Brett's Discernment

And the lesson I've learned these last two weeks is: the first month of internship is not the time to cut coffee/caffeine intake. I drag without coffee in the morning, and as much as I want to will myself not to, I cannot help it! Ahh! Mind over matter doesn't always work the way we want, huh?

Working on my internship contract . . . a little stumped because I feel like it actually is more like an approval essay in a much different form because I am essentially writing - what are all the things an ordained pastor should do and how can she contract to challenge herself and hold herself accountable . . . Describing this big and yet seemingly very natural job/role/call is joyful and yet really a lot deeper than it looks from the outset, maybe.

Things are going well on internship, I guess. No big issues. I'm about one month done, which has gone by fast in some ways and in others it seems like it has been longer than just four weeks. The month has been gracious to me in that it has gradually gotten a little busier. I am headed to VA this weekend to celebrate my brother's wedding in Charlottesville. When I return, it will be the first really busy stint of church activities, with 5 nights of VBS, night out celebration at church, church music picnic, first internship committee meeting, first council meeting . . .

More than anything I could do, I am reminded of God's grace at every turn, at every pause . . . And I am learning that loving the people, the most important core task of an ordained pastor, I think, comes naturally from this.

Peace+

This blurry picture is from just outside Lancaster city. Maybe it's a good metaphor for today - I'm on the road, getting used to my surroundings as they become a fraction clearer each day.
I live in Lancaster now. For real. For the whole year. It is hard to adjust my brain to this. I have now tried for the first time shoo fly pie, whoopie pies, and have heard about many other PA Dutch specialties. I have picked up on a slightly different accent, heard phrases like "ret" (sp?) up your room (i.e. clean it).
There is nothing negative to say, I am just very slowly getting used to the idea that I am actually on internship, and I am actually leading this congregation, mostly alone. I really appreciate the help and advice that has been given from my supervisor and the previous/outgoing intern. But overall, I am still getting my bearings. I am still sticking with and chewing over the forest metaphor I mentioned in the last post.
I have been thinking about some of the ways in which this internship is more like a 1-year first call. I have realized, even just a little bit, how I now understand how on first call it takes at least a year to get the lay of the land and context before making changes. There is so much to take in.
Each day, I am surprised in small or big ways by God's grace in places I didn't expect. I am learning more about myself, definitely more about my growing edges but also some things I am maybe better at than I thought I'd be.
I am working on writing/finishing my sermon today, a little behind previous weeks as I was sick on Monday and took the day to myself. I was just taken aback when I opened my folder on my computer with my sermons and saw the files - pentecost 6, pentecost 7, pentecost 8 . . . Preaching weekly . . . And here at the beginning it is hard to imagine but slowly becoming more real that someday this list will be much longer, and then in three years, I will revisit these same texts, God willing with an ordination and call to preach!
Hmmm. All these things are gift.

Peace+

I'm here on internship, which is going well so far. It's like being dropped by helicopter into a forest, and I'm just trying to get my bearings. But so far, I haven't gotten lost yet.
I just wanted to post this one little thought. The picture in this post is of one of the stained glass windows here at my internship church. I think they are absolutely gorgeous, and it is exhilarating to be preaching in this space where the windows themselves testify to the cloud of witnesses who sponsored, installed, and planned these windows and this space. But I have been thinking about how introspective stained glass windows are on the whole. I was struck by this especially because the bathroom in the sacristy (which I'm sure wasn't the original use for the space) has this amazing stained glass window in it. Stained glass windows are for the people in the church, not the people on the outside. Obviously the way they are constructed and the way the light streams through works best outside-in, but still. This church is a big landmark at a big intersection in the city, and yet the stained glass looks drab from the outside. What's more, the images, like Jesus' face, look like empty, white spaces, lacking the detail that is only seen from the inside. I know I'm probably overthinking it, but what does this say symbolically - you have to be on the inside to see Jesus and the beautiful art, stories, and details of our faith. . . hmm...
I do love these windows, and this thought is not in any way meant to be disparaging of this church or any other, it's just a thought.
Peace+
(Vicar) Brett

I am so blessed to have spent this year as the field education student at Christ Lutheran Church in Kulpsville. The Spirit is alive there, and I had the privilege of preaching yesterday (and Saturday) for Pentecost 2010, my last Sunday there. I cannot thank the congregation enough. God is good. All the time . . .



