Is This the Year?

The local funeral director in the village of my first parish was a bit of a character. He would telephone the manse in the wee hours and say, "Guess who died?" with a not-so-faint lift in his voice. "No really, guess."

"Uh. Mrs. H?" I might sleepily venture, remembering that she didn't look so well last Sunday.
"Nope!" he'd flash back.

"Mr. Y? Mr. G? Miss O?"
"No, no, and no," he gleefully announced.

I quickly learned that I could never guess.
And I have no idea what will happen in 2006 either.

Friends are expecting their first, second, or third children. Other friends are facing cancer treatment or the hopes of cancer treatment. A long-single friend is marrying (a minister, God bless her.) Some are moving to new cities. Others hope to move.

Some friends are expecting to bury their parents or spouses in the coming year. Others have no idea they will.

2005 was more blessing than curse in my own little world, but more curse for millions who lost every treasure in earthquake, hurricane, fire, and famine. Maybe 2006 will be my test.

Please God, I hope not. For all the imaginary scenes in my head in which I endure every excruciating heartache with perfect theologically-appropriate comportment for the sake of my church, I'd probably be the first to spend the rest of my life making dying animal sounds. Sometimes I believe I've had such an easy life because God isn't sure I could take it otherwise.

Is this the year?
Is this the year we keep our resolutions for more than a week?
Is this the year I write down the screenplay that's in my head?
Is this the year God calls me to something new?

The bottom line (and each line above that) is that life is not about me as much as I try to make it so. That whole notion of glorifying God and enjoying God forever is not merely a line children memorize to receive a silver dollar.

I have no idea what will happen in 2006 but pray that this time next year, I will be able to look back again and see that God was still with us.

Creative Finds in 2005

Barbara Walters has her "Most Fascinating People of 2005" (Are we really fascinated by Natalee Holloway's mother?)

My list might be called:
"Some of the Most Creative People I Happened Across in 2005."

These thinkers/writers/musicians were new (or relatively new) to me in 2005. By sharing this list I'm advertising the fact that either I'm a terminal late bloomer OR I'm amazingly edgy for a woman in her jubilee year. Whatever. Just check them out:

Simon Barrow is co-director of Ekklesia and everything he writes is thought-provoking. "The
Case for Disorganised Religion" can be read at Ekklesia (check sidebar).

Harp 46 performs a hybrid of Irish/classical/new age music with April Stace (harp), Nucleo Vega (drums), and Posido Vega (bass). They are based in suburban Maryland outside
Washington, DC. Beautiful.

Jeffrey Benson is director of the H.B. Woodlawn Chamber Singers (H.B. Woodlawn is a mecca of creativity in the Arlington, Virginia school system.) Just performed at the Kennedy Center.

Rob Bell preaches via his Nooma video series and in a converted mall on Sundays at Mars Hill Church outside Grand Rapids, Michigan. Our theology is not the same, perhaps, but his ability to convey sacred lessons like a post-modern rabbi is exceptional.

J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof are the creators of the television series Lost. Our family is addicted. Abrams is Jewish and Lindelof might be Buddhist, or so I hear. But their show includes characters named "Locke" and "Rousseau," as well an African who spends 40 days in silent repentance and shares the story of Josiah's Reform, and a Californian who won the lottery. It's just fun.

Brian McLaren is a writer, founding pastor of Cedar Ridge Community Church in Spencerville, Maryland, and possibly the Martin Luther of our age. (To be perfectly honest with you, I first "found" McLaren before 2005, but he continues to bring new insights to those of us trying to be The Church.) My prayer for him in 2006 will be that he avoids reading his own stellar reviews and subsequently avoids the temptations that often befall charismatic leaders. Don't want to be reading about him in the Style section of The Washington Post.

