God's Worker Bee

Not Speaking of Sin

2011-07-29T20:48:00.000-07:00

“There are times in life when all of your choices suck. There are times when there are no pain-free options. You don’t have the luxury of wondering ‘Why me?’ Sometimes you just have to decide who you are going to be and the price you are willing to pay, and leave the rest to God.”

When I spoke those words to my nine-year old child there were tears in his eyes; he was shaking with terror. He was facing the second round of a medical treatment that was critical for his well-being. The first round left him violently ill, and bruised. But it had to be done, not once, but three more times.

It broke my heart to say those words to him. There was a part of me that revolted against speaking those words. The mama-bear inside wanted to tell him that “everything would be fine” and that he didn’t have to do this. But no matter how much I wanted those things to be true, they were lies. So I told him what I knew to be true and felt my heart break with each word.

And if those cracks weren’t painful enough, when my little boy wiped his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and focused on a place I couldn’t see, while the nurses inserted the two huge needles (one in each arm) my heart shattered.

I spent my night crying in my pillow: crying that I could not eliminate the suffering my child had to endure; crying with the recognition that while I had been living under the assumption that my kid was “doing well," he had, in fact, been battling the symptoms constantly. It was those years of constant battle that taught him the mental toughness that got him through this hospital ordeal. His determination made me both desperately sad and immensely proud.

Later, a friend inquired about my son’s recovery and I recounted the trauma and my words. He said, “It may be no consolation, but your son now knows the real meaning of Original Sin.”

My friend’s words made me realize how little I talk to my kids about Sin. I am a priest and a theologian after all. I believe in Sin; I just don’t talk about it.

I talk to my kids about God’s unfailing love. I talk to them about good character. I talk to them about healthy relationship practices, like honesty and respect. I talk to them about resisting the temptation to judge by placing themselves in another person’s circumstance. I make them watch the March of the Penguins to extol the virtues of sharing and value of sacrifice.

I quote Desmond Tutu:

Fairness is not every one having the same thing; fairness is every one having what they need.

And Rebecca Lyman:

Faith is the courage to love when your heart is broken; and the determination to hope when all the news is bad.

And occasionally, Jesus:

Do to others as you would have them do to you.

I try to model kindness and generosity, good-humor and reconciliation (with varying degrees of success) because my faith has taught me these things that make our world livable.

While I rarely mention sin, I am aware that I am asking my kids to live “Kingdom of God –lives” in the context of Sin. There is no doubt in my mind that our world is broken. No matter what “advances” we humans have made intellectually, philosophically and technologically, we have not managed to “fix” ourselves. We remain subjected to the greed and hatred that infect the human heart. We still find ourselves at constant war: with other people, with our planet, and even with our own bodies. This is the broken-ness of the world. And it is the toxic ocean we all swim in.

I realize that asking my kids to live against the grain of that broken-ness is like asking a fish to avoid water. Still, I want them to resist the messages of our “self” centered culture (that “it’s all about me and my stuff”) and to reject the false gods of money and power. I want them to rebel against the lies of patriarchy and white supremacy that have given rise to the “-isms” in our lives. I want them to fight the poisonous effects of the very air they breathe.

I want my kids to resist the power of Sin because I want them have life. I don’t want them to relinquish life for the illusion of security. In this world, there are no “pain free” options. One way or another we will pay a price. Whether we choose the way of the world or we choose a more excellent Way, it will cost us something.

I want my kids to choose the things that give life: love over hate, generosity over greed, empathy over judgment, and peace over war. “For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?”

I do not pretend that this will be easy. I know that doing the right thing is often difficult. I know that choosing honesty and honor will frequently be punished. I know that kindness will be considered weakness. I know that personal suffering threatens to blind us to the needs of others and make us bitter. I know that the world is in the habit of killing its peace makers.

I struggle every day to live honestly and lovingly and rarely get it right. All too often, I give in to fear. I fear pain. I fear suffering: not only my own, but the suffering of my children. I fear failure; and in my fear, I fail.

But I still ask my kids to be who their Creator/Redeemer created them to be: bearers of God's loving image. I know in my heart that living is not about simply avoiding pain. My husband loves to quote an old boxing coach who said, “If you’re a fighter and you haven’t had your butt kicked, you haven’t been fighting long enough!” There are a billion ways to be wounded in this world. And the world will kick our butt. Sometimes, we just have to decide who we are going to be, and the price we are willing to pay, and leave the rest in God’s hands.

The day after my son’s treatment, I walked onto his hospital ward and found him in the play room. He was calling out directions in Spanish, as a little girl (about the same age as his brothers) laughed and ran, trying to figure out the rules of “hospital kick ball.”

My son greeted me and introduced me to Orega. He then pointed out a baby (her brother), who was sitting outside of his room, watching the game and waving his tracheotomy tube. He explained that the family did not speak much English and that he’d been entertaining Orega and the baby.

As he was talking, Orega tugged on his arm and said shyly, “Listo?”

“Un momento,” he said.

Orega wandered over to her brother and began talking to him.

I could tell that my son was wearing out. He winced as I inspected the blue/black bruises on his arms. He rested his head on my side. I asked him if he needed to stop and rest. “In a little while,” he replied.

He lay against me for a few minutes. Then he got up.

“Orega,” he called out, “Vamos a jugar.” And with a squeal, the game resumed.

I got up and left the play area, because I knew I was going to cry. My tough-minded son was showing me something powerful. While I was struggling with my grief and guilt, he was choosing compassion. While I was wallowing in self-pity, he was choosing laughter and play. He had decided who he was going to be, and it someone that I respected and admired.

I live in a broken, Sin-sick world. It is a world where: children get sick, language and religion and skin color divide, selfishness is the order of the day, wealth is considered a divine right, and where those who suffer are considered deserving of their suffering.

I wish it were not so. I wish I could tell my kids that everything will be fine, and that they will always be safe. I would give anything to insure my children against suffering and pain. But I can’t save them. I can only do my best to prepare them.

