Things I Never Would Have Believed #49, 854

I never, never would have thought I'd be relieved to hear that Madeleine L'Engle had died. But when my mother called tonight with That Voice, and said "Honey, I'm not sure if you've heard yet, but..." I was expecting way worse. I was expecting to hear that someone younger, healthier, and more immediately and physically a part of my day-to-day life had died.

Two hours later, though, I'm deeply sad. (I know this is a couple days old for many people; I've been offline a lot.) I knew she'd had health issues for the last five years, and that the chances were slim of her ever finishing her (rumored) novel about what happens to Meg Murry after her kids have grown. Still, there's something very final about death, even with resurrection to lean back on. And despite my initial reaction that she wasn't a part of my day-to-day life, she's had more of an impact on me than most people who I've seen more of.

I first read A Wrinkle in Time when I was 8, because she was coming to preach at our church. I don't remember a whole lot, but I do remember certain pieces of both the sermon and the adult forum that I skipped Sunday School to hear. I don't think I remember any other sermons until I get to about age 15 or so. I was enraptured enough with both her presence and her writing that I read the whole rest of the Time Trilogy right off, and kept reading her stuff as I could find it. There's now very little of her work I haven't read, though there's still a little left. It's impacted my writing, my theology, everything. In fact, it's quite possible that A Swiftly Tilting Planet may have saved my life at one point in college.

When I moved to Germany for a year, there were five books I decided I couldn't live without: the Bible, the Book of Common Prayer, A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Certain Women, and Little Women. Four of those were (at least in part) because of Madeleine L'Engle - despite excellent experiences in the rest of the church, my attachment to the Bible and the daily office come largely from her work.

I'm not sure what to do with this; not sure how to say thank you and good-bye to this incredible woman. I'll say compline tonight, and go to morning prayer tomorrow, and that will be a start, and I'll probably start rereading a lot of her stuff in the coming days and weeks, but all that only does so much.

As requested

The play church service went very well, in the end. I got a chance to practice in front of a friend that morning, which helped a lot. It turns out I'm actually more comfortable doing it when there are people around, which was a surprise. It's also sort of amazing how real the whole thing felt - the sermon was a real sermon, the prayers for healing were real prayers, but even the invalid eucharist felt pretty real. It's also pretty cool - I'm glad that's not the last time I get to do it.

Y'all lied

Ok, dear readers. When I took Use of the Voice two years ago, and got freaked out by having to chant Gospels and especially Eucharistic Prayers, you told me not to worry, that by the time I got to play church and graduation, I'd be ready.

Not so much.

I'm cool with the deacon thing. But today I have to preach and preside at a service of public healing with Eucharist, and I'm way freaked out. Way, way, freaked out. We start at 1 pm CDT - if you think of it, say a little prayer that I survive, and preferably don't screw up too badly. (Oh, but I won't be able to post and let you know that I've survived until probably Saturday or Sunday, because as soon as classes are done today the seniors head off for our closing retreat.)

How far have we really moved?

I'm sitting in class (yes, in class), and we're talking about how music is involved in our being missional. I'm hearing people suggest that what we need to do to engage missionally with secular music is to listen to secular music; to speak the gospel in the language of that culture; to be daring enough to wear clericals to a rock concert, etc.

And I just had a memory of a Saturday night worship service when I was in high school, at a youth conference. During testimonials, two peer ministers got up and confessed to the rest of us that when they'd left the night before for a rock concert, they'd decided to put their peer ministry crosses inside their shirts. (Peer ministers wore big wooden crosses so they could be identified - actually they looked a lot like pectoral crosses that bishops wear.) They talked about why they did it, their shame in wearing the crosses and then their shame in hiding them, and then wondered about the witness they might have given if they'd had the guts to wear them outside their shirts. (We probably also talked a lot that weekend about using rock music for Christian messages, about seeing the spiritual messages in rock music, etc. Those conversations were really common at these gatherings.)