Here is my Pentecost sermon (though not exactly like I preached it):

This past Tuesday morning I was sitting in my church and society exam. It was a two-hour group oral exam, and it was toward the end. I was turned listening to my friend answer a question, and all of a sudden, my good friend Jason, out of nowhere and without my having even the slightest clue, reached over and poked me in the side. I yelped! A loud, high pitched, out of nowhere response. I thought – did that noise just come out of me? During an exam? I was so embarrassed. My professor looked frightened, and then confused, and then the whole group laughed. It was such an involuntary reaction. I could not believe that it had happened. I wished in that moment, as my cheeks reddened, that I had better control, that I could've prevented that funny little noise escaping my lips, but I could not. It was completely involuntary.

It got me thinking this week about other things that are involuntary. This week in particular the oil spill in the gulf has also produced an involuntary response of another type – escaping my lips often when I listen to the news on the radio or t.v. - deep sighs of involuntary grief. Friday news came that the oil may cause more hurricanes and destruction. News of the brown pelican which was put on the endangered species list by DDT now may be wiped out as the oil is leeching into its nesting grounds. News of soldiers and civilians continuing to fall week after week in Iraq and Afghanistan,

Sometimes we cry out, in an uncontrollable, involuntary way. Because of grief, pain, or surprise, we cry out – we cannot help it. In those moments we are reminded that we are not in control, as much as we might want to be.

Today's second reading from Romans reminds us of that involuntary nature – let's revisit it -

“14 For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. 15 For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, "Abba! Father!" 16 it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, 17 and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ-- if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.”

I have to admit that I'm 26 and like in the passage I still cry out for my parents (earthly or divine) when I want to feel comforted. It's involuntary. And like in this passage, something in me, the Holy Spirit, cries out, reaches out to God for comfort. You cannot control it – it is the Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God.

When we cry out, out of joy or out of of despair, it is involuntary. Often one of those involuntary responses, of joy or sadness, is to use the word “God.” Some may argue this is a cultural thing, but what if we consider that this is just like Paul writes, the Holy Spirit witnessing from deep inside of us that we are God's children and we need God. Cry out to God, in joy and pain. Sometimes we cannot control it. We might even foolishly think that we can train ourselves that we are in control until that moment – we get poked, or hurt, or surprised by joy – and we cry out – Abba! Involuntarily.

In the same way, faith is involuntary too. We cannot choose it or make it our own. Faith, after all, is trust. We cannot force ourselves to trust God or each other. Think about your relationships and sense of trust. Trust is a natural, involuntary force created by the relationships we have. And God initiated this relationship with you, begun on the day you were born and celebrated the day you were baptized. God gives faith. To have faith is to trust. We trust because we are God's children, and when push comes to shove, just like children crying out in the night “Mom!” we cry out to God, “Abba!” or what ever word or sigh or squeal we use. This involuntary cry at the worst – but also the best of times proves that Pentecost has happened in us. The disciples on that first pentecost day did not choose to be transformed and moved by the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is within you and you didn't choose it and you cannot help it.

When we cry out involuntarily, we sometimes think “where did that come from?” Ultimately, this is a reminder that we are not alone. That deep within us, God abides with us. The Holy Spirit comes through us and we are not in control. As John writes, “ You know it, the Spirit of truth, the Holy Spirit, because it abides with you, and it will be in you.”

As much as I would have like to not cried out in my exam, it is a reminder that I am not in control, that God is. That I am just God's child, adopted, flaws and all. The Holy Spirit then lives in us in this spirit of adoption, giving us eternal life as heirs of Christ. Adoption is a beautiful thing. And it's involuntary. We are not in control but like a beautiful child, we are taken in, given a home and parents who will be a part of us for as long as we live.

I feel it is much the same spirit of adoption which with you have adopted me. You have welcomed me in, and God has worked in this place this year. Because God has adopted all of us and you have adopted me, we cry out, Thanks be to God.

Thanks be to God for the Holy Spirit that cries out from within us.