Luckily, every now and then, God gives me a glimpse of redemption, a taste of grace, a hint of what our world could be. And these brief samples are enough to give me hope.

My hope is real. And because I hope, I don’t talk much about Sin with my children; I share my hope with them instead.

Enough About Sex: Let's talk Marriage

2011-03-11T13:16:00.000-08:00

As I was walking through Costco Sunday afternoon, I passed by a woman on her cell phone. I heard her say, “I’m in the Costco and I’m going to pick up a few things.”
‘Like me’, I thought to myself, as I browsed the clearance tables, ‘trying to squeeze in one more task’.

As I stopped to survey the food samples, I heard her say, “No! I’m not with anyone. I’m by myself.” Her voice was strained. I glanced over my shoulder and looked at her. I saw her fumbling in her purse; I saw the distress in her eyes and her trembling hands.

“No,” she continued, “I told you, I am at the Costco.”

“I’m not with anyone! Why are you being this way? Why can’t I just make a stop on the way home?” She looked like she was about to cry.

I saw the ring on her finger and assumed she was talking to her husband who, I’d already concluded, was a jerk. I wanted to say, “Honey just hang up! Run away! Run away!” But I didn’t. I headed towards the laundry detergent.

While I can rationalize my actions in that moment (my husband and kids were waiting for me, I couldn’t judge anything from half a conversation, it wasn’t really my business, etc.), I cannot help but think that the Church (that is, those who claim to be followers of Jesus) could say more to the world about human relationships.
The more I think about it, the more bizarre it seems that the church spends so much time talking about sexuality and sexual orientation, but precious little time talking about human relationship and human flourishing. Howard Thurman once said that the two great questions in life are: “Where are you going?” and “Who is going with you?” I think two questions can be added to his formula: “Who do you want to be?” and “Who can help you become that person?”

In a world where most relationships are regulated by power (emotional, sexual, economic, etc.), I think a faith based on radical love could offer a great alternate model. This makes it all the more embarrassing that the best the Church could come up with, is what Christopher Webber termed a “Faustian bargain with the State”.
The Church tried to pretty it up. We called it “a sacrament”; we said it was “holy” (even though the net effect was putting an ecclesiastical seal on the status quo).
Surely something we term Holy (as in Holy Matrimony) should have more transcendent power than it is currently given by the church.

Marriage has to be more than magic fairly dust that somehow removes the “taint” of sex from those who do it, or a legal contract that gives participants the right to sue one another. It has to be about more than the political wrangling about who gets to do it and under what circumstances. The Church has talked about marriage as if it is the only context for “good” sex, without confronting the reality that it is also the context for horrible, manipulative and abusive sex.

A better understanding of Holy Matrimony could offer glimpses of the same re-union reflected in the incarnation and the resurrection. Marriage could be a context in which we are reunited with our most vulnerable self, with God and with another. It could be a safe course on which we practice the art of intimacy: spiritually, physically and emotionally, with God’s help. And if we could figure out how to go holy places with an another human being, if we could learn the lessons of mercy and forgiveness, if we could develop a knack for yielding and sacrifice with one who is willing to practice in the same manner…….who knows what we could do?

Maybe in addition to the potential for fantastic sex, Holy Matrimony could offer the potential of living the command “love one another as I have loved you,” too. Maybe if we got a better grip on the marriage relationship, we could figure out best practices in other relationships as well. If we talked about the context in which deeply intimate human relationships grow, maybe we could come up with better ways to talk about marriage.

I am not claiming that marriage by any definition will answer to all the relationship problems in the world. I do think the Church will remain unable to speak convincingly about real reconciliation and relational righteousness in this world if we simply abdicate marriage to the pundits, lawyers and reality TV shows.

I have prayed for the woman in Costco many times. I know my silence and the Church’s ongoing silence is letting her and everyone like her down. We keep getting stuck in the crazy stuff, and forgetting that there is a world full of wounded people suffering broken relationships.

So, enough about sex and sexual orientation; Big Love and Big Bad Love, Yes to the Dress and Skins! Let’s talk about relationships and power, and the holiness of true union and the radical love of God in Christ…..for a change.

Wake County School VS Colbert

2011-01-23T07:50:00.000-08:00

I had hoped to be able to post the video clip, but Colbert speaks truth on so many levels. I hope you watch it. Peace.

Parenting 101

2010-12-06T14:27:00.000-08:00

I just survived a week of four sick children. Caring for four children with a stomach virus is by no means fun. They fell ill like dominoes: one after the other, in the middle of the night. The routine of changing beds, changing clothes, ferrying buckets, cups of ginger ale and cold washcloths seemed endless. And each child has a different temperament and different levels of emotional need when sick: one needs a permanent post on a lap, the other to be left (mostly) alone, etc.

While care-taking was exhausting, tedious and downright gross, it was one of my better moments of parenting. I had no problems with my children’s individual needs. I could accept their limitations and encourage them to do the things that would make them better. Most of all, I could be with them: close when they needed me and a “Mom!” away when they called. For those hours, I did not once feel the stir of impatience or the hopeless frustration that often accompanies my parenting.

I rejoice in those moments, few as they are, because they give me hope. Parenting has been the greatest challenge I have faced to date. My expectations and the reality in which I live never seem to match up. The difficulties are many. Beginning with the genetic code inherited by my kids which is rife with characteristics that I wish I could erase and including my constant feelings of incompetence, I often feel that I'm struggling just to keep up.

Add to this, my endless list of questions: how to not inflict my fears or limitations on my children; how to provide enough safety and security without stifling their spirit adventure; how to appreciate each child’s unique gifts and personality; how to know when to say yes and when to say no; how to love without strings; how let go when all I want to do is hold on. I often ask myself what hormone-induced insanity made me think I could be a parent.

