This past week I finally fulfilled a long overdue date with Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I got the book for Christmas two years ago, but I knew once I started reading it, I would not be able to put it down, and I just haven't had that kind of time, to disappear into Hogwarts for 48 hours, until just a few days ago.
I already knew who was going to die, as a confirmation student accidentally blabbed that info to me before they realized I hadn't yet read the book. But I have to say, I'm still kind of in shock over who killed the deceased - I don't want to say more, lest I accidentally ruin the details for anyone, but suffice it to say, I am still disturbed and brewing over how that all shook down.
And I also find myself, as I do after watching the Star Wars saga, somewhat jealous of the characters' abilities and gadgets, because in many respects I think we have similar callings. Ok, granted, I do not personally face immanent mortal peril nearly so often as Harry or Obi-Wan, but I do still deal with matters of life and death on a regular basis. And we are all three of us stewards and ministers of a powerful and mysterious force that holds the universe together; we are all three of us constantly on the frontlines of the battle between good and evil (and most often employ sacrifice and love as our weapons of choice in that battle). And like the Jedi, pastors are called to a certain Zen-like detachment from particular places and people in order that we might better love all of God's children and be free to serve the universal church.
So we're all basically fighting the good fight, but they get such way cooler perks - a lightsaber, a wand, a flying broomstick, the ability to move objects or even themselves with their trained mind. . .I get health insurance and a pension plan.
(which, especially in this day and age, I'm certainly grateful for, but they don't hum when you wave them around in the air, and on most days, don't seem nearly as useful as the ability to apparate)
But I digress.
The "chuggles" in the title above is inspired by reading Harry Potter just a few days after Christmas - just a few days after the "C&Es" (short for "Christmas and Easter Christians") have made their annual or semi-annual pilgrimmage to church.
Now, perhaps I am lacking in my sympathetic imagination here, but I suspect the people who only show up once or twice a year come more for the sake of grandma, or nostalgia, or tradition, than they do out of any expectation of encountering the divine. Which is just weird to me, because my understanding of worship is that it's an intentional encounter with God in a place where God has promised to be found. And I'm not just blithering around up front, going off on my own opinions, or giving a nice speech, or trying to uplift or edify the people - I'm charged with both the burden and the gift of bringing the good news, I'm (hopefully) handing over a word of life from God that you can cling to in a world full of death. And I fully believe that the Word of God, though it may travel a wide and circuitous route, always, ultimately, bears fruit, it never returns to God empty. So, I'm just kind of confused by people who don't share this understanding, who don't come to worship with these same expectations to encounter God and the living Word - and I find myself wondering what they do expect, and why they bother coming at all?
(I should clarify at this point, that I'm not trying to pick on C&Es - I have met plenty of people who are regularly in the pews, and sadly, even a few colleagues, who also seem to lack any expectations of an actual encounter with the divine through the Word and the Sacraments - and I often wonder the same things about them)
And I also wonder, then, what these folks day-to-day lives are like. Because if you don't expect to meet God in a place where God has promised to be found and where you have actually bothered showing up - do you honestly expect to meet God anywhere at all? Again, I could simply be lacking a charitable imagination here, but I suspect the answer, for most, is no. Which is, again, just weird to me, whose world is infused with the divine, who sees God on the loose as much in the New York City subway as in the purple mountain's majesty, as much in a Puccini aria as in Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip.
So, I'm thinking perhaps a new sociological category is in order, dubbed "Chuggles" - people who claim affiliation with the Christian faith but who are as void of any expectation of meeting, as oblivious to the actual presence of, the divine, as the muggles of Harry Potter are to the magical.
The good news is, I don't think it's a doomed "once a chuggle, always a chuggle" situation. I think people can learn to expect to meet God in the places God has promised to be found, I even think they can have their hearts and minds and ears and eyes broken open to see God running loose in all sorts of unexpected places in the world.
The question, the great challenge before us who steward such immense mysteries, is HOW? How do we de-chuggle or un-chuggle a person? And how much more fun would it be if lightsabers or flying broomsticks were involved? :)
Peace,
Catrina
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
On the Fourth Day of Christmas
. . .I'm putting up pictures of the new paper cutting at our church - the Star of Bethlehem. It's 16' tall, so it makes a big impression, and I think it's really enhanced our worship space this season (we put it up Advent 2 - that's probably rushing the star thing a bit, but c'mon, it's huge and blue, and the liturgy we were using really emphasized God as creator, and the cutting does too). Below is an intense close-up so you can see all the cool detail. Young Owen is convinced there's a dragon in there, though I'm not so sure. Let me know if you find one!
PS - If anyone knows how to get these buggers to rotate, please let me know that too!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Zen of the Midwest
A post to the host over at the Prairie Home Companion site asked Garrison Keillor for his famous Christmas quote, and he responded in kind:
"Craving only causes frustration, intense desire makes the object recede. If the game is really important, you're going to lose. If you're wildly in love, you're going to lose and you know it. The trick is to keep it from being that important. Be cool. Don't want it that much. Want it less. When you get to where you don't want it at all, then you're more likely to get it. And if you don't get it, you don't care so much."
As GK added afterwards - that one's so true sometimes that it hurts.
"Craving only causes frustration, intense desire makes the object recede. If the game is really important, you're going to lose. If you're wildly in love, you're going to lose and you know it. The trick is to keep it from being that important. Be cool. Don't want it that much. Want it less. When you get to where you don't want it at all, then you're more likely to get it. And if you don't get it, you don't care so much."