And now I'm wondering: What does it mean that ten years later I'm sitting in seminary having almost exactly the same conversation? Are we coming up with decent ideas that we're just still not acting on (and then why not)? Or are we coming up with the same ideas that sound fresh but just aren't working - and then what else is there instead? Either way, it sounds to me like the conversation has gone stagnant, and I'm very aware that I'm not helping that at all.

A Very Good Day

I probably shouldn't post this until the day is over, for fear of jinxing it. Maybe I'll save as draft and post it later. But today is a very good day. For the first time in about a year and a half, I got to go to church where I wanted to, with friends, and have brunch at Lucky Platter afterward. I've missed doing that. Now my floor is clean, and in about 20 minutes friends will come over bearing dinner, and we will watch RENT (at which point Kay will finally have seen it). Then we will get on a train and go see One of the Girls play, which I have not done for a year. I may not have gotten much of a spring break this year, but condensing it all into one day makes today a pretty good one.

Ohio bound

I'm off today to Ohio for a weekend gathering with the diocesan commission on ministry and seminarians, as well as interviews for ordination. (Or as my roommate puts it, "Go jump through your hoops, and we'll text you things like "sit! stay!" while you're there and have treats for you when you get back.") I expect them to go well, but they're still interviews. I'm also hoping to have my pre-ordination psychological evaluation while I'm there, but there have been any number of obstacles in the way of that, so we'll see whether I can check that off the list or not. I'll probably be online some, but I'll definitely be offline a lot of the time, since there's no wireless at the diocesan camp & conference center. Keep me in your prayers this weekend, or?

An Episcopalian's Dream Combo...

From the Archer... Catholic and Protestant all in one post.

You scored as Radical Catholic. You are "Radical" in its Catholic sense -- from the Latin word radix, or root. You are not just a "church person" but you are a disciple of Christ, making a total commitment to the Gospel, to voluntary poverty, and self-sacrifice for others. You give without counting the cost. You need to be sure that you remain obedient to the Church and your superiors, and do not consider yourself a prophet or become elitist. Try to make good examinations of conscience and to be humble. http://saint-louis.blogspot.com - Rome of the West Liberal Catholic 57% Radical Catholic 57% Evangelical Catholic 52% New Catholic 45% Traditional Catholic 38% Lukewarm Catholic 36% Neo-Conservative Catholic 31% What is your style of American Catholicism? created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as High Church Nomad. You were raised as some kind of evangelical, but you've started to appreciate other forms of Christian piety. Specifically, you're starting to think that Roman Catholics aren't as crazy as you once thought they were. You probably won't end up going home to Rome, but Canterbury has piqued your interest. High Church Nomad 75% Moderate Evangelical 65% Evangelical Presbyterian 50% Baptist 45% Conservative Evangelical 25% Reformed Baptist 25% Presby - Old School 20% Fightin' Fundy 0% What Kind of Evangelical Are You created with QuizFarm.com

happy happy

So, I admit that when Seabury and Garrett worship together, I usually attend out of a reluctant commitment to ecumenism. That is to say, ecumenism's fine and good, but if Garrett students aren't required to attend Garrett chapel, I don't think I should have to give up my own chapel service to go to theirs. But I go, because I (generally) do what I'm told.

Today, however, it was so, so worth it. Today, we sang praise music. Without murdering it. It's been a while since I got to do that, and I'd missed it a lot - especially since my most recent worship experiences have turned me pretty well against the high church stuff for a while. (I'll come back to liking it - but not for at least a couple months more, maybe not until the fall even.) I haven't been that happy in church for a long time. I didn't even care that I didn't know most of the songs. (Of course, the beauty of praise music is that you don't have to - they're musically predictable enough that you can just hear the intro or first line and have a pretty good sense of how the rest of the song will go.)

Now, of course, those of us who went "ooh! ooh! praise music!" are trying to figure out "wait - when do we get more of that?" Still - I got to sing praise music today! Yay for that!

Are you sure?