I remember when I rebelled at the notion of God as a divine parent. I especially rebelled at the “Father” label, steeped as it was in patriarchy and the fallacy of “Father Knows Best.” “God the Father” has always seemed like a convenient justification for misogyny and oppression. My foray into parenting has steadily challenged those notions.

Lately, I have run scrambling to prayer and to Scriptural for help. My search has opened my eyes to many images of God’s parenting. Particularly striking to me are the images of God as a bird sheltering babies beneath warm wings and those passages that speak of God gathering lost, injured children.

I have come to better appreciate God’s parenting skills. Our Creator appreciates each of us as unique and beautiful creatures. God recognizes that each child has different needs. God appreciates the D- kids as much as the A+ kids. God doesn’t value the special needs kids any less than the able ones. God is willing to let adult children make stupid choices and love them anyway. God not afraid to be with us in the disgusting mess we make of our lives. And God is never further than a “Mom!” away.

And, during the past week, as I kneeled by my husband scrubbing the "retch-edness" off the floor and watched him coddle sick kids even as he himself started to succumb to the germ, I realized again that many of our notions of “fatherhood” have been more fantasy than reality. Fatherhood is not about distant, domineering relationship. “Daddy!” is yelled in the middle of the night as frequently as “Mom!” in our house. And the response is the same: a mad dash to the side of a frightened child.

If God is eternal (and I believe that is the case), God’s parenting must encompass that of both mother and father. God’s parenting is the best of those concepts, minus the baggage of human failure and genetic flaw. God’s parenting is not defined by patriarchy or oppression. God’s parenting is love: pure, simple and perfect. Even if mine isn’t.

I'm rich

2010-11-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, ‘Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life? ’Jesus said to him, ‘Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.” ’ He said to him, ‘Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.’ Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, ‘How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!’ And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, ‘Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’ Mark 10:17-25

A few of weeks ago, I was listening to NPR’s Market Place Money talk show and the featured topic of the show was defining what it meant to be “rich” or “wealthy”.
As I listened, I was surprised by how few people believed that they were rich. Even people with a million dollars in the bank were saying things like, “I’m just like the rest of the people in our neighborhood,” and “I’m not rich; Bill Gates and Warren Buffet are rich.” Most of these people insisted on comparing themselves to the richest people they knew. Like the rich man in the story of “The Rich Man and Lazarus,” they couldn’t even see the poor people lying at the entrance to their gated communities.

As the income disparities between rich and poor grow in our own country, the disparity between the average American’s life style and that of the rest of the world is even more dramatic. Depending on who you believe, the median household income in the US is somewhere between 49 and 60K. According to the World Bank, this means that the average American sits easily in the top 0.97 percentile of all money earners in the world. Our standard of living is stratospheric. Our country thrives on consumption and we consume nice things.

I don’t pretend to stand above the fray. I like having nice things. I want my organic, shade-grown, small-batch coffee beans. I want to take a nice vacations. I like living in a nice community, with great schools. I enjoy treating myself to new things and sushi outings rank high on my list of favorite things. Even though my family had to cut back a lot when my husband lost his job, our standard of living hasn’t changed much. We cut out some non-essentials, but, thanks to my husband’s frugality, we continue to have a full life.

That is not to say a million dollars wouldn't be nice. As a kid who grew up with a single mom in Spring Lake, North Carolina, a million dollars still sounds like a lot of money to me. And perhaps my small town upbringing explains why I was so surprised to hear millionaires claim that they were not rich on Market Place Money.

I was not surprised, however, by the anxieties and insecurities expressed by many of those with financial means. Those who had inherited money were particularly plagued by self-doubt and depression. They were afraid of losing all that their parents had worked for; they were afraid that people only liked them for their money; they questioned whether they deserved anything they had.

When the show aired the following week, it was clear that few had any sympathy for the sufferings of the wealthy. Many who called or wrote in to comment on the show were outraged by the implication that wealthy people were worthy of compassion. One person commented that it was sickening for a person sitting in a mansion to whine about how tough their life was. This comment (and others like it) testifies to how strong the myth of money buying happiness continues to be in our cultural consciousness. If people believe that having a high-paying job or inherited wealth removes one’s right to feel pain, it is because they also believe that if they were in possession of those things they would be pain free.

The reactions voiced on the show, sent me to the story about Jesus and the rich young man/ruler. The story is told in all three synoptic gospels, but only Mark’s version has these words: Jesus, looking at him, loved him. I have come to assume that every human being, rich or poor, has pain in their life. In addition to that, I believe that every human being, rich or poor, is loved by God.

Jesus’ advice to the rich guy was clear: give your money away. And the reason Jesus said this is even clearer, given the man’s response: he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Jesus knew that money can take over our lives very quickly. Our drive to consume can consume us. By comparing ourselves to the Bill Gates and Warren Buffets of the world, we lose touch with the world and we lose sight of our own abundance. Before we know it, we are stepping over the poor on our way to getting more stuff. We become “rich in things and poor in soul.”

So for my soul’s sake, let me now confess it: I’m rich. I have a job, health insurance, a house, and my own computer. More than that, I have four beautiful, healthy, above average children and a husband who adores me. More than that, I am in good health and (usually) in my right mind.

I may not have a million in the bank, but by God’s grace: I’m rich.

Time

2010-10-06T10:53:00.000-07:00

Consider the thousands of miles of earth beneath your feet; think of the limitless expanse of space above your head. Walk in awe, wonder and humility. ----Wilfred A. Peterson

This is my new goal: to be fully present where ever I am so that I can walk in awe, wonder and humility.

I just returned from CREDO, and my time there brought into sharp focus the “business” that consumes me. CREDO is a conference sponsored by the Church Pension Fund that invites groups of clergy or groups of lay persons to focus on vocation, health and lifestyle. (As it happens, church work can lead to burnout, discouragement and depression. Who knew?!?!)