Sure Things

I've discovered - or been newly reminded of - some truths of the season:

1. You can say "Merry Christmas" in the Honeybaked Ham store with reckless abandon.

2. Christmas cards will continue to arrive days -- maybe weeks -- after Christmas. Love the bonus cards.

3. It's a great time to toss stuff -- ripped boxes from under the tree, broken items, bad habits.

4. After hearing Burl Ives and The (not so) New Christy Minstrels sing from their Christmas albums since late October, they are immediately and starkly yanked from the airwaves. Done. Finished. Kaput. No more "Merry Christmas Darling" from Karen Carpenter.

5. There will be weight to lose.

6. There will be ancient family issues to ponder.

7. There will be new folks coming through our doors in January seeking God. And it will have nothing to do with New Year's Resolutions.

8. In a blink, Jesus will fast forward from infant lying in manger to 30 year old standing in river. So we need to enjoy these days before they are gone.

Scenes from Christmas

- A wonderful seven year old reading the "Linus part" in Sunday's worship.

- Hearing the story of Christmas 1944 in San Espiritu from a beloved church member.

- Eating Sweet Tarts in the car for Christmas Day hors d' oeurvres.


About Christmas and Christmas Eve in the suburbs of our nation's capitol:
I write using my own name, so I am not always able to write with total candor. There are feelings and style points to consider. Nevertheless . . .

I look forward to the day when people will come 30 minutes early because it will be the only way to guarantee a seat in the pews.

I anticipate the day when everyone is moved to the point of irrestistibly having to volunteer in a homeless shelter or sacrificially donating to an international service agency.

I am waiting for the day when the music makes us cry (because it's so beautiful), the sermon makes everyone think (because it's so stirring), and the aura of the whole experience makes us completely crazy for Jesus. This is my hope and dream.

God Bless Us Everyone

Merry Christmas!

Ghosts (and Angels) of Christmas Past

I used to try to take communion to the livingrooms of every homebound parishioner on Christmas Eve. It was insane. Those were the long-ago days when I still thought I could be The Perfect Pastor.

By the time the sun went down and candlelight service prelude began I was cranky and harried and not sure those hit-and-run sacramental stops did much more than give me the bragging rights that I'd served The Lord's Supper 20 times that day. Big deal. Like someone's going to give me a gold star or something.

Now I spread out these visits throughout the whole week.
Much better.

There's time to hear about Christmases Past. I sit with the ones who tell me that every Christmas has been a joy. And I sit with the ones who tell me that each has been a disappointment. Angels still singing. Ghosts still haunting.

We try to focus on the angels but the ghosts are real too.

On Sunday, we'll hear stories of Christmas Past from some of these treasured visits. Christmas in 1917 in rural Missouri. Christmas 1937 in Hickman, Kentucky in the throes of the Great Depression. Christmas 1944 in the Pacific theatre with a young Naval officer. Angels and ghosts.

Just like the first Christmas, both fear and joy are part of the package.

Favorite Holiday Greetings

The mailbox is providing a little Christmas every day this week. But let's be honest: there are favorites that truly warm our souls, and there are other greetings that make us shrug as we toss another card into this year's pile.

Favorites so far include . . .
The Beautiful
- Gorgeous images from the National Cathedral, National Gallery, The Victoria and Albert. They make me think "I should make something with this lovely thing," and then I remember that I don't do crafts.

- Photographs with faces that make me linger and stare: the faces of children I've never met but once dreamed about with their mothers or fathers when their mothers or fathers were children themselves; faces of long-ago friends whose faces I once believed I might see everyday if life had been different.

The Humorous
- Best Christmas Letter so far: from college friend F. whose children are credited with the inspiration behind the Tarheels' NCAA Basketball Championship (with gorgeous black and white photo of the kids in their bathrobes.)

The Meaningful
- A most banal card -- plain gold background with "Happy Holidays" in curly script on front -- with supremely touching message inside from one of the Turkish Muslims who sometimes sit in our pews for worship, trying to build bridges.