Thanks be to God for the faith we are given as a gift.

Thanks be to God for you, adopting me here, into this place, into this ministry.

Thanks be to God for the way trust, our faith in God, is shown in this place, by trusting each other, by holding each other, by working together to make quilts and roofs and hugs and sincere fellowship which all keep us sheltered, adopted, loved.

Thanks be to God that we are not in control, that God is, and that the Holy Spirit works in us.

This is pentecost. Thanks be to God. Amen.

So many people to pray for, near and far, around the corner and far away. Among those far away: -the mining community(ies) of WV upon the death of 29 in a mining accident last week-
-the community of Valparaiso University upon the death of Pastor Darlene Grega. How saddening. It takes my breath away. What is there to say? Suicide. The first ELCA pastor serving the chapel of the resurrection and the campus, and the first woman also . . . How does it twist my stomach to think that she was probably planning to attend the Institute for Liturgical Studies there at Valpo this coming week, which focuses this year on funerals, with the theme, "we all go down to the dust."-
-all of the communities feeling so literally and figuratively unstable because of earthquakes and other natural disasters.-
- So many others . . .
I am so blessed. My little concerns are so little.
I do worry how I would minister to communities in times like this. . . But I do trust that the Holy Spirit would just have to take the reigns, so to speak.

There is not much else to say.


Prayer is so important.


I realize my own ineloquence (that's not a word? totally should be) here.

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As they'd say on This American Life, "and now we've come to Act 2 of our program" -or as Monty Python would say "and now for something completely different" - (or is it?)

Today (and last night) I preached at my field education church, Christ Lutheran in Kulpsville, PA. I am realizing how at home I feel there in many ways and how much I will miss it. My last Sunday (and the next and last time I will preach there) is May 23. Amazing how fast this year has gone by, how much has changed. Wow. If you had told me April 11, 2009 where I'd be right now in my life, I wouldn't have believed you . . .

Anyway, the gospel text for today is as follows:

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jewish leaders, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe." A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

This sermon was as most others were, quite troublesome in its "birthing" process. I thought a lot about about 20 different strands, which I keep in a word document separate from the finished sermon for each time I preach, so that hopefully I have kernels to restart on another time.

Some of the things I talked about included:



But then I also thought about the Mason Jennings song, "Jesus are you Real" but not until tonight, and wished I had gone that direction for my sermon, as it really preaches to me all the time but especially right now, and in light of all the things, people, places, communities to pray for:

Jesus are you real
Or did we make you up
Is salvation what you want
Or is faith enough

Do you know where I'm bound
Do you know who I am
Are you just a word I use
When I don't understand

Standing at the statue in the sea
In a little truckstop in Tennessee
And bombs are crashing down in waves
On the giant TV screen

And I am struck I cannot move
To make it stop what can I do?
People are dying in their beds
While this flag flies over our heads

Jesus are you stronger than a loaded gun
I'm beginning to believe you're not the only one
Strong enough to show your love
Strong enough to give
Strong enough to go through hell
Strong enough to live

And all night long I sat with you
In a darkened hospital room
And nurses checked in by the hour
I was made aware of a higher power
And how this fragile life we live
Is not ours to keep but ours to give
What in the world am I gonna do if anything should happen to you?

All I do is doubt you God
All I do is love you God
All I do is question you
What else can I do?
This world was never solid ground
The past is coming back around
All I do is search for you
What else I can do?

And when I say I search for you
I mean I search for peace
I search for hope
I search for love
And one day for release

Jesus my life does not feel the same
New things happen every day
Things I can't explain
I am not a man of faith
I'm a man of truth
But is this feeing in my heart
Is this feeling proof?

And when you do not know you know
And when you know you do not know
And when you think you do you die
And when you do not think you grow

Are we left here in the dark
Or are we left here in the light
Seems to me that both are true
And it's up to us to know what's right

And all I do is doubt you God
And all I do is love you God
All I do is question you
What else can I do?

This world was never solid ground
Religion cannot help me now
All I do is search for you
What else can I do?