In recent months, I have noticed my energy flagging. I have experienced myself moving from one task to the next, from one conversation to the next, without full awareness of being in those moments. Time for reflection and wonder has become like a luxury I cannot afford.

I knew all this before I attended CREDO. And a lot of it can be attributed to trying to balance work, marriage, 4 kids, a dog, a geriatric cat, a spiritual life......

Still, the eight days of prayer, worship and group reflection were helpful reminders of who I am and why I’m a priest. The irony of my life and work did not fully sink in until my return. How can a priest be aware of the presence of God and call others to that awareness if s/he is not mentally, emotionally and spiritually present? How can church leaders expect people to take Sabbath seriously, if we don’t take it seriously ourselves?

CREDO reminded me that God created a Sabbath, on purpose. The Sabbath was not just a left over day that God wanted to fill and ran out of ideas. God created Sabbath time. Sabbath time reminds us of the sacredness of all time. Without it, we risk losing track of and appreciation for the time we have.
This I also knew. But faithfulness is not just about what we know; it is about how we live.

Early in my ministry, I had a spiritual director who always found ways of bringing up a certain monk to address whatever spiritual difficulty I was having. For this particular monk, all of life was a holy. My inability to remember the monk’s name testifies to how present I was during these stories. I do remember, however, that for this monk, God was always present: when he was washing dishes; when he was sweeping the floor; when he was peeling potatoes.

For Brother “What’s-his-name”, there was no divide between the sacred and the profane. Every moment was sacred and deserving of our full attention. He believed that when we recognize the holiness of every moment, then every action has the potential to be prayer.

Since the coming of my twins, I have entered the daily fray of my life wanting only to make it to the end of said day (mostly) alive, with my sanity (somewhat) intact. I have ended nearly every day bemoaning my lack of time: no time to spend with each kid, no time to pray, no time to exercise. I now remember that the time I have is what I make it.

These days, I am trying to keep my spiritual antennae up and appreciate the blessings in each moment. I am also trying to focus less on what I’ve accomplished and more on who I’ve encountered.

Lastly, I am trying to observe Sabbath time (and am gaining greater respect for every Jew I know who faithfully observes the Sabbath). It is so hard; and it is even hard to shake the feeling that I should be doing something. I have to remind myself that when I take sabbath time, I am doing something: I am making space for grace and space for God. Time is not about how much activity can be packed into a week. Time is about noticing that there is grace all around. And when we notice all of that grace, it is much easier to “walk in awe, wonder and humility”.

el lodo y el polvo

2010-08-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

Tamarindo held a triathlon here this weekend and the sponsors paid to have the roads graded for the race. Mark was disappointed that we hadn’t learned about the race sooner (we’d spent a day on line looking for races in Costa Rica and didn’t find any). I learned that it is not a good thing to have a triathlete in the house when there is a race going by.

This weekend I also learned what happens to mud when it dries. It turns into dust that flies around when cars speed down the road. Our walks are less bumpy and pothole filled, but no less dirty.

While our brief respite from the rain brought different problems, I personally prefer dust with sun, to slipping in the mud and rain. The dust was annoying and especially difficult on my contact lenses. But I learned to close my eyes when the big trucks drove by. We were fortunate that there wasn't much wind off the beach. My teacher said that wind added to dry dirt equaled dust everywhere, all the time.

I have had the same teacher for the past two weeks and I have found her delightful. She is kind and usually smiling. This week, we practiced our interrogatives (Donde? Como? Que? Cual? And Por que?), and I used my new found skills to learn more about her. My first question was: if there's a wet and muddy season, and a dry and dusty season, when is the good season in Guanacaste province?

The answer was given with a laugh: November! :>

My teacher, Senora F, always finds the upside of things. She is 37 and the youngest of six children. She has a degree from the University of Santa Cruz in pre-school education. She is married and has been with her husband for 20 years. She began teaching at WAYRA two years ago, when the economy tanked and the preschool she ran closed.

There were looks of horror on a few of my classmates faces when she told us (proudly) that her husband was a sanitation worker. Sra. F considers herself lucky; she and her husband both have jobs in these tough times. Costa Rica has experienced a decline in tourism and a many of the new houses and condos that were being built for those tourists, now stand empty.

Sra. F's husband has a government job which, in Costa Rica, means job security.
Even though the school is somewhat dependent on the tourism industry, she and the other teachers at WAYRA have managed to keep working.

There are seven language intructors at the school. Because things are so expensive in Tamarindo, few of the teachers can afford to live here. Sra. F takes a fifty-minute bus ride from her home Santa Cruz to work in Tamarindo five days a week. She leaves her home around 6:30 am and she leaves the school around 6 pm. She has lived in Santa Cruz her whole life and much of her family lives there. In the evening, her children wait at her mother’s house until she arrives to take them home.

Sra. F has two children. Her oldest child (a boy) was born with a cleft lip and palate. She spent several months in San Jose while he underwent surgeries to repair the problem. He is 14 now and Sra. F is saving up for the final surgery that will put the cosmetic touches on the repair.

Her daughter is 8 and was born with an intact palate, but at 32 weeks gestation. Sra. F spent another extended time period at the hospital in San Jose. Both her children are currently healthy and Sra. F swears by the remedies her herbalist prepares.

Sra. F's house is large (3 bedrooms) and comfortable. She doesn’t have air conditioning (she doesn’t like it); she doesn’t have hot water (who needs hot water in Costa Rica?). She does have running water (and a back-up cistern), a nice kitchen, ceiling fans in every room and a large bathroom (just one) with a separate toilet.

Whenever Sra. F talks about her life, she speaks of the abundance of it. She is terminally cheerful and encouraging. Most importantly, she has a lot of patience with me and my bad Spanish.