As GK added afterwards - that one's so true sometimes that it hurts.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Mind the Gap
Sorry for the long delay in writing. I went to Minnesota for Thanksgiving, and between the getting ready for vacation, the being on vacation, and the catching up from vacation, well, there hasn't been much time for blogging.
But now I'm back with some half-baked thoughts that have been kicking around my head for the past month or so. It all started the week before vacation, when I went out to lunch with a parishioner who I am mentoring through our synod's Authorized Lay Worship Leader program. When our food came, she volunteered to pray (so nice to go to lunch with someone who doesn't assume that I am the "token pray-er"!), so we bowed our heads and she said the following:
"For Food in a world where many walk in hunger,
For Faith in a world where many walk in fear,
and for Friends in a world where many walk alone,
We give you thanks"
And I looked up and said "That's Keith's prayer from Six Feet Under!"
We were both, frankly, kind of surprised to find a fellow fan in one another, but we quickly moved beyond that and into an engaging conversation about what a well-written and thought-provoking television show that it is, and how many incredible discussions of life and death and faith it could launch, EXCEPT. . .
. . .except there is always too much graphic language and sex for me to be able to use it as a resource at church. I mean, I have some parishioners whose piety is such that they would be offended at the mere thought of their pastor watching a show like Six Feet Under - there's no way they would tolerate showing it or using it as the basis for a small group study at church. And yet I've obviously got other parishioners who are watching it and would love to have a group with which to discuss some of those deep meaning of life and death questions that it raises.
So this is a constant frustration for me - because I could write entire small group studies on the theology of Six Feet Under, or the Dave Matthews Band, or the Star Wars saga, or other such pop culture phenomena where I see God on the loose. And I have this nagging feeling that to do so would be to meet a lot of the unchurched and de-churched of my generation where they are at. But those kinds of studies aren't going to appeal to the vast majority of my current parishioners.
So do I serve the majority of the congregation to which I am called? Or do I reach out to serve and engage the whole people of God (isn't that also part of my calling)? And if I do go for broke one day and offer up a "God running loose in pop culture" kind of study, how in the world do I find and convince the people who would most dig it to take part?
So then when I was on vacation, I went to worship at the Mercy Seat, a new church plant in NE Minneapolis that seems to be very intentionally reaching out to the de-churched/unchurched/disenfranchised by the church/disillusioned by the church, and engaging them through "critical orthodoxy." The service was very solid liturgical worship, essentially the same texts and ordo as the LBW, but in an improvisational jazz medium. The sermon was excellent, a thoughtful well-crafted proclamation, thoroughly grounded in the theology of the cross, that skillfully wove deep theological insights with illustrations from The Simpsons and references to a Jesus who "goes all the way to 11" (and the congregation actually got and laughed at that line!). Their announcements included a plug for their stewardship pledge drive, a hilarious and ingenious campaign to "stop the hostile takeover" - they claimed that a multinational corporation was threatening to buy the congregation and outsource the sacraments unless they could "prove their viability" through 50 pledging households.
My impresion of this congregation is that it is very intentionally rooting itself in the best and most essential core of the Lutheran tradition while also very intentionally engaging not-so-traditionally-churchy people at the intersection of art and faith and culture. In other words, it is a church that could get away with, and would have an audience for, a Six Feet Under small group study.
Which makes it very hard not to be jealous of those pastors and the kind of work they get to do and the kind of sermons they get to preach, EXCEPT. . .
. . .except I refuse to believe that the only solution to my frustrations is to head to Chicago for mission start training and start up a completely new congregation. I mean, it's certainly easier in some respects to be creating a congregational culture as you go, instead of trying to retradition and reform longstanding cultures that you inherit. And it's probably easier to convince the disenfranchised and disillusioned to come and see in a group that's rather new and somewhat different, than a group that looks and sounds and acts an awful lot like the church that disenfranchised or disillusioned them to begin with.
But we are called to be one body in Christ. And it is one of the greatest strengths - and gifts - of the church to hold people of widely divergent backgrounds and opinions and interests together AS the one body of Christ. So I keep thinking, there's got to be a way to bridge the traditionally churched and all those who are de-churched, unchurched, disillusioned and/or disenfranchised by the church. I refuse to settle for an either/or answer - I keep thinking there's got to be a both/and, there's got to be a way to draw them all into community together.
So, I keep looking for ways to mind the gap, tending to both the now and the not yet, caring for the church as it currently is, and caring for the church that the Holy Spirit is even now birthing us to be.
Peace,
Catrina
But now I'm back with some half-baked thoughts that have been kicking around my head for the past month or so. It all started the week before vacation, when I went out to lunch with a parishioner who I am mentoring through our synod's Authorized Lay Worship Leader program. When our food came, she volunteered to pray (so nice to go to lunch with someone who doesn't assume that I am the "token pray-er"!), so we bowed our heads and she said the following:
"For Food in a world where many walk in hunger,
For Faith in a world where many walk in fear,
and for Friends in a world where many walk alone,
We give you thanks"
And I looked up and said "That's Keith's prayer from Six Feet Under!"
We were both, frankly, kind of surprised to find a fellow fan in one another, but we quickly moved beyond that and into an engaging conversation about what a well-written and thought-provoking television show that it is, and how many incredible discussions of life and death and faith it could launch, EXCEPT. . .
. . .except there is always too much graphic language and sex for me to be able to use it as a resource at church. I mean, I have some parishioners whose piety is such that they would be offended at the mere thought of their pastor watching a show like Six Feet Under - there's no way they would tolerate showing it or using it as the basis for a small group study at church. And yet I've obviously got other parishioners who are watching it and would love to have a group with which to discuss some of those deep meaning of life and death questions that it raises.
