Complainy Von Crabbenstein

I have been smug. I confess it. I own it. I acknowledge it. I have been insufferably smug all this cold and flu season, because I have not had a knock-me-down-and-stick-a-fork-in-me-cuz-I-am-done illness since the fall. This despite having a husband, and two small children in elementary and preschool, bring home veritible petri dishes of disease on their hands--when they weren't greeting me rapturous kisses, slicked over by the snot dripping from their noses (granted, this was more from the girls than hubby. His mustache catches a lot). When my family is sick, I, as Mama, am the source of all comfort and healing. I must--MUST, I tell you--be laid upon while the sickly family member hacks and wheezes and expells all kinds of germy wonderfulness on me.

And still: I remained hale and healthy. And smug.

I attributed this to my "nasal irrigation system" that I bought at Costco. It scared me to death, and sat unused for months before I finally wrestled up the courage to actually try the thing. I was convinced I was going to drown myself. I didn't, and eventually: I even came to enjoy it in a weird way, because I felt better when I got all that...yuck out.

Well, this week, my system let me down. I have been the producer of mass quantities of mucus, coughing, sneezing, wheezing, whining, complaining, crabbing, cough drop breath, bed head, body odor, wadded kleenexes, and various and sundry other relics of illness. I would wake up, feeling pretty good, take a shower, and need to sleep for three hours to recover. As if all that wasn't enough: this morning I starting cramping! Yay! Premenstrual syndrome AND mucuspalooza! (For those of you who are wondering: no, I really have no qualms admitting to the fact that I have cramps. I have two children. It should be patently obvious that I menstruate, and shouldn't shock anyone. Yes, I am a pastor. No, the kids were not immaculately conceived. I'm pretty sure one of the conceptions involved tequila. But I digress...)

But for all my crabbing, and feeling guilty over missing so much this week (Confirmation, Lenten midweek soup supper and worship, committee meetings, Sharefest, etc.) what I've really been praying for is that I feel good enough to pull off Sunday morning worship. Even if I go home and collapse afterward, Lord Jesus, PLEASE: just get me through Sunday. Because I think that (by and large) congregations are understanding of a pastor who gets sick, and appreciate said pastor not sharing the yuckiness with them. But I have a hard time seeing them being understanding of a pastor missing Sunday worship. So my prayer all this week has been, "I will bear the guilt for missing all the other stuff, Lord, but please, if you love me, make me fit for Sunday."

Jesus loves me, this I know, because I started perking up about an hour ago. I'm still snotty, but I'm not hurting in conjunction with the snot, so it's an improvement. Certainly the roughly 72-hours I've spent unconscious since Wednesday morning haven't hurt, either. I haven't looked yet, but I wouldn't be surprised to find bedsores or a pillow permanently attached to my head.

And since the sum total of my sermon prep for the week has been the Tuesday Morning Blue Hair Biblestudy (and I use the term "Blue Hair" with a great amount of esteem and affection--I adore those ladies), I decided that I ought to dig in and do some sermon prep tonight. I was stopped cold by the Epistle:

Romans 5:1-11

1 Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. 3 And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. 6 For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. 7 Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. 8 But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. 9 Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God. 10 For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life. 11 But more than that, we even boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

This was the scripture I turned to in attempting to find a title for this blog. But as I read through it, I thought, "Sweet Fancy Moses! What on earth can I say that will improve upon this?! This is glorious! This is heaven! This is the pure goodness of God, filling my soul the way the flavor of a sun-warm peach fills my mouth! What on earth can I offer that elaborates on this?!" It's one of those pieces of scripture that causes me to seriously doubt my abilities as a preacher. It is perfection, and any further "explanation" on my part, or exegesis would only ruin it. I want to let those words sing out to my beloved congregation, I want to let them sit with them, and let those words of love and promise sink into the marrow of their bones, and give them strength to face the week ahead. There is nothing I can add. I can only detract. And so I will offer the sweet sheep God has entrusted to my care the best that I can, by leaving well enough alone.

Sometimes I think Jesus works best when the pastor gets out of the way.