While Sra. F is an excellent grammar teacher, I know that the best learning I had was from the particles of her life story that she shared with me. The bits and pieces of a life full of hardship, but overflowing with blessing have been a gift. I consider myself lucky to have met Sra. F. She has reminded me that even dust can be meaningful.

la lluvia, las clases, y los monos

2010-08-15T20:35:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I begin my next unit of class. I signed up for the intensive course, and it is living up to its name. I spend four hours each morning in grammar class, learning basic vocabulary and verb conjugations. After lunch, I return to school for basic conversation. Exept in my case, my professor wants to talk about the hardest topics: a lunes- la iglesia (the church), a martes-fe y muerte (faith and death), a miercoles-la vida de Cristo, a jueves- los pecados (sin).

I consider myself fairly well versed in these topics. I am a priest after all. Nonetheless, trying to talk about these things in Spanish made me feel like an idiot. I don't know nearly enough words; the pluperfect tense is well past my learning level, and I don't know the subtle differences between words. It feels like I'm trying to paint china with a mop. The expereince is more than a little frustrating.

My teacher assures me that I will improve in the coming weeks. "You learn to speak by speaking," he says. I'm not so sure that learning to conjugate "to be" and "to go" and "to have" are going to take me very deep into theological territory. On Friday, I had to present a prayer I wrote. It was all wrong, but my teacher said he liked the way I prayed. LOL!

In addition to my learning frustrations, a dear member of my church died this week and because of the rain, I haven't had good phone lines and the internet has been down more often than up. This evening has been best internet time I've had all week. I feel so limited and so out of touch! (Not to mention that my blog's spell check only works in Spanish so I can't even be sure that my posts are correct.)

Oh, did I mention that it has been raining? August in Costa Rica is wet! Between rain showers, the humidty rolls in, and then it rains again. Everything is soggy and my hair is standing on end. The first thing I will do when I return, is put on a pair of dry shoes!

This weekend provided a rare respite. We had almost two full days of sun! It rained around dinner time, but we had nice beach and pool time in the morning and afternoon. This morning we were further blessed to have a howler monkey serve as our alarm clock. The troop, which had about 12 members, took up residence in the trees in front of our condo. The loud calls of the male echoed all around. There were even a couple of little babies being carried on their mothers backs. My family, along with everybody else who happened to be out at 7 am on a Sunday, stopped to watch the group eat and play. I'm sure it was more relaxing for Mark than his average Sunday morning in church.

Since the closest church is about 30 minutes away by car, and since we don't have a car, we've been doing church at home. I'm also teaching my big kids to read Compline (even though they are less than thrilled)and they are making good progress.

There are many things here which, like Church, require a degree of ingenuity on our part. We have had to "make do" in many ways. Our kitchen needs about $100 worth of equipment (so we used a stockpot as the bowl for mixing pancakes, and Mark figured out how to flip an omlet with a spoon), but we've managed to make tasty meals anyway. The single bathroom is definitely a stumbling block, especially with two two-year olds ("Mommy, what are you doing?"). In addition, the kids have to share a bed, and bedtime gets challenging (with fights over who's hogging the blankets, the pillows, etc).

When I'm confronted with these issues my innner whiner somtimes kicks in. I then remind myself that the average Costa Rican family of four lives in 700 square feet, with one bathroom.

It is amazing how little a human being actually needs to have a good life. Yes, a blender, a set of mixing bowls, an English spell check, another bedroom and another toilet would make life easier. But I'm no longer convinced those things make life better. Mark and I are no more stressed here than in our house. We eat just as well and our kids spend more time outdoors (even in the rain).

I suspect that when I leave Costa Rica, my prayers in Spanish will still be error filled. But hopefully, they will orininate from a heart that has grown more grateful.

hola

2010-08-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Costa Rica a little over 48 hours ago. Getting our living situation in hand has taken us a little longer than I anticipated. On the other hand, it has taken me less than three days to realize how spoiled we are.

We are staying in a condo in the town of Tamarindo. True to its ad, our condo is “walking distance to everything.” WAYRA, our spanish school, is right around the corner; the small market is 100 yards away; the bank and larger market are 10 minutes away; and the beach is a 5 minute walk out the front door. Since a car was not in our budget,we wanted to live where we could walk easily with the kids.

Another reason we wanted a convenient location was because we are visiting during the “green” (meaning rainy) season. At this time of year, it rains every day, sometimes up to 3 hours. Having this central location makes life easier overall, but walking is not as easy as we had hoped.

Walking on the roads is the first reminder of how spoiled I am. I am used to roads being paved, and having sidewalks. All of the roads through Tamarindo are dirt and pothole-filled. There are hardly any sidewalks to speak of. After the rain fills the holes, the mud is slippery and unavoidable. Slipping and sliding from the market with my backpack filled with groceries was quite an adventure. The road sometimes dries out by 2 pm; drying just in time for the afternoon showers.

The water-filled potholes also make it difficult to move around with the twins. It is nearly impossible to convince a two-year old to resist the tempting invitation of so many mud puddles. I have already had to do laundry thanks to the mud and my twins’ lack of will power.

Feeding all of us is also challenging. We have committed ourselves to eating locally for two reasons: taking a party of six out to eat frequently is cost prohibitive, and Mark and I value eating local cuisine. Unfortunately, the grocery stores here are a lot smaller than the ones at home and they have limited supplies. The farmer's market is only open on Tues, Thrus and Fri mornings and we still haven't found the fish market. This has made for a few "interesting" meals. We figure as long as we have a protein and a starch, we will be ok (and mangos make up for a lot).

We have learned that there is an AUTO MERCADO about 3 miles down the main road (also dirt), just past the blind curve of death. Most everyone agrees that this is the “most American” grocery in town. Mark is planning to bike down there this afternoon. We shall see how it goes.

Other things that take getting used to: the need to boil our drinking water and the periodic power outages. The landlord told us to expect the power to go off and stay off for a few hours, 2-3 days a week. The resorts have backup generators, but the locals just keep going in the dark. We are living more like the locals, much to the kids dismay. We have already experienced our first afternoon of darkness. We also endure sporadic internet availability, and sharing our space with the massive iguanas that hang out by the pool.