So this is a constant frustration for me - because I could write entire small group studies on the theology of Six Feet Under, or the Dave Matthews Band, or the Star Wars saga, or other such pop culture phenomena where I see God on the loose. And I have this nagging feeling that to do so would be to meet a lot of the unchurched and de-churched of my generation where they are at. But those kinds of studies aren't going to appeal to the vast majority of my current parishioners.
So do I serve the majority of the congregation to which I am called? Or do I reach out to serve and engage the whole people of God (isn't that also part of my calling)? And if I do go for broke one day and offer up a "God running loose in pop culture" kind of study, how in the world do I find and convince the people who would most dig it to take part?
So then when I was on vacation, I went to worship at the Mercy Seat, a new church plant in NE Minneapolis that seems to be very intentionally reaching out to the de-churched/unchurched/disenfranchised by the church/disillusioned by the church, and engaging them through "critical orthodoxy." The service was very solid liturgical worship, essentially the same texts and ordo as the LBW, but in an improvisational jazz medium. The sermon was excellent, a thoughtful well-crafted proclamation, thoroughly grounded in the theology of the cross, that skillfully wove deep theological insights with illustrations from The Simpsons and references to a Jesus who "goes all the way to 11" (and the congregation actually got and laughed at that line!). Their announcements included a plug for their stewardship pledge drive, a hilarious and ingenious campaign to "stop the hostile takeover" - they claimed that a multinational corporation was threatening to buy the congregation and outsource the sacraments unless they could "prove their viability" through 50 pledging households.
My impresion of this congregation is that it is very intentionally rooting itself in the best and most essential core of the Lutheran tradition while also very intentionally engaging not-so-traditionally-churchy people at the intersection of art and faith and culture. In other words, it is a church that could get away with, and would have an audience for, a Six Feet Under small group study.
Which makes it very hard not to be jealous of those pastors and the kind of work they get to do and the kind of sermons they get to preach, EXCEPT. . .
. . .except I refuse to believe that the only solution to my frustrations is to head to Chicago for mission start training and start up a completely new congregation. I mean, it's certainly easier in some respects to be creating a congregational culture as you go, instead of trying to retradition and reform longstanding cultures that you inherit. And it's probably easier to convince the disenfranchised and disillusioned to come and see in a group that's rather new and somewhat different, than a group that looks and sounds and acts an awful lot like the church that disenfranchised or disillusioned them to begin with.
But we are called to be one body in Christ. And it is one of the greatest strengths - and gifts - of the church to hold people of widely divergent backgrounds and opinions and interests together AS the one body of Christ. So I keep thinking, there's got to be a way to bridge the traditionally churched and all those who are de-churched, unchurched, disillusioned and/or disenfranchised by the church. I refuse to settle for an either/or answer - I keep thinking there's got to be a both/and, there's got to be a way to draw them all into community together.
So, I keep looking for ways to mind the gap, tending to both the now and the not yet, caring for the church as it currently is, and caring for the church that the Holy Spirit is even now birthing us to be.
Peace,
Catrina
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Yet With Heavenly Joy You Bless Us
Maybe it's because I had another funeral to preside over this week.
Or maybe it's because my Wednesday night Bible study and I have spent 8 weeks this fall dwelling deeply in the book of Revelation.
Or maybe it's because our celebration of All Saints Sunday is still so fresh in my heart and my mind.
Or maybe it's because I am no longer surrounded by church musicians who do funky things like dropping out on a verse so that you pay attention to the words in a different way.
Or maybe it's because we simply don't sing "O Morning Star How Fair and Bright" often enough.
But we were honored to host Jonathan Rundman on Monday night as part of his East Coast Tour, and he ended the concert with this fantastic hymn of Epiphany, and I just HEARD it in a way that I've never heard it before.
Jonathan made a point of telling us that his favorite verse is number two, which ends:
Now, though daily
Earth's deep sadness
May perplex us
And distress us
Yet with heavenly joy you bless us.
But on verse five, he dropped out after the first chord, and we sang a capella:
What joy to know when life is past
The Lord we love is first and last
The end and the beginning!
He will one day, oh, glorious grace
Transport us to that happy place
Beyond all tears and sinning!
Amen! Amen!
Come, Lord Jesus!
Crown of gladness!
We are yearning
For the day of your returning.
To hear our little group of voices singing that particular verse in this particluar week, anticipating the burial of yet another brother in Christ, coming off an 8 week study of the book of Revelation, creeping up on the turning of the liturgical year and sitting patiently between All Saints Day and Advent - well, it was simply profound.
Jonathan came back in for verse six, which felt both like an answer to the deep sadness which perplexes and distresses, and like a glorious benediction:
Oh, let the harps break forth in sound!
Our joy be all with music crowned,
Our voices gaily blending!
For Christ goes with us all the way-
Today, tomorrow, ev'ry day!
His love is never ending!
Sing out! Ring out!
Jubilation!
Exultation!
Tell the story!
Great is he, the King of glory!
What a great hymn. And after really hearing the words again for the first time in a long time, I don't know why we don't sing it in seasons outside of Epiphany - it's beautiful and it works in any season of the year. So join with me in Jonathan's crusade to get this gem into the mouths of the people more often!
Peace,
Catrina
PS - Your inner church music nerd wants to know that both the text and the tune of "O Morning Star" were written by Philipp Nicolai, purveryor of such other fine hymnody as "Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying."
Or maybe it's because my Wednesday night Bible study and I have spent 8 weeks this fall dwelling deeply in the book of Revelation.