I just got a parish survey from my sponsoring parish, with a note from... someone whose name I can't really read, maybe the chair of long-range planning? which thanks me for responding. I had already decided not to do so, since most of the questions don't really apply to me:

*How many of your five closest friends are members of St. Paul's? Well, none of them, but that's to be expected when I haven't attended regularly for the past 8 years.

*Please indicate the primary reasons you attend St. Paul's. I don't.

Etc.

But now I feel like I ought to do the survey, since I've been personally asked to, so I guess I'll just skip some of the questions....

Interruptions

Between yesterday's retreat and today's train ride to church, I've been reading Henri Nouwen's Out of Solitude. In the third meditation, he tells the story of an old Notre Dame professor who said, "I have always been complaining that my work was constantly interrupted, until I slowly discovered that my interruptions were my work."

I'm often pretty good at remembering this, especially since I'm in a field that's sort of composed of interruptions, but since I'd already given the last two days to other things (retreat, dinner with friends, sleeping enough), I'd really been counting on getting a fair amount of school work done today. That hasn't happened - in fact I've accomplished nothing that's directly related to a class (though I have managed a little Greek). In a lot of ways, this has been a weekend of interruptions. But Nouwen is fresh in my mind, so I'm choosing to reframe this weekend. Instead of complaining that I've gotten nothing done, here's what I have accomplished today:

~I made it to church, something that wasn't a foregone conclusion when I went to bed last night. While there, I filled in as torchbearer/server for the first time. I'd rehearsed the process a couple of weeks ago, but this isn't your standard torchbearing routine, so I wasn't totally on top of things - still, I made only one mistake, thanks to a very helpful and experienced lead torchbearer/server. Doing this for real for the first time also reminded me how often we take things for granted once we've done them for a while, and how teaching and training need not to assume that kind of basic knowledge right off the bat. Two years at Seabury has taught me a lot, but my instincts are still pretty much formed by a low church childhood and a background in stage managing dance - both pretty forgiving environments.

~I finished the last bit of Out of Solitude on the way home from church.

~I had four good phone conversations. One was general catching up with an out-of-town friend who's visiting soon. One was with another out-of-town friend whose grandmother isn't doing so well, so that one was less joyful, but I'm always grateful when my friends feel free to call on me for help of any sort. One was with my father, who gave me a chance to be proud of him and my mother. They'll be putting up my friend this week while he visits his grandmother, and I'm proud of how natural that kind of hospitality has become for my parents. Maybe it was always that natural, but I don't remember growing up that way, and it's always exciting to me to hear my parents view their house as something to be shared. The last call was from a friend who's just out of town for a little while, but whom I've missed seeing and hearing from over the last week. It was great to laugh with him some, and to remember how soon all of the Plunge groups will be back. I can't wait - this year's Plungers are a very cool bunch.

~My bathroom is cleaner now than it's been in a while. I don't like cleaning it at all, but there's always a sense of satisfaction in having such a clean bathroom. My sink especially had just not looked quite clean enough lately, and it's nice to see it scrubbed down again.

~I took time to eat when I was hungry, despite the fact that there were other things to be done, and I ate simple, decent food. I sometimes let myself pretend that other things are more important than taking care of such mundane bodily demands as food, and I recognize that that's not my healthiest tendency. Today I paid attention.

In light of those kinds of interruptions, I'm more willing to say that I made the most the time I had this weekend. No, my history and Hebrew aren't done, and I haven't made any progress on my end-of-term projects, but looking at my list I don't see anything that's not important. Sometimes there are more things that qualify as important than there is time for them. The work always gets done, in the end, at least here in the stained glass penthouse, but I don't always manage time for these others. I'll get back to the work now, but with a sense of gratitude and not resentment for the fullness of the weekend.

Oops

No, I'm not traumatized by the PB election, nor anything of the sort. I've just been crazy busy for the last week. I'm trying to put in a little extra time right now because I'll be out of the office Weds-Sat this week, plus I have to get ready for the ordinations and wedding themselves. Also, living with my parents, while wonderful, takes up more time than living by myself. We've been to a ball game, driven out to my cousin's engagement party (finally - they've been dating for six years), hosted my brother's financial advising welcome event, etc. So when I have had a couple of minutes, they've mostly been devoted to laundry, ironing, cooking, or sleeping.