Nonetheless, we are priviledged and blessed. By the standards of most families in this area, we are living large! We have a dishwasher!!

Whatever adjustments or challenges I face, I am certainly blessed to be here. If nothing else,the challenges remind me how much I have back home.

Back in the saddle

2010-07-26T11:28:00.000-07:00

I am struggling with re-entry. I have this trouble whenever I'm away, for vacation or study leave, but I am experiencing it really profoundly since coming back from the Freedom Ride Pilgrimage.

Freedom Ride 2010 was envisioned as a pilgrimage of racial reconciliation. Ten adults and 32 youth got on a bus and traveled from eastern North Carolina to Greensboro, exploring the affects of racial division on our nation, state, and church.

We considered the Wilmington coup of 1898, where the elected government of North Carolina (black and white legislators) was ousted and terrorized by Southern Democrats spreading fear and hate. We walked the streets of historic Edenton, looking at the fabulous houses on the sound, and considering the life of Harriet Jacobs, who spent 7 years hiding from her tyrannical owner in a space too small to stand in until she could escape to freedom.

We walked across the campus of NC A&T University, Greensboro; we saw the remnants Scott hall. We placed our hands in holes left in the brick by 50 mm shells fired by the National Guard. We endured the "Hall of Shame" at the Civil Rights Museum, confronted by life-sized pictures of lynching horrors: mutilated bodies hanging from trees; a man's body reduced to charred remnants. The most horrifying image for me, was that of a white man, smiling at the camera with the carnage behind him, his arm draped casually around a boy, who looked to be about my son's age.

This is American history. It is part of the very fabric of our nation. It is also a part of the fabric of our church: from the enslaved people who built the church buildings, to those who advocated for their freedom. From William Saunders, a chief organizer of the KKK, to Jonathan Daniels who died while trying to register Black voters.

I struggle with this history because I want my kids to know the whole story: all of the ugly, mixed up, nastiness of it. I also want them to understand how dangerous it is when "the enemy" becomes something less than human in our eyes. Still,there is a part of me that does not want my kids to see it. I don't want them to see the atrocity that human beings do to one another. I don't really want my children to see (in the words of Vernon Tyson)"what hate looks like."

Nonetheless, I recognize, in all of this, the nature of sin. The child at the lynching did not choose to be there any more than those lynched men chose the color of their skin. And in the midst of such unspeakable evil, God loves them all.

For me, evil does not originate in some outside demon. It begins with the malevolent will of the human heart. From there, it becomes part of the forces that corrupt and destroy the children of God. And many were ground down under the yoke of slavery and the boot of Jim Crow. Through the fires of the civil rights movement, have come the uneasy peace that seems even more restless since the country put a Black man in the Oval Office.

Jesus said it wasn't enough for us to love those who loved us. We are called to love those who hate us, to bless those who curse us. Laws can create a civil society, but it takes more than laws to create a just society. It takes love. Freedom Ride 2010 reminded me how difficult a task this call is. It also reminded me how absolutely necessary it is for world.

the problem with BP

2010-06-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine told me a story this past week. He needed gas and he turned down a street that had a Shell station on one side and a BP station on the other. He immediately turned into the Shell station. He explained that he had been avoiding the BP stations close to his house in protest against the continued stream of oil polluting the Gulf of Mexico. When he turned into the station, he was thrilled to see a line 3-4 cars deep at each pump island of the Shell, while one lone car was filling up at the BP. He said, "I felt proud. We were all making a statement that we would rather wait in line than give BP our money."

In the twenty minutes it took for him to get gas, he claimed that only one car "defected" to the BP. He didn't even complain when he had to go inside to get his receipt, because the pump had run out of paper. "It was worth it," he said, "and I needed a Pepsi anyway."

He was feeling pretty good about himself and he pulled out into the road, ready to sneer in the general direction of the BP station. And then he saw her. A middle aged woman in a green vest was standing in the door way of the BP station. She was just standing there. He said to me, "Suddenly, I didn't feel like I'd done such a great thing."

For me, what is going on in the Gulf of Mexico is horrifying. I am sickened by the images of oil covered water birds and tar stained marsh lands. I am tired of hearing about "dispersants" which only serve to keep the oil off the surface of the water by pushing it down into the parts of the water column where animals live and breed. I am worried that my children will be adults before it is safe to eat anything out of those waters. Like my friend, I too, am ready for someone to be punished (via lighting bolt or boils preferably)for all this.

But whom shall we punish? A careless rig worker? A lazy inspector? An oil company that employs thousands of people who are just trying to live their lives, feed their families and have a chance to retire? Or should we punish a world with lots of cars and a voracious appetite for petroleum? On whom can we call down the fires of heaven without collateral damage? As my friend realized, even when we feel justified in our behavior, even when we know a wrong has been done, our judgement will probably negatively impact some innocent soul.

For me, this is the reality of Sin writ large. And this is why it is critical for disciples to remember that to walk with Jesus is to walk in the way of compassion.

The reality of Emmanuel, God with us, is that God dove into the muck of Sin we swim in, and saw that we were more messed up than we could even imagine. Jesus knew well how the tangled web of sin bound humanity. Jesus knew that we were much better at messing things up than being faithful. And he loved us anyway. Even when Jesus was angry, he felt compassion for people: the harried crowds, the woman at the well, the rich young man, lepers and tax collectors alike.

Compassion and mercy are tools with which our world will be saved. It is hard to remember that Jesus came to save, when all we want to do is condemn.

The problem with BP, is that it is easy to call down the fires of heaven on an abstract evil empire. It is much more difficult to condemn a gas station attendant standing alone in a door way.

What is happening to the Gulf of Mexico is horrifying and tragic: for the waters, for the wild life, and for all the people who will suffer because of it. But I believe that God is merciful, so I am praying for everything and everyone affected by this disaster. I have even pledged to pray for the president of BP(though I'm not quite convinced he doesn't really deserve a case of boils), because even he is God's child.

Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.

The log and the speck

2010-06-14T15:01:00.000-07:00

(David) said to Nathan, "As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die; he shall restore the lamb fourfold because he had no pity."
2 Samuel 11:5b-6

The Veggie Tales animated series has a great retelling of the story of David and Bathsheba called "King George and the Duckie." It is sharp and witty. King George has hundreds of beautiful rubber ducks, but he wants Jr's duck. And he will have Jr's duck, even if it means sending the kid to the front of the Great Pie War and leaving him there. The King's covetousness and greed is there for all the world to see. But like David, he can't see it. King George can only see his desire and his sense of entitlement. He sings "Don't ask me to explain; there will be pain, if you don't bring me back that duck!"

Reading the end of 2 Samuel, I am amazed at the power of King David's response to Nathan's parable. His anger is swift. His judgement sure: anyone who behaves so cruelly deserves to die! David sees so clearly the ugliness of Nathan's rich man, because it is so obvious. David's own sinfulness is just as obvious, but he cannot see it.

I think everyone (especially people of faith) has a blind spot like David's. It is so much easier to spot the flaws in others. Especially when they are so obvious! And while we are so busy noticing the faults of others, we persist in overlooking our own.

Jesus asks us: Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? Or how can you say to your neighbor, 'Friend let me take out the speck in your eye,' when you yourself do not see the log in your own eye? Luke 6:41-42

The short answer: it is easier. It is easier to stand back with smug self-righteousness than to repent and work for reconciliation. It is much easier to judge another's sin than to come to grips with our own.

But David does it. He sees his fault. He recognizes that himself deserves the judgment he called down on another.

King George manages to do it as well. In his case, he was able to return the stolen duckie to its rightful owner and avoid some of David's unpleasantness.

What a great thing it would be if we were all more concerned with removing the logs from our own eyes. God knows we're not perfect or even close to it. What a great thing it would be, if we stopped telling ourselves that we(and we alone)were.

ma-wage, ma-wage, ma-wage is the weason....

2010-06-08T11:52:00.000-07:00

Thirteen years ago, when we were planning our wedding, my husband and I used to quote the bishop's sermon from the Princess Bride to one another. It always made us laugh and our laughter kept whatever craziness was threatening to undo us, recede.

If anyone had told me, back in the day that I would get married and stay married for 13 years, I would have certainly laughed. If they had said I would actually like being married, I would have laughed even harder. I, like many of my peers, come from a "divorced" home. And the people I knew of who stayed married, didn't seem to like each other very much. Most seemed to be biding time, waiting for the "death do us part" ticket to freedom. I didn't see very many happy people in marriages. And since marriage didn't seem like a whole lot of fun, I had resigned myself to being a divorcee (provided I could actually find someone I was willing to marry).

My negativity about marriage makes the last 13 years of my life somewhat miraculous. Not that it hasn't had its difficulties: 4 children (Lord, help us), job changes, building a house, job loss.... We've experienced tons of stress and stress makes us crazy and crazy people say/do crazy things. But, at the end of the day, we always conclude that joining our lives together was a good thing overall.

I'm not sure what marriage means in our society any more. There are lots of discussions about defining it (placing limits on who gets to "do it"). Most arguments seem me to use "God" language to justify the state's institution (let's keep our country and economy strong, by marrying people off). Or maybe marriage is the last gasp that keeps the institutional church in business (at least some people still envision their dream wedding in a church).

Neither of those options bode well for the future of marriage. If marriage is all about the tax breaks and the insurance benefits,or who does what with their "parts," I think it will certainly go the way of the dinosaurs. On the other hand, I don't know if the church really knows what marriage means, either. Jesus talks about marriage being something that lasts, but then says there is no marriage in heaven. If the covenant only lasts for this life, then my salvation isn't dependant on this worldly bond. So why do it? If marriage has meaning, its meaning must be in and for this world.

In the eight year journey that took my partner and me from meeting to marrying, we navigated a lot of detours and road blocks. We were blown off course, drifted apart and somehow found each other again. When we finally decided to marry, we spent our wedding planning haggling over the service: the words, the vows, the symbols and what each meant. We argued about the meaning of sacraments and community and covenant and blessing. My priest said we could write our own vows, if we could improve on the theology of the Book of Common Prayer. And being two seminary trained people we were sure that we could.

In the end, we were married by my priest in his Baptist church and we changed only one vow. Instead of "forsaking all others," we said, "never allowing any earthly relationship or covenant to take precedence over this one." He borrowed a tux, I bought my gown from a vintage clothing store. We spent most of what little money we had on our matching wedding rings, the band and the dance floor.

Having been married and done a number of weddings, I'm still not sure what institution of marriage means. All I know is that 13 years ago, we publicly declared a covenant to our friends, family and community of faith. It was an act of faith. Today I still live that covenant. I wouldn't call it perfect; I wouldn't even call it "happy." But it is pretty damned good. And it continues to be an act of faith.

If I could do it over again, I would make one other "improvement" to the BCP service. After the "I will," I would add, "with God's help." Even though we love each other and work hard to stay connected, marriage is hard. It is surely God's grace that has bonded us so well. Our faith is that God is with us: in, with and under our covenant.

Grace is the glue that holds us together. As much as we get on each other's nerves (still), grace allows us to delight in each other, encourage one another, and make space were we can be our hapless, flawed, crazy selves. We give ourselves to each other, with God's help.

Maybe the meaning of marriage is only found in living it. Thirteen years from now things may be clearer.

Nowadays, if some prophet tells me that I'm going to be with my husband when I'm 90, I'll certainly laugh. I cannot even imaging 63 years of marriage (much less my husband at 95!) But these days, I believe it could be a fun time.

sharing

2010-05-27T19:06:00.000-07:00

I have been without my computer for 13 days. And while I malign my computer almost constantly, I am beginning to get a little panicky without it. I am also getting mightily sick of having to share computer time with other people at work and at home.

