Ruth

A long time member of our church passed away this week, at the age of 92.

I had never met Ruth, as she'd been homebound since before I joined the church four years ago.

Hers was just one of those names that floated in the periphery, her contributions and presence noted in passing and always in the past tense. She wasn’t a recently active member who had taken a spill and was temporarily out to pasture; she was officially off the radar screen. Her name was there every week in the church bulletin, in the “Please Keep In Your Prayers” section. But after seeing it week after week with no face to attach to its presence, no story to call up in its wake, the name became as ubiquitous as the note about the Pastor’s office hours and the plea for liturgists and ushers to sign up in the Martin Room.

I attended Ruth’s funeral yesterday; partly to find out more about a women who’d been a member of the church that I love for over 60 years, and partly to be there for those who knew her; to be that someone who hadn’t heard all the stories or been first hand witness to her ‘Christian presence,’ to be the newcomer who is willing to listen when those who were there need to share.

The church was only half full – on a hot Wednesday morning in August – and the elderly retired Pastor leading the service (the deceased’s brother) was a throwback to simpler times. He gestured wildly in the pulpit, made his voice carry into the balcony with little need for amplification, recited the scripture passage from memory, and spoke freely and frequently about the Grace of God and the need to claim Jesus as our own personal savior. He was an old-fashioned teacher-preacher, who punctuated his recitation of the scriptures with explanations of the text, and even stopped us mid-hymn – waving frantically to the organist – so he could explain the meaning of the verse we had just sung. The organist was his wife and he introduced each peace of music by saying “…and Mrs. Forbes will now play…” or “You may begin, Mrs. Forbes.”

In our tiny clapboard sided church with the windows wide open, the pastor’s elderly wife pumping the organ, and the black suited, small in stature Rev. Forbes holding court in the pulpit, it was if we had been transported to an early time.

As I had immersed myself earlier this past week in our church’s history in preparation for Anniversary Sunday, I left the church yesterday morning feeling as if I got a bit of a taste as to what it may have been like to sit in one of our pews in a much earlier time.

I love the way the church is now, and I have no desire to return to that earlier time when Rev. Forbes version of Christianity would have itched and restricted me like a hand-me-down Sunday dress – but it was nice to visit.

It was nice to step into Ruth’s world and get to know who she was, and to be with the people who loved and cared for her.

I learned that when conflicts arose at church meetings, Ruth was always the last to speak, and the congregation would inevitably choose to follow her wizened advice. I learned that Ruth was instrumental in getting our education wing built and she served on nearly every committee that we had. The Rev. Forbes also informed us that none of his sisters, Ruth included, was given a middle name. This was done in foresight that when they married they would carry on the family name as their middle name, keeping the ‘clan’ alive.

Family was what was most important to her.

After the service, I introduced myself to Rev. Forbes as a newer member and a current seminarian. He grasped my hand and pulled me in real close either to better hear me or because that’s just his style – up close and personal. He asked where I was attending school and when I told him he winked and said with a smile, “Nice school, but I didn’t go there, I’m a conservative you know.” Then he told me all about his radio program and his love of Jesus and wished me well in my studies, the whole time never letting go of my hand.

We were separated by 50 years, ideology, theology, and gender – and I’m pretty sure he had no idea that I was not heterosexual (I had left my “Future Gay Pastor” T-shirt at home) – but yesterday we were just two people, two Christians, who came together to celebrate the life of someone who loved our little church.

As we parted I made sure to mention to him that I HAD been given a middle name, to honor not my family but my mother, and that middle name is Ruth.

“Ahh, my favorite book in the Bible,” the Rev. Forbes said.

Indeed.

Them kids done me proud...

Well as predicted, my little monsters turned into little angels on cue on Sunday morning and pulled off quite a spectacular Children's Sunday if I do say so myself!
The kids all marched in together singing and clapping, we had them filling the roles of liturgist and ushers, four of the kids sang solos, they delivered the sermon, and they read a special communion liturgy with the Pastor and then served communion to the congregation.
There were a few missteps, which is normal when you're trying to get 10 kids to remember to do 20 different things that they've never done before, with only one rehearsal under their belt.