Or maybe it's because our celebration of All Saints Sunday is still so fresh in my heart and my mind.
Or maybe it's because I am no longer surrounded by church musicians who do funky things like dropping out on a verse so that you pay attention to the words in a different way.
Or maybe it's because we simply don't sing "O Morning Star How Fair and Bright" often enough.
But we were honored to host Jonathan Rundman on Monday night as part of his East Coast Tour, and he ended the concert with this fantastic hymn of Epiphany, and I just HEARD it in a way that I've never heard it before.
Jonathan made a point of telling us that his favorite verse is number two, which ends:
Now, though daily
Earth's deep sadness
May perplex us
And distress us
Yet with heavenly joy you bless us.
But on verse five, he dropped out after the first chord, and we sang a capella:
What joy to know when life is past
The Lord we love is first and last
The end and the beginning!
He will one day, oh, glorious grace
Transport us to that happy place
Beyond all tears and sinning!
Amen! Amen!
Come, Lord Jesus!
Crown of gladness!
We are yearning
For the day of your returning.
To hear our little group of voices singing that particular verse in this particluar week, anticipating the burial of yet another brother in Christ, coming off an 8 week study of the book of Revelation, creeping up on the turning of the liturgical year and sitting patiently between All Saints Day and Advent - well, it was simply profound.
Jonathan came back in for verse six, which felt both like an answer to the deep sadness which perplexes and distresses, and like a glorious benediction:
Oh, let the harps break forth in sound!
Our joy be all with music crowned,
Our voices gaily blending!
For Christ goes with us all the way-
Today, tomorrow, ev'ry day!
His love is never ending!
Sing out! Ring out!
Jubilation!
Exultation!
Tell the story!
Great is he, the King of glory!
What a great hymn. And after really hearing the words again for the first time in a long time, I don't know why we don't sing it in seasons outside of Epiphany - it's beautiful and it works in any season of the year. So join with me in Jonathan's crusade to get this gem into the mouths of the people more often!
Peace,
Catrina
PS - Your inner church music nerd wants to know that both the text and the tune of "O Morning Star" were written by Philipp Nicolai, purveryor of such other fine hymnody as "Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying."
Friday, November 9, 2007
Say It Ain't So, Jo
Alright, with a war going on and the economy in the tank and another funeral to preside over next week (why is it that the angel of death never takes my "Please stop" memos seriously?), I realize this is a trifling concern.
But I am deeply disturbed by this article in today's New York Times.
I am disturbed because Minnesota "raised" Johan Santana - we brought him up through our farm system and developed his talent. Though he's only 28, he's already been playing for the Twins for many years.
But now that everybody else wants him and he can command a salary beyond what this small club is generally willing or able to pay, now the current state of baseball dictates that the management is wise to trade him and at least get SOMETHING out of this investment rather than lose him to free agency the following year.
It just makes me sad that this is the way the game is played now. I grew up in the days of Kirby Puckett and Kent Hrbek. Maybe I'm romanticizing, but it seemed like team loyalty carried more weight with the players back then. I don't remember there being so many pre-emptive trades based on the fear that you could no longer afford you best players, so you better do something while you still have power over them.
The Twins have always been scrappers. They win by building up their talent and teamwork, and Minnesota fans suffered through many years of crappy baseball as the team rebuilt, as Johan and Torii and Justin and Michael and Joe and all the rest became the ballplayers, became the team, that they are today.
And it just doesn't seem fair, now that the team is clicking and MN baseball is once again fun to watch, that these other teams will swoop in and steal these guys we've supported through their developing years, and have really grown to love and claim as our own.
Which is why it is particularly disturbing that the Yankees, of all teams, might pick Santana up in a trade. Because the Yankees, to me, represent all that is wrong and reprehensible in the world of baseball today. They're driving up the cost of all these players, they essentially buy their victories because they can simply afford to snap up all the top talent, and I never see them really working as a team, they're just a bunch of individual primadonnas strutting their stuff - trends that are also increasingly prevalent, and equally bothersome, in the larger society.
It just turns my stomach to think of one of our best beloved boys of summer donning that uniform and becoming part of the machine that is driving the insane excesses and injustices of the market.
I guess what it really boils down to - I can't stand it when Goliath wins.
Peace,
Catrina
But I am deeply disturbed by this article in today's New York Times.
I am disturbed because Minnesota "raised" Johan Santana - we brought him up through our farm system and developed his talent. Though he's only 28, he's already been playing for the Twins for many years.
But now that everybody else wants him and he can command a salary beyond what this small club is generally willing or able to pay, now the current state of baseball dictates that the management is wise to trade him and at least get SOMETHING out of this investment rather than lose him to free agency the following year.
It just makes me sad that this is the way the game is played now. I grew up in the days of Kirby Puckett and Kent Hrbek. Maybe I'm romanticizing, but it seemed like team loyalty carried more weight with the players back then. I don't remember there being so many pre-emptive trades based on the fear that you could no longer afford you best players, so you better do something while you still have power over them.
The Twins have always been scrappers. They win by building up their talent and teamwork, and Minnesota fans suffered through many years of crappy baseball as the team rebuilt, as Johan and Torii and Justin and Michael and Joe and all the rest became the ballplayers, became the team, that they are today.
And it just doesn't seem fair, now that the team is clicking and MN baseball is once again fun to watch, that these other teams will swoop in and steal these guys we've supported through their developing years, and have really grown to love and claim as our own.