 

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So Much for that Plan

I was going to make blogging my Lenten discipline. Normally, I'm not a proponent of giving up or taking on anything extra for Lent. In my experience, giving something up makes me focus on myself and my misery--because if you're going to give something up, you need to make it something you'll actually miss, right? And I don't think me whining and complaining about how I'm doing without is quite the point of Lent. Additionally, I'm not entirely sure how my going without chocolate, or coffee, or dropping the f-bomb for 40 days comes even CLOSE to comparing to the suffering of Jesus on the cross--which is the reason people gave me when I would ask, "Now, WHY do I have to give something up again?" "So we'll know how hard it was for Jesus to give up his life for us." Oh. OK.

Taking things on during Lent? Why? Are you not busy enough the other 46 weeks of the year? Do you have TIME to take something on, and take it on well? Because if you're doing this for Jesus, you better make sure you're doing it well, or don't bother. He's a first fruits or a no fruits kind of guy.

That's not to say that I'm against dropping bad or destructive behaviors, or taking on something that will improve your life, or the life of your family. I just don't think Jesus needed to die in order for us to do those things, and it's silly to link the two. If you want to stop using the f*bomb: STOP IT. If you want to start reading the Bible more: READ IT.

This year for Lent I'm giving up exercise, and taking on hitting the snooze bar at least three times before getting out of bed. I know I've suceeded in these things in the past, so I feel confident I'm not setting myself up for failure.

So. Since I'm mercilessly mocking a treasured spiritual discipline for millions of Christians the world over, I may as well tell you what I DO think is important about Lent. It's this:

It's the way Jesus shows up in the most unexpected places. This cross is formed by a street sign across the highway from my church. It's a lamp post with a sign on the front of it. I first saw this cross about a year ago, one morning while rushing into the sanctuary. I immediately started looking to see what part of our building could cast a cross that big, clear across the high way. I went outside, looking to see if we have a cross on top of our building (we don't). I looked to see if we had a cross somewhere outside that someone had recently put up or I hadn't noticed before (there wasn't). I finally realized that the church had absolutely NOTHING to do with the cross on the wall across the highway.  But there it was, possibly impacting more people as they zoomed past than our huge, ark-like sanctuary located just on the other side of the intersection.

I think THIS is what Lent is about. Not giving up or taking on. But understanding that God in Christ Jesus is setting out to do something new. Something different. It's not going to be what or where we expect. We can't put him in a box and label him. He is constantly breaking out, turning himself loose on the world, impacting them in ways they aren't looking for, being found in places they didn't expect to find him. We, as "the holy catholic and apostolic Church" have no claim on him. We are not the gatekeepers. We don't get to decide who's in and who's out. God doesn't work that way. He comes as a baby, he comes as a carpenter, he comes promising eternal life, only to die. If you look for him where you expect to find him: you'll be disappointed.

So my challenge to you this Lenten season is not to seek what you can give up our take on that will make you understand Jesus. Instead, I challenge you to pray, and ask God where he wants you to be His...out in the world. That's what Lent is about. Not about me, and my sacrificial abilities. But knowing what God has done in the past, and looking forward with great anticipation to what's up His sleeve next. 

Medication

WE MIGHT HAVE TO MEDICATE YOU

Resist your temptation to lie

By speaking of separation from God.

Otherwise,

We might have to medicate

You.

In the ocean

A lot goes on beneath your eyes.

Listen,

They have clinics there too

For the insane

Who persist in saying things like:

"I am independent from the

Sea,

God is not always around

Gently

Pressing against

My body."

~Hafiz

One of the subtitles of this blog is "living the cruciform life"--life under the weight of the cross. As I mentioned before: I cannot separate my faith from the bloody Christ hanging on the cross. There are times when I want so much to be an Easter person--He is risen! He is risen indeed!--but when I am truthful, the words of Christ, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" are truer to my experience of the Divine than the near-orgasmic rapture of the Resurrection. Other resonant quotes from scripture that strike the tuning for that lives in my bones? The words of Jacob as he wrestles with the angel, "I am not letting go until you bless me!" and the words of the frightened father, who is begging Jesus to heal is dying child, "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."