We had four children who delivered the sermon and they had me in tears I was so proud of them.
I gave them the following scripture passage to interpret:

"Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me." (Matthew 18:1-5)

I asked them to interpret the passage in light of how they think adults should be more like children; how children can contribute to the church/community, and what they as children need adults to do for them.
One of our 12-year-olds delivered a sermon that was so well written, with such a beautiful and spot-on interpretation of the scripture that it put to shame some of the efforts of some seminary educated clergy that I've seen. The other kids did an equally fabulous job and in the end I was just grinning from ear to ear with joy that it all came together, and that the adults in our congregation got to see a side of the kids that they've never seen before.

Their performance was so inspiring, that the one teacher who I swore would not volunteer to teach again next year because the kids made her a nervous wreck, came up to me afterward and said "Sign me up for next year!"

I think even she realized that little monsters are not so scary once you get to know them...

The waiting is the hardest part

I haven't heard from the Boston Seminary yet and it's been 5 weeks since I sent in my application so I contacted the Admissions office yesterday and they said my folder is with the Admissions Committee right now and I should be hearing from them early next week. Yay!

In the meantime I've gathered all the necessary paperwork for my In Care application and my pastor will be mailing it along with her recommendation to the Association's Committee on Ministry this week. Once they review the application they'll contact me to let me know when I can come in for an interview. It may be too late to get on the schedule for the April meeting, if so I'll have to wait until May.

Also falling under the category of "things-I'm-waiting-for" is my May graduation. We have Easter break this week but when I return I'll have SIX, count 'em: SIX clases de espanol left until my college career will officially be over.
The last time I wore a cap and gown I was graduating from high school and I remember feeling a sense of relief - that I survived the hell that high school can be - and a sense of dread, because I had no idea what it was that I was "graduating" into.
This time around couldn't be more different. It's not relief and dread that I feel, but rather pride and anticipation. I know what the next step is and I can't wait take it. And unlike high school where I felt like nothing I ever did was good enough, I know that I've worked hard over these last 5 years and I've earned the right to wear that robe and walk up on that stage along with everyone else.

There's one robe that I haven't yet earned the right to wear, and I discovered a few weeks ago that I'm reluctant to wear it until I have earned that right. Two Sunday's ago my pastor asked me to help her present a sermon that was set up to be a dialogue between the two brothers in the Prodigal Son story. We had fun writing and rehearsing the sermon and it went over very well during the service, but what stuck with me is what happened just prior to the service. I arrived early so we could rehearse the dialogue one more time, and to my surprise the pastor called me into her office and offered me one of her robes to wear. She thought it would be better if we appeared as "equals" while doing the dialogue.
She gave me the option of not wearing the robe if I felt more comfortable in my street clothes, but not wanting to appear as if I was uncomfortable with seeing myself as an "equal" I said I would wear it. She gave me her white summer weight robe and cinched it with a white corded belt. She helped me put it on, thankfully (who knew tying a knot could be so complicated!), but while she was putting it on there was something inside of me saying "this isn't right." I felt like I wasn't ready for it, like I hadn't earned it.
The fact that the robe was a little too big for me (she's 5'9, I'm 5'7) and I had to roll up the sleeves, made me feel even more like I was playing "dress up" - like I was trying on something I pulled out of the adults' clothes chest and pretending to be something I'm not.

When we stepped into the sanctuary to begin rehearsal, the look on the faces of the few early arrivals when they saw me in the robe only added to my feeling of conspicuousness.
I knew it was going to be a distraction. They've never seen me in a robe before and I didn't want them focusing on that when they should be focusing on the sermon. But still I soldiered on. I stepped up to the lectern and we began the rehearsal but I couldn't get comfortable. The sleeves were getting in the way when I went to turn over the pages, and just the bulk of the robe and the extra space I had to leave between me and the lectern made me overly conscious that I was wearing "a robe."
That and the sheer whiteness of it made me feel like a giant marshmallow, as if the Michelin Man had come to preach.
I had to take it off. I told my pastor that it was too distracting and I would prefer not to wear it and she was fine with it.

Would I have reacted differently if the robe was black and/or fit me better?
Probably not.
The bulk of the robe made me take up more space - literally and figuratively - it gave me a physical presence that I'm not ready to claim.
I felt like I had a giant sandwich board around my neck that said "Look at me! I think I have what it takes to be a minister. Ain't that a hoot?!"