As to my last post - I'd been highly concerned about how Bishop Jefferts Schori had gotten elected, based on things I'd heard from various sources around Convention the previous couple of days. In the days since, it's become pretty clear to me that the bishops responded to her capacity, leadership, maturity, and clear-headedness rather than pushing for a particular agenda (either right or left), though it's entirely possible that was an element also. I'm still slightly concerned about international ramifications, but mostly I'm just very pleased at their choice.

Not now

I'm entirely too conflicted to comment on the election of Jefferts Schiori as Presiding Bishop right now. I'll try to work something out here later.

The short version

is that the job is going very well. I've written one newsletter article and started a second, both of which are due Thursday; made two hospital visits; helped with a community meal that the church runs; read book one of Bede's Ecclesiastical History; made a couple of phone calls to parishioners; explained the magic of converting clergy shirts to the office staff; and been to a staff meeting, two liturgies, and a youth pool party. Oh, and my rector is off at General Convention and won't be back until Thursday, so I've been learning the ropes on my own, which has been sort of fun.

Go. Now.

Many of you will already have seen this link on AKMA's blog, but if you haven't, go now and read Holyoffice's Very Short Guide to Christianity. Don't miss the christology addendum in the comments. (2005 GOE takers will be pleased to note that he begins by defining premillenialism.)

Hmm.

So, I'm reading my introduction to the Oxford Movement so I can figure out how to research my paper on the Oxford Movement. This is admittedly an activity toward which I'm favorably disposed, but it seems to me that a lot of this history sounds remarkably familiar. Take the following, for instance - if I remove all the period markers from this paragraph, it sounds equally applicable to today (non-inclusive language notwithstanding):

"men who had been colleagues suddenly found that they had to choose between friends and the Church which had nurtured them. ...those who had converted felt the need to persuade others to join them. Because they knew intimately the Church..., converts were able to attack its weak points. As a result, many... felt beleaguered. This was further exacerbated by the attitude of the authorities of the Church..., which appeared... to be saying sternly to unsettled men that they should go, whilst simultaneously the [other] Church... seemed to be beckoning and welcoming."*

It's an imperfect analogy, but it rings true for me.

*Credit where credit is due: this is from Michael Chandler's book An Introduction to the Oxford Movement.

Alb!

Wippell has sent me an alb! A pretty one! In exactly my size! With a girdle that doesn't drag on the floor!

Now, before some killjoy decides to point it out, I am in fact aware that this bears a strong relation to the fact that I custom-ordered it and they took my measurements. But I've given people measurements before and still had things come looking like they expect me to give birth soon or to have joined the WNBA while they weren't looking.

Besides, expected or not - I now have my very own alb, in time to press/steam and wear it to preach in chapel tomorrow night (assuming I can find a closing line for the sermon itself by then). Yay alb!

Good to know

There's a piece of paper in front of me informing me that I'm a Candidate for Holy Orders.

Welcome, happy morning!

Christ is risen! Alleluia!
I'm always delighted beyond words, and a little relieved, to hear those words again.

It feels strange not to be in church at 10 am on a Sunday, but that seems to have been the appropriate decision for this year. Instead, since we didn't sing it this morning, I offer my favorite Easter hymn:

"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say:
hell today is vanquished, heaven is won today!
Lo! the dead is living, God for evermore!
Him their true Creator, all his works adore!
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Earth her joy confesses, clothing her for spring
All fresh gifts return with her returning King:
bloom in every meadow, leaves on every bough,
speak his sorrow ended, hail his triumph now.
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Months in due succession, days of lengthening light,
hours and passing moments praise thee in their flight.
Brightness of the morning, sky and fields and sea,
Vanquisher of darkness, bring their praise to thee.
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Maker and Redeemer, life and health of all,
thou from heaven beholding human nature's fall,
of the Father's Godhead, true and only Son,
mankind to deliver, manhood didst put on.
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Thou, of life the author, death didst undergo,
tread the path of darkness, saving strength to show;
come then, true and faithful, now fulfill thy word,
'tis thy own third morning! rise, O buried Lord!
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Loose the souls long prisoned, bound with Satan's chain;
all that now is fallen raise to life again;
show thy face in brightness, bid the nations see;
bring again our daylight: day returns with thee!
"Welcome, happy morning!" age to age shall say!