- Standard Hallmark with standard image only to find the message inside written by the still-steady hand of my favorite 97 year old. Or is she 98?

The Disturbingly Meaningful
- Greetings from the church's pest control specialist reminding me to seal up holes and cracks in my foundation.

- Annual card with accompanying case of grapefruit from local funeral home asking me to remember them for our "2006 Funeral Needs." (Will I be swayed to suggest the establishment that sent this delicious pink grapefruit if someone asks for a recommendation? Maybe. I don't know about E&W's casket selection, but they deliver a nice citrus package.)

But the best commentary about holiday greetings comes from Anna Quindlen in this week's Newsweek magazine http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10511138/site/newsweek/. She writes: "Target is not a temple (although I do pray that the Isaac Mizrahi line of cheap chic will be expanded) . . . "

And she puts this whole "Happy Holidays" versus "Merry Christmas" issue into perspective:

"It's an insult to the power and the glory of faith to seek it in . . . the perfunctory greetings of overworked store clerks. If I ever go to Costco looking for religion, I'll know my Christmas goose is cooked."

I prefer "Merry Christmas" in my holiday greetings, but our faith won't collapse if somebody says, "Seasons Greetings!" in the post office. What makes a holiday greeting meaningful is something much deeper.

On Location With Santa

Went to a shopping mall today purely for ecclesiastical reasons.

It's enormously satisfying to walk into a shopping mall less than a week before Christmas and not have to buy anything. People looked harried and ticked off, and I probably looked like I felt superior to those poor procrastinating souls. And I was carrying a Bible -- not one of those handy compact versions printed in a microscopic 2-point font, but my big leather five pounder. With Apocrypha.

The reason for this pilgrimage to the mall was to observe Santa in preparation for my Christmas Eve sermon. Thanks to a friend at 7 Day Holy (http://7dayholy.blogspot.com/ ) I've been thinking about Daniel 9:18-19 and the Maccabees and the creation of Hannukah, and if this sounds like it has nothing to do with Santa and shopping malls, you just have to trust me. It works in my head (and I pray from the pulpit - briefly - on Dec. 24th).

My findings included good news and bad news.

Good news: Gone are the stereotypical children who come with an endless litany of requests. Gone are the whiny ones, the greedy ones, the grand mal tantrum-throwing ones. At least they weren't at my mall today.

Bad news: Mall Santa is all about photo ops. Santa used to be the go-to guy on behalf of toymakers everywhere. He was the middle man between consumer and retailer. Now he is the retailer, selling Portraits with St. Nick to parents directly.

But here's the cool part: Today was Monastery Day (and the first time my monastery was a shopping mall) and I've decided that there must be an invisible "Come Talk to Me About Jesus" sign on my forehead.

As soon as I sat down in the food court to begin my spiritual observations, Reginald who was sitting with his wife Jane and newborn son Earl (really) saw my Bible and asked me what I was doing with a Bible in the food court in a shopping mall. He came over with Jane and the baby, and we talked church music (he's a subway musician), Unitarians, and Deepak Chopra. I held Earl, who smelled like apples, while we discussed the problems of the world. And then they left to hit the subway again. Reginald tells me he can make $500/day playing Christmas carols on his trumpet, especially if Jane and baby Earl are sitting with him.

And on a funny note: as I was writing this blog tonight Mormons came to my door. Women missionaries who wanted to talk with me about being a Mormon and they didn't blink when I told them I was a Presbyterian pastor writing my Christmas Eve homily. They didn't care. They did want to hear my Christian testimony though, about why I became "a lady pastor." You, too, could be a pastor/prophet/preacher I said, and they laughed.

And now I have Mormon friends. And Unitarian/New Age friends. And it all started with Santa at the mall.

Beautiful Words

(dedicated to ReverendMother)

Beautiful writing is a powerful thing. Read on:

"Less than two weeks after its release, Brokeback Mountain is already on the verge of being embalmed in importance."
Manohla Dargis in NY Times, 12-18-05
Love this: embalmed in importance. Will film buffs be digging up this movie decades from now and find it hasn't decayed one bit? Hard to say.