And when I say I search for you
I mean I search for peace
I search for hope
I search for love
And one day for release

God give me strength to accept the things
That I just cannot know
And even when I lose control I will not let you go

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But here is the sermon I actually preached, kind of - especially as I got to know the sermon it changed a lot in its actual delivery and there were pieces removed, added:

Thomas gets a bad rap. We think, honestly, who wouldn't doubt, just as he did? He's not the only doubter. We'll come back to Thomas, but I want you to imagine yourself in that room where Thomas' scene takes place – where Jesus appears – there are other disciples there, behind those locked doors. . .

What about those locked doors . . . locked doors behind which the other disciples sat for days. They are disciples of the risen Christ – they have been visited a whole week before Thomas is in our story for today. Which makes me wonder – what did Jesus say to these disciples in his previous appearance?

When Jesus first greets the disciples in the locked room without Thomas, Jesus says - “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

So I send you – out into the world! And yet we find the disciples, eight days later, hunkered, afraid, in the locked room, when Jesus returns to meet Thomas. Jesus rose from the grave for them, defeating death, and these disciples cannot even rise from their seats and behind the locked room to serve the world. Something's not right here, and it isn't just Thomas' doubt. All the disciples are paralyzed by fear, though different types.

Thomas' fear is of trusting his belief in the risen Christ – his fear is how could someone defeat death? How could this be?

But the other disciples fear also – they fear human authority – it is locking them in the room, keeping them from what Jesus has commanded them – to be sent into the world. This is a sharp contrast – the locked room is the opposite of the statement of faith made in Acts by the disciples who are on trial for their faith, who say - “We must obey God rather than any human authority.”

The disciples who are locked in the room for those many days are afraid of human authorities, and by fearing them, they are obeying human authorities over God, revealing who they really trust.

Isn't it true that, what we are afraid of reveals what and who we really trust.

I must agree with author Barry Glassner that our culture is a culture of fear -

Our news stories run rampant to catch your attention with the newest thing to be afraid of. Remember Y2K? Remember Killer Bees? Even on a bright, beautiful Sunday morning like this, with the light and knowledge of Easter, we are afraid. And we cannot avoid it.

You see, we are locked up too. Even the most well-meaning warnings of loved ones and other authorities can create this nagging doubt of our subconscious, creating fear, locking into place.

We are afraid daily of human authority in that we give other people power to value us. We doubt and worry what others will say about us, think about us, what category they will put us in, especially if we share our faith as the disciples are and we are called daily, to be sent, wherever we are going, bearing the name of Jesus.

It is hard for me to think of these disciples as being afraid. They had met Jesus, known him, seen the miracles, heard the teaching – what do they have to be afraid of? As weak and honest as it is, I think it is comforting that even the disciples, the friends of Jesus were afraid and doubting.

What do the disciples in the locked room have to be afraid of? Ultimately, they are afraid of two things – they are afraid of human authorities, of society, of what others will say about them, but behind that, it is because they are afraid of death.

Ironically, I think even as this fear tries to pull us away from trusting God, it drives us back to Christ. In times of fear and longing we are driven back into community with each other – to pray, to be around family, and other believers. Isn't it amazing how God works – fear – which leads us to doubt and instead trust everything but God – actually drives us back, reminding us that we need God.

Even though Thomas isn't sure he believes, he stays. This is a witness to us. Thomas knows, just as we do, that doubt does not exclude us from the body of Christ. We learn from Thomas the truth that we feel – some of those days when you feel least like getting up and praying or going to church are the days when the Holy Spirit surprises you and blesses you by your presence and practice of just being in the family of faith.

Jesus liberates Thomas – freeing him from his fears of what it means to really believe and trust that Christ is risen – Alleluia. Jesus liberates Thomas – the one who doubted vocally – not the goody two shoes of the group – but the doubter makes the most clear statement of faith in the entire gospel. Jesus liberates Thomas, and Thomas can do no other than proclaim, “My Lord and my God.”

But imagine being there in the room. This is not a private conversation.

I'd like to suggest that what Jesus is doing here is a favorite trick of parents – talking just loud enough and with just the right message so that it seems like you are only talking to the person in front of you but really you're expecting to be intentionally overheard – like – if someone is a good girl/boy and cleans up the playroom we might have ice cream, or one overheard recently if someone doesn't go to sleep the Easter bunny won't come . . .