When we returned the robe to the office, my pastor (sensing my unspoken uneasiness) told me that it's perfectly ok for lay people to wear robes during worship - it's the stoles that are reserved for clergy only. I felt a little better hearing this, but I still didn't feel like it was right for me. Not yet.

Part of this "earn it to wear it" mentality may be left over from my cycling days. If you raced you wore your team jersey with pride. If you didn't race you wore a plain jersey. Only "Freds" and wannabees bought and wore what we called "Pro Team" kits - matching jerseys, shorts, socks, gloves, etc. all emblazoned with the names and sponsors of the top pro teams. Even worse were those who wore replica World Champion rainbow striped jerseys or, horrors, the Yellow leader's jersey from the Tour de France. These were jerseys you had to earn the right to wear. And it irked us "holier than thou" racers when middle-aged, over-weight desk jockeys came toodling by us on their $5,000 bikes decked out in Pro jerseys thinking they're Lance Armstrong (as if Lance Armstrong would care!)

I wore my local team jersey with pride, and when I stopped racing I stopped wearing it. I didn't belong to that team anymore and I didn't feel that it was honest for me to present an image that suggested that I was something I was not.

That's how I feel about wearing the robe. I'll wear it someday. When I get to seminary, when I do my field education, when I can actually claim the title of 'seminarian' or 'aspirant.' Then I'll feel as if I'm growing into the role and it's ok for me to try on the "adult clothes," if only to get used to how they feel.


"Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me."

--From Antony and Cleopatra

"The Lord is all that....He allows me to chill"

I taught Sunday School today and I had the kids do an impromptu play telling the story of Mary anointing Jesus' feet in Bethany. Only one child wanted to play Jesus. Four of them wanted to be Judas. Why? Because Judas got to wear more "bling."
Our "Mary" greeted Jesus at her home by saying "Yo Jesus, welcome to our crib."
Apparently 11-year-old white girl suburbanites are concerned about their street cred.

::sigh::….These kids know the MTV program schedule by heart but they can't find the New Testament in a Bible.
Oh well, if you can't beat 'em join 'em.

Monday is Friday at Carvel

Oooops, I meant to post this pre-sermon post on Friday but it got late and I went to bed and never submitted it. So wind back the clock and pretend it's Friday. I'll be back later today after my 'clase de espanol' and post a post-sermon update.

*****************************************************

Whoo hoo! It's Friday night and the sermon is done!
I'll post it once I've had a chance to check for typos and tweak the grammar with fresh eyes.
To all of you who have wished me luck for Sunday - thanks!
This will actually be the 4th time I'm preaching at this congregation (5th if I count the Sunrise Easter sermon I did last year). But this will be the first time I've done it on short notice, and that makes it likely that most of the congregation will be coming expecting to see our regular Pastor and they're getting 'substitute preacher' instead….Heh, heh.

Prior to joining the United Church of Christ I was a Unitarian Universalist and I had quite a few opportunities to man (or woman) the pulpit. But the UCC is different. We follow the lectionary calendar so my choice of preaching topics is much more limited than when I was a free-spirit UU. I actually prefer it this way. I enjoy the challenge of tackling the scripture and finding an angle that I feel people will respond to.

For example, while brainstorming ideas for my sermon on the Beatitudes I went through the normal progression of first thinking about what I want to say, then moving to what I thought the congregation would want to hear, and finally settling on what I think the congregation needs to hear.

We have quite a few members of our church who are hurting right now. We had a beloved member pass away over the summer. Another passed away in the Fall. Several members have lost a parent or sibling. Others have lost cherished friends. We've had several marriages and relationships that have broken up or are in transition. Others are dealing with illnesses either personal or within their immediate family.

These kind of life moments are typical in church families but in our small congregation it just seems to have piled up on us of late.

Our members give so much of themselves: to their families, to their community, to our church, to our various outreach projects that they don't need to hear yet another sermon focusing on the "Woes" - they don't need a finger-wagging lecture telling them how we are all doomed to fall short of the mark because we are 'rich' and 'full' and don't give enough time to God. We don't need a guilt trip - we need a break. So my sermon focuses on the healing potential of the Beatitudes, the ways in which they offer us hope.