Which is why it is particularly disturbing that the Yankees, of all teams, might pick Santana up in a trade. Because the Yankees, to me, represent all that is wrong and reprehensible in the world of baseball today. They're driving up the cost of all these players, they essentially buy their victories because they can simply afford to snap up all the top talent, and I never see them really working as a team, they're just a bunch of individual primadonnas strutting their stuff - trends that are also increasingly prevalent, and equally bothersome, in the larger society.
It just turns my stomach to think of one of our best beloved boys of summer donning that uniform and becoming part of the machine that is driving the insane excesses and injustices of the market.
I guess what it really boils down to - I can't stand it when Goliath wins.
Peace,
Catrina
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Milking the Deer
So, I just got back from my final First Call Theological Retreat (for the non-pastors who are reading this, the ELCA requires all pastors to attend a special retreat for the first three years of their ministry).
Region 8 does the first call retreat altogether - so the pastors at this gathering are serving somewhere among Metro/Suburban DC, Maryland, Delaware, West Virginia, or the western 2/3s of Pennsylvania. So you've got people serving the full range of areas, from extremely rural to small towns to small cities to sprawling suburbs to the inner city. As you can imagine, it's interesting to be mixing it up with people working in such widely varied contexts.
Inevitably, we start sharing some of our craziest stories, and this morning at breakfast we were doing just that.
I shared the story of my first funeral/interment, when the funeral director accidentally locked the ashes in his minivan, and had to borrow a family member's cell phone and wander around this little country graveyard until he got reception and could call his assistant to bring the other set of keys.
Someone else spoke of a shut-in they went to visit. This elderly, legally blind man had a neat row of birdfeeders out behind his house. The pastor commented on how they had never seen that many birdfeeders so close in a row like that. The old man said he can't get out to hunt anymore, so when he feels like hunting, he just sits on his back porch and picks off the birds at the birdfeeder. "But my eyesight's not so good anymore, pastor, that's where this automatic really comes in handy. . ." !!!
Then there was the pastor who had a woman leave a bible study early because she had to get home to milk the deer. Well, this pastor had heard of milking cows and even goats - but deer? This they had to see. Turns out, this woman and her family were deer breeders, their goal is to breed bucks with bigger and bigger racks, which they then set loose on their property, and people pay lots of money for the right to hunt on the land and catch a trophy buck. "Milking the deer" is collecting a, um, donation from the bucks with the biggest antlers for breeding purposes.
Uff da - talk about a dirty job!
That pretty much stopped the conversation, because nobody could top that. And because we were all laughing so hard, along with this poor colleague, at the memory of them finding out what milking the deer really entailed.
The world takes all kinds. And if you stay in this gig long enough, eventually you'll meet them.
Peace,
Catrina
Region 8 does the first call retreat altogether - so the pastors at this gathering are serving somewhere among Metro/Suburban DC, Maryland, Delaware, West Virginia, or the western 2/3s of Pennsylvania. So you've got people serving the full range of areas, from extremely rural to small towns to small cities to sprawling suburbs to the inner city. As you can imagine, it's interesting to be mixing it up with people working in such widely varied contexts.
Inevitably, we start sharing some of our craziest stories, and this morning at breakfast we were doing just that.
I shared the story of my first funeral/interment, when the funeral director accidentally locked the ashes in his minivan, and had to borrow a family member's cell phone and wander around this little country graveyard until he got reception and could call his assistant to bring the other set of keys.
Someone else spoke of a shut-in they went to visit. This elderly, legally blind man had a neat row of birdfeeders out behind his house. The pastor commented on how they had never seen that many birdfeeders so close in a row like that. The old man said he can't get out to hunt anymore, so when he feels like hunting, he just sits on his back porch and picks off the birds at the birdfeeder. "But my eyesight's not so good anymore, pastor, that's where this automatic really comes in handy. . ." !!!
Then there was the pastor who had a woman leave a bible study early because she had to get home to milk the deer. Well, this pastor had heard of milking cows and even goats - but deer? This they had to see. Turns out, this woman and her family were deer breeders, their goal is to breed bucks with bigger and bigger racks, which they then set loose on their property, and people pay lots of money for the right to hunt on the land and catch a trophy buck. "Milking the deer" is collecting a, um, donation from the bucks with the biggest antlers for breeding purposes.
Uff da - talk about a dirty job!
That pretty much stopped the conversation, because nobody could top that. And because we were all laughing so hard, along with this poor colleague, at the memory of them finding out what milking the deer really entailed.
The world takes all kinds. And if you stay in this gig long enough, eventually you'll meet them.
Peace,
Catrina
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Stand Up, Keep Fighting
I can't believe it's already been five years. That day is still so vivid in my mind.
But it's been five years since a neighboring pastor called to tell me he had just heard a news bulletin on NPR: Senator Wellstone's plane had gone down in northern Minnesota. Rescue crews were on their way, but there was little hope that anyone had survived the crash. "I noticed your bumper sticker when you moved here," he said. "I. . .I just thought. . .that. . .you'd want to know. . ."
I hung up with him and immediately called my mother. "Please tell me it isn't true" I blurted out as soon as she answered. I heard her start to cry, which unleashed the tears that I was barely holding back myself. She clung to the thinnest veil of hope: "They haven't officially declared anyone dead yet. They might have made it." But within the hour, it was confirmed - all six passengers had died.
That was one of the loneliest days of my life. It was a Friday, both Jeff and Barbara's day off, so I was alone all day to stew in my grief. I was devastated, but the rest of Washington was oblivious to the great tragedy that had occurred. It was just another Friday to them - as well it should have been - he wasn't their Senator, the plane didn't go down in their state. The news was just another blip "up on the TV, between a rerun and another war."