"Mary did you know that . . . this child you delivered
will soon deliver you?"
David Guthrie & Bruce Greer from Sunday's Christmas musical by our choir. (My children have delivered me too, but not exactly in the same way.) Sometimes the words are simple but the message throws a punch.

Poets do it best:

The Flock by Billy Collins

It has been calculated that each copy of the Gutenburg Bible required
the skins of 300 sheep.

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building where the printing press is housed.
All of them squirming around to find a little room
and looking so much alike
it would be nearly impossible to count them.
And there is no telling which one of them
will carry the news that the Lord is a Shepherd,
one of the few things they already know.

Is Blue the New Purple?

Is Brown the new Black?

I actually thought Lime Green was the new Black until the Washington Post cleared this up for me this morning sharing the big news that stylish designer Tom Ford was seen wearing a brown jacket in New Mexico last week. Was this merely a nod to earth tones in the beautiful southwest? Or are we looking at a future of "little brown dresses"?

Brown -- previously the exclusive choice of UPS workers and men in bad suits -- has even found its way into my own closet thanks to my fashion maven daughter. Which brings me to another color shift:

Is Blue the new Purple, liturgically speaking?

Purple has always been the color of both Lent and Advent until the past couple of years. Or did I miss the memo in seminary?

At first I thought this was a masterful marketing ploy at Cokesbury to get us to buy new blue vestments. But it looks like more congregations are going for it. According to The Catholic Encyclopedia, our RC friends haven't bought into it yet but many Protestant friends are all about the blue.

I get the concept of blue as symbolic of Mary. But I like the idea of Advent as a mini-Lent. God knows we need a little Lent (right this very minute) and I don't want to lose that message. While we're out clamoring for those last minute stocking stuffers, the notion of repentance is not a bad thing to keep in our theological pockets. I'm sticking with Purple -- the color of royalty and Welch's Grape Juice.

War on Christmas?

After attending L.'s Christmas Concert last night ('tis the season to be out every night) I had the urge to write Bill O'Reilly. I have never watched his show, but I've seen clips on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart about O'Reilly's concerns regarding "the attack on Christmas." To judge something solely on Jon Stewart's reporting is clearly not fair, but O'Reilly seems to be yet another political personality who attacks people for doing what he himself does. Check out his web site sometime. He accuses the culture of trashing Christianity while promoting tote bags with his name on them for Christmas gifts. Yuck.

Here's the letter:

Dear Mr. O'Reilly,
Your comments about the cultural "war on Christmas" seem to be a cry for attention. Just last night, my husband and I attended our daughter's Winter Choral Concert at a public middle school in the most liberal county in this state.

The students participating represented about a dozen nationalities and at least five religious traditions -- Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindi, and Buddhist. The songs sung included The First Nowell, African Nowell, and A Babe Was Born in Bethlehem Town (with solos by a Hindi girl from India and a Buddhist boy from Thailand.)

Frankly it would have been more than fine with me if Hanukkah and/or Kwanza songs had been included but they weren't.

We live in one of the most diverse metropolitan areas in the country and I have yet to meet in our PTA, our neighborhood, or our extra-curricular activities (sports, Brownies, etc.) anyone who would be offended to hear any of the following: "Merry Christmas," "Happy Holidays," "Happy Hanukkah," "Have a wonderful Ramadan," etc. etc. We treat each other with respect and assume that any wishes for anything happy are given with the best of intentions.

I have born-again agnostic friends who also have no problem with religious greetings. I'm thinking that the folks you've found who are troubled by "Merry Christmas" are the exception rather than the rule. By dramatically complaining about things that are not a problem for most Americans, you are the one creating a battle.

My hope for you is peace this Christmas and a change of heart.

Merry Christmas and a Joyous New Year to you . . .