Jesus works on all the disciples – his presence brings about about this amazing, overheard grace. Thomas' conversation with Jesus and statement of faith had an impact on the whole room and on us today. Overheard grace. None of us are alone. And while living in society means that we make each other anxious and we worry about human standards and , Jesus works around this, letting us overhear grace from each other.

Jesus is present in others, even in the last people we might think. And the amazing thing is that by living in community we get to overhear God's grace and presence working in each other, daily. This liberates from our fears and little worries that we put on ourselves by attending so much to society's concerns.

Overheard grace.

Some years ago now, but always fresh in my mind is the experience of leading a small group of 12^th graders at a high school youth retreat. These kids all came from different parts of the state and from some radically different homes, lives, and struggles. One member of the group, let's call him Thomas, over our week together gradually admitted to us that he really didn't believe for sure in this whole Jesus is the son of God and savior thing, and he wasn't sure about God's presence in his life at all. Thomas had been sexually abused by his father, raised in a devout Catholic household, never felt like he knew who to trust, and faced the pressure and struggle of human authority now to define who he was going to be – where to go to college, what path to follow. But somehow, the Holy Spirit worked that week, and by our last evening and day together, in our own little room of disciples, Thomas made the most honest statement of faith as we talked and prayed together. But the grace didn't stop there. God is present and shows an active involvement in our lives, because God promised. But the grace does not happen alone in a soundproof room. From that small group where the Holy Spirit entered and changed Thomas' life, the other disciples in the room were also changed by this overheard grace. Though I have lost touch with Thomas, there are others in this group, now well into college, that I still run into and they say – do you remember how God worked in Thomas?

We overhear grace daily, through which Jesus liberates us from our fear, unlocking the room, sending us out. I am often humbled by this. I will be so worried, fearful about my long to-do list and then I will just be stopped in my tracks, overhearing grace, God's love from a friendly checkout person, or in strangers who help each other collect something that has fallen in the middle of the grocery store. Grace doesn't just come through direct, lightning-bolt forms of the Holy Spirit, but from stories of grace and love that we see and overhear. Overheard Grace. In a hug from a friend or seeing a parent comfort a crying child.

Jesus' first message to the disciple Thomas in that room is clouded by our English – but in Greek it is clear that the “you” is plural – not “peace” only to Thomas but to all the disciples – to all of you and to each one of us. So “Peace be with you. You all.” (as we say in virginia, all y'all) The first messages of Easter that the risen Christ brings and Holy Spirit breaks into our hearts today is just that - “Peace.” Peace that breaks us of our fears. God will break through all of our concerns and be present, as promised, and show around us, through overheard grace, abundant love. Peace be with you. My favorite Easter tune I hum quite often, #388 in the ELW, these words from the Taize community, “Be not afraid, sing out for joy. Christ is risen, Alleluia.” Amen.

Warning - semi-nerdy linguistic discussion . . .

Do you think "faith" and "belief" mean different things?

To me, belief is more cognitive, almost scientific, a belief is one of many things one might profess. To believe someone or in something has a different texture to it to me than to have faith in that person or thing.

Faith, on the other hand, seems in meaning to me to be not cognitive but more emotive, instinctive, and central. Especially thinking in Lutheran theological terms of faith as trust, trust is something that you feel from the core and may do against logic or the odds.

The verb form of "faith" in Greek, pisteuw, is as far as I can find always translated in the NRSV and others as believe. But isn't the verb "believe" different in range of meaning than the verb "faith." We don't have a verb "faith" in English - to say "have faith" is a little different, and maybe it wasn't used for translation because it sounds passive. We don't even have a way to express this in English - to make "faith" an active verb, and what would that even mean? Would it mean more like "be faithful" or "have faith" or something else?

I am working on a sermon for this Sunday, the second after Easter, year C. The gospel text is John's (Doubting) Thomas story. I am troubled at finding this distinction and finding it to obscure the text. Another layer is added to this here in this pericope Jesus says in John 20:27, kai mn ginou apistos alla pistos, that is, "do not be unfaithful but faithful." Apistos, literally, not-faithful, should be translated as such. However, the NRSV translates this as "do not doubt but believe." What does all of this mean? What does this especially mean as we believe that faith is affected by the Holy Spirit, as is reflected elsewhere in the pericope? What does it mean that Jesus commands Thomas (and us?) to "be faithful?" Hmmm . . .