But that only added to my sorrow, to be grieving alone. I wanted nothing more than to race down to Sea-Tac and hop on the next plane to Minneapolis, but I couldn't. I couldn't have afforded the last minute airfare, and I couldn't have just taken off like that. But, however irrational it may have been, I certainly wanted to. I wanted the comfort of sitting with others who were just as heartbroken as I was. It was a harsh lesson in the cost of this discipleship, a lesson I have continued to live out in my call here: people you love will die while you tend to the ill, the dying, and the bereaved thousands of miles away.
The next day offered some relief, some sense of being part of the community of the grieving. First, there was a knock on the door, and the postman handed me a box. It was a VCR tape full of non-stop coverage of the crash and its aftermath by Twin Cities media. My friend Melissa had gone home, thrown a tape in the VCR and just hit record. When the tape stopped, she took it out, boxed it up, and overnighted it to me. Later that night, Garrison Keillor paid a beautiful tribute to Senator Wellstone on A Prarie Home Companion. That Sunday after worship, several members of the congregation, having finally figured out what the bumper sticker on my car meant (apparently many thought I was advertising some kind of product!), offered their condolences.
Life went on, as it always does. Mason Jennings wrote a song, I finished my internship in WA, moved back to MN to finish seminary, then on to PA. Along the way, I have paid the price of this discipleship several times over, losing more and more people I love, including two grandparents, while I tend to the souls I am charged with hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away.
And today it's five years later, and I see a country that needs Paul Wellstone now more than ever. Who is standing up for justice, even when it's not a politically popular point of view? Who is speaking up for those who have no voice, who broker no power in our society? Who is looking out for those who so easily fall through the cracks in our communities? Who is keeping kitchen table issues on the front burner of our national agenda?
If we would be true to his legacy, true to his vision, WE should be the ones standing up and speaking out. It's what Senator Wellstone would want, what he would be working for if he were still alive today.
I am ashamed to admit how often I fail at this. I conveniently argue that my job is too taxing, that I simply don't have the time. But the truth is, often I don't MAKE the time.
I'm gonna try to do better at that. Because this is certainly no time to be sitting down and checking out.
This is a time to stand up, and keep fighting.
Shalom,
Catrina
PS - I can't get the Mason Jennings link to go right to the lyrics, but from the main page, click on "Music," then "Use Your Voice," then "Ballad of Paul and Sheila."
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Write What You Know
There's an old adage that is oft spoken to new writers: write what you know. It's what all the best authors have always done - a story grounded in one's own experience gives it an air of authenticity that can make even the most seemingly mundane moments of life, moments of a narrative, sparkle.
I've seen two movies in the past two days that have made the truth and the wisdom of that statement almost painfully obvious. The first movie was Aurora Borealis. It was actually written by a guy from my hometown, and a main part of the plot is about losing a grandpa to Parkinson's and dementia, so it hit close to home on two counts, and I've been wanting to see it ever since my grandma sent me the article from our hometown paper interviewing the screenwriter, Brent Boyd.
Overall I thought the movie was pretty good - solid script, well-cast, well-framed, with some beautiful shots of the Cities. It was a story about growing up, coping with loss, being pushed outside yor comfort zone, taking responsibility for yourself and others. Duncan (the lead) is chronically unemployed, has been piddling his life away since his dad died ten years ago. Though his life is not perfect (constantly losing jobs, his successful yet philandering brother always borrowing his apartment for rendevous' with the mistress), there's a certain level of comfort and realibility to the places he inhabits and the people he inhabits them with. The growing up is precipitated by his spending more time with grandma and grandpa (who is daily losing ground to Parkinson's and dementia), and falling in love with grandpa's home health care nurse.
There are two geographical details that I'd quibble with: first, there's no way the grandparent's apartment could have THAT view of the Minneapolis skyline AND a view of the St. Paul skyline (a couple times, characters in the movie claim that it does); second, it is highly unlikely that people living that close to downtown would drive all the way to the Mall of America to do their Christmas shopping (though I realize the MOA is probably more recognizable to a national audience, and a more lucrative "product placement" than, say, City Center or Nicollet Mall). But, unless they have a highly attuned sense of the geography of the place, the average viewer isn't even going to pick up on that.
What the movie did very well - to the point that I have been feeling kinda homesick ever since watching it - was capture the essence of life in Minnesota, even down to nuances, like the fact that people who live in Minneapolis don't often venture across the river into St. Paul, and vice versa. Brent Boyd took a people and a place that he knew, that he understood very well, and he wrote a beautiful story about them - a story not uncritical of them - but a beautiful, authentic story all the same.
The movie I watched today was called Searching for Bobby D. It was a comedy about four actors from Brooklyn who are sick of being typecast in bit background parts, so they set off to make a movie of their own script, starring themselves. Through various connections, they get a meeting with Robert DeNiro's production partner, who is willing to look at the script, but says they have to raise at least $500,000 to make a decent indie movie. The lead's cousin moved to the Poconos and claims he's got a rich investor who will front the money for the movie - so the four actors take off for PA to raise the funds. Let the hilarity ensue. . .
Except, that it really wasn't that funny. I mean, I realize it was meant to be a stupid comedy, so capturing the nuances of life in rural Pennsylvania was not exactly their top priority. But every character from PA was so two-dimensional - the vast majority were portrayed as dumb hicks, and half of them spoke with Southern accents (hello! we are ABOVE the Mason-Dixon line! there IS a distinct accent and speech pattern in rural PA, but it sounds nothing like a southern drawl)!