So I feel like we can rather clearly establish the reason that I have received a call to ordained ministry is not because my faith is so great, or strong, or shiney, but because God knows that if I was not vocationally required to proclaim the Gospel on a daily basis: I would have trouble believing it myself.

This is also why I love the above poem by Hafiz. Reminding me that when I insist that I exist apart from God, I am, quite literally deluding myself--much like a fish, seeking to claim independence from the Sea. I find comfort in the line that God is always around, gently pressing against my body. Surely, words from Scripture bear that image out--I will never leave you or forsake you...I have written you on the palm of my hands...no one will snatch you out of my hand...you are precious, and honored, and I love you...

I could go on.

Today, as you go about your day, stop every so often and make yourself aware of your skin. Do you feel the gentle pressure of God's love surrounding you?

You Still Here?

My webmaster pointed out (several months ago, now) that the whole point of a blog is to, you know...write it. And that if I'm not writing new stuff, people won't keep reading. These were and are completely valid points, and were when he made them back in August.

One of the great puzzles of my life is why I am so impatient when I require so much patience from those around me. I gotta work on that.

Part of the problem with blogging more, I think, is figuring out just what this blog is supposed to be. I have a personal blog. It hasn't been written on in a while, either. But at least I know what that is: my own, personal, emotional vomitorium. This blog? This is connected to the website where I function as an actual pastor. That means anyone with access to the church website (i.e. everyone with an internet connection) can read it and know precisely who wrote it. Which means I can't come here and kvetch about a meeting gone bad, or how so-and-so is making me crazy, or have a single post that consists only of the f-bomb in 72-pt. bolded font. Or rather, I could, if I was interested in committing career suicide. And frankly? I like this place. I like these people. And I love being their pastor. So I'd like to NOT shoot myself in the foot, professionally.

So...what then? Faith from the point of view of a deeply flawed woman who was somehow called to be God's representative in the face of her flawed nature? Faith from the point of view of a member of Generation X? Faith from the point of view of someone who wonders if it's all too good to be true? Or faith from the perspective of a woman who--through that faith--has the ability to look the grinning head of death straight in the eye...and wink?

Not all Doom and Gloom*

I wanted to let y'all know: this blog isn't going to be all doom and gloom. You just caught me during a bad week. :)

Life is a mishmash of happy and sad. One of my favorite movies ever contains the line, "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion" and that's pretty much smackdab where I'm sitting most of the time. Life's rough. But it's also glorious.

My summer vacation almost always includes a nice, lengthy stay at the Oregon Coast. I center my entire year around this time at the beach--as soon as we leave one year, I'm planning for the next. My entire family goes, and we rent a house that's on the beach and just relax and beachcomb and eat crab and drink wine and find sand in awkward places. And we LAUGH. This year's trip has been abruptly cancelled. Rough. Roughroughroughroughrough. It ticked me off. Because when I went to go make my OWN reservations for a place on the beach: nothing was available. So I spent about a day feeling sorry for myself because my vacation had been taken away from me.

But you know what? For the first time ever, it means the family I'm directly responsible for creating will go on a vacation without aunts and uncles and grandparents in tow. We can go where we want. Do what we want. Eat what we want.

And one of the best things? We're going to introduce our girls to the wonders of Lutheran Outdoor Ministry, by spending the 4th of July weekend up at Camp Lutherhaven with some good friends of ours. Lutherhaven is intrinsically wound around my understanding of my call to ministry. If I had a spiritual epiphany in my early years, odds are good it happened at Lutherhaven. I'm SO excited to get to share this with my girls. Plus? We're tent camping. I'm not sure how this is going to work with the whole potty training/peeing at night in a dark outhouse over a big, dark hole thing, but perhaps we'll just get a bucket and a lid and call it the nighttime potty.

And, the four of us have reservations at the beach after Christmas. So I'll still get my time in at the beach, during the better beach-combing season.

All this blather is to say: as crap as life seems sometimes, it's not all bad. Sometimes, in the midst of some of the worst things, God comes and says, "Hey, kiddo. I want to show you something new."