Palm Sunday

I've had various bits of unfinished thoughts floating around my head all day, none of them ready for a post. Since it's been a couple of days, though, I'll share the Palm Sunday sermon I preached in class Friday, which is of course already written. I didn't preach it absolutely precisely according to the script, but this is pretty close. (I should probably note that the audience for this sermon was a classroom full of seminary people, not a parish congregation.)

*******

Palm Sunday makes me batty. We start out with a beautiful liturgy of palms, which fits well into the Lenten progression of time through the Gospel, and then bam! before the service is over, Jesus is dead – except, not really, because we’ve still got Maundy Thursday and Good Friday ahead of us, and he can’t really die until we hear it from John’s Gospel on Friday. We’re expected to fit all of Holy Week into Palm Sunday - not giving anything away for those who will actually be around for the Triduum, but also making sure that the people who won't be back until Easter don't walk in and say "Jesus died?" I just don’t understand Palm Sunday.

Add it to the list of things I don’t understand about Holy Week. Palm Sunday, I can scoot by on. Last year, I had a much more terrifying realization during Holy Week: when Good Friday came, I discovered that I didn’t know who Jesus was. And in fact, a year later, after courses in systematic theology, in New Testament, in biblical theology, I can report that I still don’t know who Jesus is.

Don’t get me wrong here - I both loved and passed those courses, and wrote more than one of my papers on who Christ is and what the cross means. In fact, my final paper for theology talked about that Good Friday experience and how Dr. Wondra’s Magic Chart describing the main theologies of the work of Christ had helped me find some clarity about the matter. And it was all true. Theologically - or, more accurately, intellectually - I can manage. I can do the mental gymnastics. But it’s like taking an online quiz: “What’s your soteriology?” So I can confidently tell you that on that quiz, I scored as a mix of Christus Victor and union/communion with God - God is the agent of our salvation, we experience sin as having power over us, reconciliation plays out in union with God, etc. That’s my preferred theological understanding of Christ and salvation.

I just don’t know who Jesus is. I don’t get it, deep in my gut, even after a year of letting it marinate, just as I know in my gut that it doesn’t make sense to skip straight from the procession into Jerusalem to the crucifixion. This year, though, I think I'm ok with that.

I’d still prefer to know. I’m used to knowing things. I like knowing things. That’s where I’m comfortable, is learning and knowing and understanding things inside and out. And I still think it’s important to keep pushing at that understanding. But it’s ok, for now, that I don’t entirely understand this.

Thinking about the Palm Sunday propers this week, I started humming a song that I hadn’t thought about in several years, at least since college. It says:

Listen to the Lord as he speaks softly
Listen to the words of a perfect man
Listen to the miracle of God incarnate
Listen even when you don’t understand

We used to sing it as a round, so that the last line would echo - “listen even when you don’t understand, understand, understand.” That’s how it sounded in my head this week, too. And as powerful as that line can be in the middle of July, I think it speaks especially directly to us as we prepare to enter Holy Week. Listen even when you don’t understand. Not “listen to hear x, y, or z” – as I learned last year, we don’t get to qualify what we’re willing to hear. Just listen.

So that will be my discipline for the rest of Lent this year, as we head through Holy Week. I’m asking for God’s help in trying to unclench my intellect’s iron grip, and in listening even when I don’t understand. I expect to understand very little, this week - and perhaps that’s the way it’s supposed to work. But I’ll be listening, and I invite you to listen with me, as we move through the marvelous, terrible, mysterious events of Holy Week, watching and hoping for Easter.