It felt completely like a parade of a New Yorker's worst stereotypes of rural people, which was ironic considering the plot-driving goal was for the characters to prove that Itailian-Americans and African-Americans are more than just goombas and thugs. I did try to give them the benefit of the doubt for a while, thinking that maybe this is a really sarcastic commentary on stereotypes in the movies (they do have a scene where they play into their worst sterotypes in order to raise some of the funds) - but then I realized, no, this movie is not that deep.
So, a thumbs up to Aurora Borealis, and a disappointed thumbs down to Searching for Bobby D. And screenwriters, please, for the love of all that is good and true in this world - write what you know. And if you're going to write what you know nothing about, please, at least put a little effort into some research, and don't write your most shallow stereotypes into the script. Is that too much for this humble country paisan to ask?
Peace,
Catrina
I've seen two movies in the past two days that have made the truth and the wisdom of that statement almost painfully obvious. The first movie was Aurora Borealis. It was actually written by a guy from my hometown, and a main part of the plot is about losing a grandpa to Parkinson's and dementia, so it hit close to home on two counts, and I've been wanting to see it ever since my grandma sent me the article from our hometown paper interviewing the screenwriter, Brent Boyd.
Overall I thought the movie was pretty good - solid script, well-cast, well-framed, with some beautiful shots of the Cities. It was a story about growing up, coping with loss, being pushed outside yor comfort zone, taking responsibility for yourself and others. Duncan (the lead) is chronically unemployed, has been piddling his life away since his dad died ten years ago. Though his life is not perfect (constantly losing jobs, his successful yet philandering brother always borrowing his apartment for rendevous' with the mistress), there's a certain level of comfort and realibility to the places he inhabits and the people he inhabits them with. The growing up is precipitated by his spending more time with grandma and grandpa (who is daily losing ground to Parkinson's and dementia), and falling in love with grandpa's home health care nurse.
There are two geographical details that I'd quibble with: first, there's no way the grandparent's apartment could have THAT view of the Minneapolis skyline AND a view of the St. Paul skyline (a couple times, characters in the movie claim that it does); second, it is highly unlikely that people living that close to downtown would drive all the way to the Mall of America to do their Christmas shopping (though I realize the MOA is probably more recognizable to a national audience, and a more lucrative "product placement" than, say, City Center or Nicollet Mall). But, unless they have a highly attuned sense of the geography of the place, the average viewer isn't even going to pick up on that.
What the movie did very well - to the point that I have been feeling kinda homesick ever since watching it - was capture the essence of life in Minnesota, even down to nuances, like the fact that people who live in Minneapolis don't often venture across the river into St. Paul, and vice versa. Brent Boyd took a people and a place that he knew, that he understood very well, and he wrote a beautiful story about them - a story not uncritical of them - but a beautiful, authentic story all the same.
The movie I watched today was called Searching for Bobby D. It was a comedy about four actors from Brooklyn who are sick of being typecast in bit background parts, so they set off to make a movie of their own script, starring themselves. Through various connections, they get a meeting with Robert DeNiro's production partner, who is willing to look at the script, but says they have to raise at least $500,000 to make a decent indie movie. The lead's cousin moved to the Poconos and claims he's got a rich investor who will front the money for the movie - so the four actors take off for PA to raise the funds. Let the hilarity ensue. . .
Except, that it really wasn't that funny. I mean, I realize it was meant to be a stupid comedy, so capturing the nuances of life in rural Pennsylvania was not exactly their top priority. But every character from PA was so two-dimensional - the vast majority were portrayed as dumb hicks, and half of them spoke with Southern accents (hello! we are ABOVE the Mason-Dixon line! there IS a distinct accent and speech pattern in rural PA, but it sounds nothing like a southern drawl)!
It felt completely like a parade of a New Yorker's worst stereotypes of rural people, which was ironic considering the plot-driving goal was for the characters to prove that Itailian-Americans and African-Americans are more than just goombas and thugs. I did try to give them the benefit of the doubt for a while, thinking that maybe this is a really sarcastic commentary on stereotypes in the movies (they do have a scene where they play into their worst sterotypes in order to raise some of the funds) - but then I realized, no, this movie is not that deep.
So, a thumbs up to Aurora Borealis, and a disappointed thumbs down to Searching for Bobby D. And screenwriters, please, for the love of all that is good and true in this world - write what you know. And if you're going to write what you know nothing about, please, at least put a little effort into some research, and don't write your most shallow stereotypes into the script. Is that too much for this humble country paisan to ask?
Peace,
Catrina
Sunday, October 14, 2007
How Can I Keep From Singing?
"My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth’s lamentation
I hear the sweet though far off hymn
That hails a new creation. . ."
The past couple of weeks have been. . .intense.
They were already going to be pretty intense, since I was in charge of the CROP Walk last Sunday, and we were supposed to have the new carpet laid in the fellowship hall Monday-Wednesday, and we were trying to finish up "Free in Christ to Serve the Neighbor" (aka sexuality study part three) so that we could get our comments in to the ELCA by the November 1 deadline, and I had two concerts with the Susquehanna Valley Chorale in two different performance halls, which meant beaucoup rehearsals, not to mention the concerts themselves.
Then two members of the congregation died on October 4th. And our organist's mother died on the 5th. Which just ratcheted the intensity up a couple more notches, because now there were three families in grief to care for, two funerals to plan and preside over (our organist's mother was a member of a sister congregation), a substitute funeral organist to find, and a carpet installation to reschedule.