I think I managed to pull it off with what I've written -
Now if I could just come up with a decent children's sermon to go along with it.
Something tells me I'll be perusing the 11th Hour Preacher Party posts over at RevGalBlogPals tomorrow!


…and now here it is, your moment of Zen:

Caution: Amateur in the Pulpit, Watch Your Step

OK people, the bat signal has appeared in the night sky, my spidey-sense has picked up a signal of distress, my invisible plane is prepped and ready, and my oh-mighty-Isis bullet-deflecting wristbands are polished and primed for action.

Look up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Super-Unpaid-Wannabe-Associate-Pastor to the rescue! Da-da-dahhhh!

Yep…mark your calendars, press your best Sunday slacks, and plan on hitting the snooze button and rolling over and going back to sleep, cuz I'm preaching on Sunday....woo hoo!

Our pastor's birthday is on Sunday and she asked for a much needed day off so I will be stepping into the pulpit this week. Which means I should probably stop writing this post and get working on my order of service, the hymn choices, the Call to Worship, the Call to Confession, the children's story….and that bit that comes towards the end….you know, the bit where everyone's eyes glaze over and they start thinking about how crowded Costco is going to be later on….what's that bit called again??....oh yeah, the SERMON!
I suppose I should write one of those as well…

And note to any members of our congregation who may be reading this: Just because the Pastor is taking the day off it doesn't mean the substitute is gonna let you out early or put up with your shenanigans…uh uh…there will be no throwing of erasers or placing of whoopee cushions on the pulpit chair…do you hear that Mr. Gym Shorts? Now stick that gum on the end of your nose and leave it there until the bell rings.


I think I'm going to go for the obvious and preach on the Luke text this week, the Beatitudes (the Jesus laws, one of my all time faves). I shall try my best to breathe some life into it and keep the congregation alert and attentive. Wish me luck.


...and now here it is, your moment of Zen:

"Oh Zephyr Winds which blow on high, lift me now so I can fly!"

The Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time

We did something at church yesterday that was wonderfully ordinary and ordinarily wonderful. We had a Congregational Meeting to vote on our new budget. No, that's not the wonderful part.
Towards the end of the meeting the moderator asked for a volunteer to coordinate our annual summer Fair fundraiser…Her request was followed by a silence so deafening I swear I heard crickets chirping off in the distance….in the sanctuary…in January.

We were all thinking the same thing. Uh uh, not me. I'm too busy. I do so much already. This is a big job. I've never done anything like this before. It's too much responsibility. It's too much work. I'm only one person with limited time and limited talents. Let someone else take on this one.

The hushed stillness continued. And then the something wonderfully ordinary and ordinarily wonderful happened.

One person volunteered to organize the music, and another volunteered to help. Two people volunteered to organize the games, and someone else said "I can do the food." Someone else agreed to do the publicity and solicit advertising for the Fair guide, and still another stepped forward to man the committee. With the ball now in full swing, last year's coordinator offered to assist whoever was willing to fill the coordinator's spot and a split second later someone offered to take on that role as co-leader.
We went from dead silence to a fully staffed committee complete with co-leaders in under 5 minutes.

This kind of stuff goes on in houses of worship everyday all over the world, which is why it's wonderfully ordinary. Yet each time it happens we are amazed at how generous others can be, at how neatly our mish-mash of talents fit together as a whole, at how much one person can do when they have one person standing on their left and another standing on their right and ten more following in their wake.

This is how we keep the soup kitchen staffed, the homeless shelter funded, and the food pantry shelves stocked. This is how we ensure that the sick, the elderly, the grieving, and the lonely know how much they are loved and cared for. This is how we keep the sanctuary doors open, the Sunday School up and running, and the songs and prayers flowing.
This is how we achieve the ordinarily wonderful.

For those who call for the obliteration of organized religion, painting it as being at the root of our world's evils, I need only direct their attention to the little church, synagogue or mosque on the corner. The one that all those crazy and deluded people waste time and money keeping alive. There are amazing things going on inside those little houses of worship. Things that are wonderful and ordinary all the same.


…and now here it is, your moment of Zen: