or intensely painful—and afterward, we are never the same.

Whatever line we stand on, those two crowds from the gospel will always meet—the one mourning what came before and the one full of expectant hope for what will be. At first, the crowds may clash as transition is generally not easy. Simply the adjustment to camp nearly does me in every year! This year, I noticed something interesting about my four hour drive up. I spent the first two hours thinking about all the people I am leaving behind for three months and how much I will miss them. Then somewhere around Albany, I started thinking about all the people I was about to see who I haven’t seen in months, and about the fact that I get to be at camp for another summer, and I started to get excited. The first two hours were important, as were the last two hours.

When you are standing on one of these transitional lines and are about to start on a new venture, I bid you do these two things. First, mourn all that you need to mourn, because that is important. Endings are, for the most part, sad and painful. We will miss what came before and it is crucial that we spend whatever time and energy we need to in this process. Then, once you have spent all the time you need with the crowd who is mourning, step over the line and join in with the crowd of expectant hope—the crowd that is eager for something new.

But be warned that once you do, expectant hope often turns into expectations. It will be impossible to avoid the dreaded question (the question which graduates know well), “So, what are you going to do now?” This question is so dreaded because the answer often hasn’t quite been worked out yet. That’s okay. Joining the crowd of expectant hope doesn’t mean knowing all the answers, and isn’t about living the answers. It’s about living the questions until you live into the answers. Don’t ever force yourself to be something you are not—even if that gives you a quick answer. Live with, and live out, the question, “Who am I, now that I am changed?” Be patient with yourself and with wherever you are no matter how ambiguous. It is important for you to be there. I encourage you to be there with more hope than expectations.

We don’t know what it was that lay ahead for our two widowed mothers and their sons. Nor do we really know what lies ahead for us. The unknown is always just a little bit scary. But, live the questions with hope. After all, it is still the season for resurrections.

Amen.

Off to camp!

2007-06-05T00:41:00.001-04:00

I'm off to spend another summer at Camp Fowler and I can't wait! (Seriously, they pay me for this.) Fowler is located in the amazing Adirondack Mountains and owned and operated by the Albany Synod of the Reformed Church in America. But, for most of us who spend time there, it's just home.

Fowler's three "pillars" are Simplicity, Community, and Caring for Creation. We attempt this little experiment in Christian living every summer for about 9 weeks. It's crazy, I know. But we try to be fully present with one another, and with God, and with the world. We turn off our cell phones, let the TV go dark, and only check our email on our days off. This is not at all to say that the people we connect with via cell phones or the internet are not important to us. But it is to say that sometimes these things can start to take over our lives and we can be blinded to what is going on right around us. It's really about balance. When I'm emailing you, I will be present to emailing you...but when I'm paddling my canoe to Mud Lake, well, I'm not gonna pull out my cell phone. We aren't anti-technolocy (heck, we have an overhead projector!), but there is something amazing about being in a place where you can really be in the dark and see the stars--a place where you walk wherever you want to go--a place where your food is made from scratch by people who care about you--a place where you churn ice cream by hand--a place where you are loved, and through that love begin to connect in deeper ways to yourself and to that which is greater. I am surprised every single week at the community that forms by Friday. Kids, youth, and adults who may never have encountered each other anywhere else in life become, in the matter of 5 or 6 days, beloved family and friends. The community is temporary, of course (although the relationships are not). You can't stay at camp. It's just the nature of camp. But it is, we hope, a little glimpse of the Kingdom that you can tuck close to your heart and carry with you. And you can always come back--and someone will greet you at the door with "Welcome Home!"