And some people still think pastors only work an hour or two on a Sunday morning. :)
So like I said, it's been an intense couple of weeks.
And I have to admit, Monday night I was kinda cranky on the bus ride up to Williamsport for our first rehearsal with the orchestra and soloists. I was exhausted, I had already been through the first funeral, had plenty more to prepare for the second the next morning, and I was not looking forward to two hours of working out all the kinks and cues and balance issues in the hall.
But the music and texts on our fall program are so deliciously rich. . .it's impossible to remain in a bad mood when you're singing Vaughan Williams' "Five Mystical Songs," Tschesnokoff's "Let Thy Holy Spirit," William Payn's "With What Shall I Come Before the Lord," and Dvorak's setting of the "Te Deum."
I rode up to Williamsport annoyed at the imposition that the midweek concert was on my schedule. Turned out, this music was exactly the grace I needed to carry me through the week.
". . .Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing?. . ."
We capped these crazy weeks off in a major way in our final peformance at the Weis Center last night. We just had an awesome concert - the chorale was on, the orchestra was on, the Weis Center is by far the nicest space we have sung in since I have been a member - it was so uplifting to be part of this group of musicians, to be singing this gorgeous and inspiring music in a beautiful hall, to walk outside when all was said and done and breathe in the crisp, cool autumn air. . .
And adding to my joy this morning, those sneaky buggers in my congregation surprised me with a lovely "pastor appreciation day" reception in the very newly carpeted fellowship hall - a celebration that included my favorite treats, and the coolest gift ever: somewhere in the developing world, goats and pigs that were given in my name are running around, providing sustainable food and income for families living in dire poverty.
It's been an intense - and an incredible - couple of weeks.
". . .No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging
Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?"
Peace,
Catrina
PS - Your inner church music nerd wants to know that the hymn verses interspersed above were written by Robert Lowry, who happened to be a professor at Bucknell, and a pastor in Lewisburg, for many years.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Here is Irony Embodied. . .
the Luddite starts a blog. Eight years ago I was handing out copies of Wendell Berry's "Why I Will Not Own a Computer" as if it were a religious tract, but today, I am willfully (and happily) using the Internet as a primary means of communication.
It's not that I'm a full-out Luddite, mind you. I appreciate technology, I really do. I just question whether our culture is becoming overly dependent upon it, and how healthy that can be for us in the long run.
Take spelling, for example. I used to be a pretty decent speller. Now, thanks to spell check, I am a pretty lazy speller. In fact, thanks to automatic spell check, I rarely even realize I am misspelling a word. Which is all well and good until I go to write a real letter, and have to keep looking up the words I commonly misspell so I don't come across as an idiot.
Ok, obviously, a misspelled word here and there isn't the end of the world, it's the bigger things that I really worry about. Like, what happens to a person who is overly reliant on fast, microwavable foods? Not just what happens to their body (the medical data, the statistical rise in heart disease, diabetes, obesity, etc, tells us that story), but what happens to their soul? What happens to their relationships? Food is a language and a medium of love in my family, I have spent many hours bonding with both my grandmothers in their kitchens, where family stories were passed down along with the family recipes they were teaching me to make.
But what happens to a world whose grandmothers have forgotten how to cook? Such are the questions that keep me up at night.
And such are the kind of random musings you can expect to find on this blog. Observations about what I'm reading, watching, listening to, thinking to myself, talking about with other people. . .in short, about life as it is experienced by a Lutheran pastor serving in Central Pennsylvania.
Given that the nature of my job is very public and proclamatory, I should probably add the following disclaimer: the thoughts and opinions contained herein are my own, and are in no way to be mistaken as official positions of the congregation I am serving, nor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Capisce?
And to those who are curious, the blog title is a nod to Wendell - I can't abandon him completely! - and my favorite poem, which he happened to write. You can read it below.
Alright, I'm off to spell check. :)
Peace,
Catrina
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
It's not that I'm a full-out Luddite, mind you. I appreciate technology, I really do. I just question whether our culture is becoming overly dependent upon it, and how healthy that can be for us in the long run.
Take spelling, for example. I used to be a pretty decent speller. Now, thanks to spell check, I am a pretty lazy speller. In fact, thanks to automatic spell check, I rarely even realize I am misspelling a word. Which is all well and good until I go to write a real letter, and have to keep looking up the words I commonly misspell so I don't come across as an idiot.
Ok, obviously, a misspelled word here and there isn't the end of the world, it's the bigger things that I really worry about. Like, what happens to a person who is overly reliant on fast, microwavable foods? Not just what happens to their body (the medical data, the statistical rise in heart disease, diabetes, obesity, etc, tells us that story), but what happens to their soul? What happens to their relationships? Food is a language and a medium of love in my family, I have spent many hours bonding with both my grandmothers in their kitchens, where family stories were passed down along with the family recipes they were teaching me to make.
But what happens to a world whose grandmothers have forgotten how to cook? Such are the questions that keep me up at night.
And such are the kind of random musings you can expect to find on this blog. Observations about what I'm reading, watching, listening to, thinking to myself, talking about with other people. . .in short, about life as it is experienced by a Lutheran pastor serving in Central Pennsylvania.
Given that the nature of my job is very public and proclamatory, I should probably add the following disclaimer: the thoughts and opinions contained herein are my own, and are in no way to be mistaken as official positions of the congregation I am serving, nor of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Capisce?
And to those who are curious, the blog title is a nod to Wendell - I can't abandon him completely! - and my favorite poem, which he happened to write. You can read it below.
Alright, I'm off to spell check. :)
Peace,
Catrina
Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
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