Maybe this guy isn't worth my time and he almost certainly won't respond to my letter, but it made me feel better. The whole "war on Christmas" seems ridiculous when there are real wars out there -- Iraq, drugs, poverty, national debt, AIDS, cancer, bad liturgy, cheesy church music, etc. Was I whiny? Or too nice?

Will let you know if Bill writes back.

Christmas Poll

Whether you are a mega-churchgoer or a mainliner,
what are your plans for Christmas morning?

Will you be worshipping in a church on Sunday, December 25?
	Yes
	No
	Maybe
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Passions

"What's your passion?" I was asked this afternoon while taking L. to the dentist. Excuse me?

Not the sort of question you expect from your dentist unless he's trying to trick you into confessing that you adore coffee (which explains the stains) or caramel (the cavities) or God-forbid cocaine (the ruined sinuses).

"My passion is Nebraska football," he volunteered, which I already knew from countless conversations about Huskers during fluoride treatments. "So what's yours? I've been asking all my patients today."

My dentist, the New Age Cheerleader.

And what have they told you? I asked him, to which he spouted off a Christmas list of favorite things:

fly fishing, preserving wetlands, teaching kids, good jewelry, Duke basketball (who are these Cretans?), mystery novels, snow skiing, vacation with my family, soccer, knitting scarves, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens . . .

"So what about you?" he said.

I was too bewildered with why we would be having this conversation surrounded by hygienists on break and floss reps to do anything but say, "Uh, I don't know. I guess I'm not feeling passionate right now."

One of my sabbatical insights is that I can't possibly know what's essential, who I am, what my passions might be unless I take time to sit and think and stare into space (which is why Monastery Day is so important.)

Today I'm too tired to think about my passions. Maybe tomorrow I'll have a better idea. All I know is that I need them. Anybody want to share their passions today?

Wonder

Saw the Narnia movie last night. Disney doesn't always capture genuine "wonder" very well, but they did okay this time. The actor who plays Lucy is drenched in it.

There is so little wonder in these days beyond, "I wonder when the troops will come home" or "I wonder who will show up for worship on December 25th . . . or January 1st."

There is a line in the movie that struck me as one of the places where wonder is born. As Aslan is subjected to unpleasantness (don't want to ruin it for you if you don't know the story), Susan says to Lucy: He must know what he's doing.

I admit to loving the glitter-y parts of these weeks before Christmas: streams of twinkling lights running from the skylights to the food court in the mall. I wonder how many colors this cashmere sweater comes in at J. Crew?

But real wonder knocks the wind out of you and brings you to your proverbial knees. Over the weekend, a couple of wonder-ful things happened:

- an old friend and her new friend became engaged.
We wondered if it would ever happen for this person who has searched for so long.

- a shy girl in velvet sang a solo in church.
I wonder what would have happened to her if she'd grown up in the orphanage in Russia.

- a saint of the church announced her 98th birthday in the middle of worship to joyous applause.
I wonder how she got this far without ever losing her goodness.

I also wonder why my friend has cancer. I wonder if another will overcome his demons. I wonder if I'll ever get over a couple of things.

This is where faith comes into play. Is it as simple as this: He must know what he's doing ? Is that what devout faith is all about?

I wonder.

RevGal Friday Five

1) Snow: love it or hate it?
Love it. Until early February.

2) First snow memory
December 13, 1961 - The day my sister was born.
We (brothers & I -- all under the age of 6) woke up to find our parents gone and snow falling. One brother had misbehaved the night before and I helpfully said (with early signs of scary preacher syndrome), "Now look what you've done. They've left." Dad returned shortly, after frantically shuttling our Mom to the hospital thinking she might deliver this one in the car.

3) Best Snow Day ever (actual or imagined)
See #2. She's the best sister ever.