*Alternate title "Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining...Eventually"

Not to belabor a point, but...

My kids' fish died the other night.

Poh, a betta named after the Jack Black character in "Kung Fu Panda" had been struggling for days, so it was good that he finally went. But it's breached a whole new world for my two-year-old, who spent the next day asking, "Will you die, Mama? Will Daddy? Will Sissy? Will I? Will Grammy? Will my coloring book? Will my bed die? Will my lovie die?" Poor little kid. She's not quite as blase about death as I try and be. She reacts the way we all do, but are too smooth, polished, and urbane to show.

Being a pastor is hard work. Anyone who says it isn't is either 1) lying or 2) not doing it right. My whole image of myself as a pastor is one who stands in the gap--the gap between life and death, the gap between heaven and hell, the gap between brokeness and wholeness, the gap between knowing and believing, the gap between fear and peace, the gap between knowledge and belief. It's never easy to straddle two worlds, but that's what pastors are called to do every day.

Wednesday night: I was done. I was tired of the tears and the fear and the pain and the saddness and the waiting and the uncertainty and the death and the life--all of it. I was tired. I was done. I wanted a beer. But my day was nowhere near done enough to declare Miller Time.

I was sitting in my office, trying to find SOMETHING to do that would keep me from just crawling under my desk and giving in to the tears that were thisclose to the surface, when I glanced out into the courtyard of the church. And what I saw there caused hope to spring fresh in my heart, laughter instead of tears, joy instead of despair.

What did I see, you ask? Some heaven-descended dove with an olive branch in his beak and a rainbow spanning the sky? A voice booming from heaven, delivering a message that gave me the strength to go on?

Well. Not in so many words. :)

I saw three good men, standing around a barbeque grill. Two were cooking. One was "supervising". They were (so far as I know) unaware of being observed. They didn't do anything amazing. They flipped some burgers. They had a conversation. One was wearing an apron. Absolutely nothing spectacular, just being themselves.

And that sight is what brought joy into my heart, a balm to the sad weariness of my day. Three men. Flipping burgers in a church courtyard.

I always tell people that God uses the ordinary to accomplish the extraordinary. Water? Bread? Wine? Men flipping burgers? All can be salvific when placed in the hands of the Lord. Nothing is too mundane for God to scoop it up into His hands, and with a twinkle in His eye use it to change the life of His children. To bring them home. To ease their hearts. To give them the strength to carry on.

Thanks be to God that we're not in this alone. I'd have given up long ago.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Death has been working overttime lately.

I am involved in 3 funerals this week, and a freakishly high number of my pastoral cohorts are also balancing the normal demands of their ministry with the valid needs of parishoners grieving losses expected and unexpected.

A young man in my congregation, recently graduated from high school, has enlisted in the Marine Corps. He is being sent to basic training (when did they stop calling it "boot camp"?) a month earlier than we had expected. The congregation had planned on doing a special sending liturgy for him before he left...but now that he's going to be gone so fast, he won't be able to be there for it. I feel cheated of the chance to invoke every particle of protection around him that I can, even though logically I know that my prayers for his safety are efficacious whether he's in California training to be a soldier, or standing right in front of me in the safety of our sanctuary.

This is so much about what life as a person of faith is, and frankly: it sort of sucks. Part of me wants the "Happy Happy Joy Joy Shiney Happy People Holding Hands" style of a life of faith. But my life is and always has been distinctly cruciform. Why do I love Good Friday more than Easter Sunday? Because most of the time, I feel like I spend my time with my eyes riveted on that hunk of bloody meat that is my Lord. I crave the feeling of rough and splintered wood beneath my cheek. I seek to bathe myself in the blood and water flowing from his side.

People mock me for this. Think that as a Christian, I ought to be more focused on Easter, and the joys of the Resurrection. And maybe someday: I will be. But right now? There's just too much death. Too much suffering. Too much fear. Too much pain. Frankly, I'm more comforted by a full cross than an empty tomb.

At least the Cross gives you something to hold on to.