I don't want to share.

Reading that last sentence makes me laugh and cringe at the same time. I say, "You need to share," about a dozen times a day as one twin grapples with his brother over the object of affection. And about 24 times a day I hear, "I don't want to share!"

Having to share computer time has brought home the reality that my twins live with daily: sharing sucks. Sharing not only requires kindness, trust, and a generous spirit, it also requires patience. While I believe myself fairly kind, and rather generous, I am not patient.

I hate waiting.

I hate waiting and I hate feeling like someone is waiting on me. I get anxious when I feel as though I am impinging on another person's time (I know how much I resent it when someone is impinging on mine).

Consequently, I am always surprised, when people respond graciously when I'm late or pushing a deadline. This unexpected graciousness reminds me that sharing means more taking turns. Sharing is about giving yourself: accepting inconvenience, sacrificing expedience, and living grace.

As much as I want my kids to take turns, I want them to know and to live and to walk in grace even more. Which is all the more reason for me to seize the opportunity provided by my sick computer. If I can learn how to really share, there may be hope for the twins.

contentment

2010-05-13T08:45:00.000-07:00

"for I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have little and I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret of being well-fed and going hungry, of having plenty and being in need." Philippians 4:11b-12

I want to know the secret. I want to know how to be content. There is so much chaos in my life these days, I'm not sure I'd know contentment if it bit me. There is work chaos and the usual chaos of having six people in a house. There is financial chaos at work (dealing with a budget deficit) and at home (having gone from having two incomes to one). It seems like I spend most of my time trying to hold back the tide of overwhelm.

I am learning how to go without a great many things in my personal life. Things that were once a part of our regular routines, have become special treats. Things that I thought we had to have, are being put off.

I have managed to weather the cuts a work in staff in time. I have tried to approach all of these cuts with a practical mindedness and stoicism: it is what it is.

I thought I was doing fairly well until my computer crashed (curse you Vista!). This final privation was the proverbial straw. I was suddenly consumed with thoughts of all that I didn't have and couldn't do. I have awakened most mornings want to be somewhere, anywhere else, mentally, spiritually, physically....

When I find myself seeking escape from my life and vocation, I turn to Paul. While I disagree with him about a great many things, I always find him a source of encouragement. When I start asking myself, "What in the world are you doing and why?" Paul reminds me that the picture is bigger than the chaos I see now. Faith is trusting that God's grace really is sufficient and being satisfied.

Contentment is about finding satisfaction. My stoicism is not contentment; it is closer to resignation. Resignation is giving up, not finding satisfaction. When we are consumed by all the things we that we long for, satisfaction becomes increasingly hard to find. Reading Paul suggests that the secret to contentment lies in a willingness to live in the now.

When I am living in the future I am obsessed with what I want; when I am wandering around the past, I am grieving what I had and lost. In these states I cannot ever be satisfied with what I have now. Today: I have a job, my children are fed, my husband adores me, and we will make this month's mortgage. I even have access to a computer to write my blog. Now is not too bad.

I still hate Vista.

the 80/20 rule

2010-05-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

Today I've been pondering the 80/20 rule. I don't know who made it up, or even where I heard it, but it is the principle that in relationship the best you can hope for is to have 80% of your needs met. The idea is that you can live with 20% crap and be ok.

I think I'm spoiled. I think 80% should be the minimum requirement. Admittedly, I scored in my marriage. I really like my husband (and the 10% of the time that he's driving me nuts doesn't seem to matter much). We have survived a lot together and I cannot imagine not sharing my life with him. I think this is why I have such high expectations in my other relationships.

I want to like my family, work and my friends. I want to enjoy the time spent, feel appreciated and learn in all aspects of my life. These great expectations have lended themselves to a lot of disappointment, and I sometimes think that I expect too much.

But I can't imagine that lowering my expectations would serve me better. Don't things generally live up to your lowest expectations? It is a quandry.

Progress?

2010-04-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm moving through molasses. I was warned that I would reach this molasses syndrome when I was in seminary: the church changes slowly. In my naivete, I thought that it would take years to change the church; after 14 years of ordained ministry it is just now dawning on me that it might mean generations or eons.

The principles of Church seem pretty basic: form a community of faithful encouragement; pray; break bread together; feed the hungry; bind the broken; seek merciful justice; let every one do what they are good at; love and forgive one another. Is this so hard?

Well, yes; it is hard. It is hard for me. I claimed my discipleship 20 years ago and on my best day, I'm a mediocre disciple. I am exceptionally proficient at the breaking bread part; eating may be my real spiritual gift.

When it comes to the other stuff, however, my skills are more feeble. My love for humanity is often overshadowed by my annoyance with people. I get sucked into pettiness, immobilized by stubbornness, and blinded by my righteousness (at least it feels righteous at the time). I am usually convinced that if everyone would just move out of my way and do things MY WAY, we'd all be better off. Love and forgiveness don't thrive in such vitriol.

All in all, I'm still a sinner. Still, the last twenty years have changed me spiritully (hopefully for the better). At least now I know when I've gone off the rails. At least now I know how to ask for forgiveness and, in time, that action may make me more forgiving. But as far as making progress goes, I haven't made it very far down the road. Optimistically, the equation is probably like 20 years = .10 miles.

Progress in my spiritual life is slow; progress in the church is also slow. Thankfully, progress in the Church is not simply predicated on my progress or the progress in the other people around; with God's grace the body can be much more functional than any of us are individually. But maybe it is our reluctance to open our hearts and minds to change that keeps applying the breaks, and slowing our individual and communal development. Discipleship is just slow, hard going.

Still, following Jesus means being willing to put one foot in front of the other; staying on the journey may be enough. In the words of the Apostle Paul "we press on!" In the words of Walt Disney, "we keep moving forward!" And never mind the molasses.