4) Best use of snow in a movie, song, book or poem
Christina Rossetti: In the Bleak Midwinter

5) What did you do today, with or without snow?
Writing this after the sun went down: L. & M. took their buddy E. out for a comforting pedicure. What 13 year old girls offer for pastoral care before the casserole years.

Angels Found

L. found a photo of an armless marble angel with one visible wing that worked for her. But I also found some others:

The guy in Kinkos who gave me free prints when I told him I needed them for church.

The computer geek who spends every Saturday volunteering for a program that changes the world.

The office worker who realizes that part of her job is listening to people's stories.

Angels abound in unexpectedly places.

In Search of Angels

My daughter has been working on a project and asked me to try to find a template for an angel. L. doesn't consider herself an artist. She needs a pattern.

Craft stores -- especially this time of year -- are scary places. Wild-eyed quiltmakers who look like they will knock you to the ground for the right gingham. People who take classes in tying wreath-bows. Do I even want to have enough time to do these things?

I've now been to three craft stores with no angels in sight. No kidding. There are no angels.

When I asked one store assistant, "Do you have any patterns for angels?" she looked at me and repeated, "Angels?" as if I was asking for a pattern of a armadillo.

"You know . . . angels. Gabriel? Hark the herald?" She still looked at me like I was crazy. This is not about the whole "holiday tree vs. Christmas tree" controversy. Angels are inter-faith favorites. Even new age religions love angels.

Our congregation once hosted Sophie Burnham -- years ago the darling of angel lovers everywhere after she wrote a best-selling book on the subject -- and 500 people showed up on a Tuesday night. And I mean all kinds of people.

What has happened to all the angels? Where can I get a pattern for an angel? (If you suggest internet clip art, I have one word: cheesy.) Nothing worse than a cheesy angel.

I know for a fact there are real human angels out there (not just the paper pattern variety). They show up in grocery store lines with extra change when you're short a dollar. They offer their cell phones when you left yours at home. They say just the right thing when the rest of the world has said the wrong thing all day.

Angels share good -- sometimes staggering -- news. They've been known to wrestle with people. They don't all have apple cheeks and curly blonde hair. I'm still looking and have no doubt that I'll eventually find one.

The Competition

This blog is dedicated on this World AIDS Day to L. who died of AIDS several years ago surrounded by her two daughters and me. She refused to consider herself a part of any church because someone in church once told her that God disapproved of her mixed-race marriage and she did not belong there.
The competition.

*******

I am jealous of the full parking lot across the street on Sunday mornings. We share with our church neighbors "over there" similar orders of worship , similar theology, similar architecture, and a similar time frame in terms of when we were both founded.

But somehow they avoided the theological turbulence my congregation experienced about 25 years ago. Some call it "the re-organization." Some simply call it "the split." Whatever you call it, it obliterated the congregation emotionally and spiritually. Embezzlement. Blackmail. Suicide. Basic meanness. Somebody could write a mini-series. But enough about that.

I also am jealous of the cool music (drums!) at a church in my denomination just down the road. I am jealous of the education program of another church on the other side of our fair city. I would love to have half their choir.
And yet . . .

Those churches are not "the competition." If someone leaves our congregation because she has found the living God across town with another flock, that's fantastic. If my own kids go on a retreat with friends from another church and experience God there, I'm over the moon about it. If another preacher draws larger crowds and good things are happening, let's rejoice.

If our basic mission is to make disciples of all nations, why wouldn't we be thrilled if our neighboring congregations are doing it well? One person will find Christ in our pews. Another will find Jesus down the street. The point is that we find Christ somewhere.

I finished the Doug Pagitt book called Preaching Re-Imagined and loved this:

Our competition is not others who are seeking to do God's work, but those who are seeking to destroy it.

Bingo. Our real competition would be people who teach the heresy that God hates gay people. Or those who say that torture is okay. Or those who push the lie that the meaning of life is: To glorify myself and enjoy myself forever.

So, here's to our friends across the street. May God bless your ministry and ours.