This sermon was given at my field ed congregation, Christ Lutheran Church in Kulpsville, PA, on Feb 20 and 21, 2010, the First Sunday in Lent, Year C. The text is Jesus being tested in the wilderness in Luke 4.

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It's test time . . . What do these words do to you? Do they evoke a sinking feeling of ineptitude, or memories of pop quizzes, medical tests, or being otherwise unprepared? Would you say you have testing anxiety?

But this week I've been thinking about how we all actually like to be tested. If you think about it, testing pervades our society – it's everywhere, in different forms – of course in schools, but also reality show competitions, personality tests, IQ tests, tests in magazines, surveys, even video games, and on the internet. We like to test ourselves. We want to know how we stack up, what will be said about us, even if it sometimes makes us a little anxious too. We like to be tested – in some ways, at least, because tests reveal what lies beneath. Tests can reveal our knowledge, but also our values, loyalties, and concept of ourselves. Tests are important because they show us a part who of we are.

So today we hear in the gospel the story of Jesus' testing. Essentially, this is Jesus' identity test. This story raises so many questions for me, not the least of which is, why test Jesus? We know who Jesus is! We know Jesus' answer will be no, and this story will turn out as it always has. But Jesus calls us to hear this story in a new way today, because Jesus was tested so that we might know who this one is that we are following to the cross. So what does this test reveal to us about him? Who is this Jesus?

So far in the gospel of Luke, really the only definite thing we have heard about Jesus is what immediately precedes this story – Jesus has been baptized, and the voice of God has descended and declared, “this is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Sounds great! I know who Jesus is – this is glorious – Jesus is God's son, baptized, filled with the Holy Spirit. But as soon as we revel in this baptism story, the Holy Spirit snatches Jesus away and he is tested and tortured in the wilderness for forty days.
Why? Why test Jesus?
Because Jesus has just been declared fully God, but Jesus is also fully human. To be human means to be tested. We live in a world that is constantly seeking to test us, define us, evaluate us, on its own terms. The devil in the story tests Jesus. In the fact alone that even Jesus was tested, there is so much comfort. We have a God who is all-powerful and created all that there is, and yet cares and knows us so intimately that God was humbled to even be tested in the wilderness. God knows what your hardest, hungriest, most tempting, tortuous days are like. Jesus was there. Jesus is not shielded from the brokenness of the world. We do not have a God who sits on high and watches us squirm from a distance. God is right here in the midst.
Jesus is baptized and then tested. You see, the order is important because you and I know from first hand experience that after you are baptized, you are still in this world, still tempted, still sinning. We are claimed and named to be God's children in baptism, but the sacrament doesn't mean that the devil or sin doesn't still have your number and tempt you each day. Jesus is God and is tested but resists all temptation. We start lent by learning who Jesus is through Jesus' “no” - no tricks of power, no human kingdoms, no foolish self-reliance will define Jesus.
We are baptized and tested like Jesus, but it doesn't mean that we have all that strength to resist and say no each time we should. We do say “yes.” We say “yes” to the labels that tests put on us – to being what the tests define us as, to classify ourselves and others by stereotypes and labels of race, power, bias, class, and gender, as enemies, as the other. . . I know if I were offered even a piece of what Jesus was offered in the wilderness, I'm not sure I could refuse.

But there is something else here that we cannot refuse. Jesus, in all strength passes the wilderness test for us, and we are united with him in our baptism. We are not required to pass any test. The world will test us all of our lives, and we are freed by God's actions in Jesus to simply live in this love and do our best. The devil went after Jesus' identity. Our identities are tested also – the world is constantly asking us to define ourselves – who are you, who will you be today? But Jesus' identity, as yours and mine, had already been marked forever in his baptism, where God declared the final word. We are baptized in the name of the God who created us, the Spirit that is with us even in the wilderness tests of our lives, and Jesus who endured and said no. The world calls us to think of our whole lives as an on-going test – nagging us with questions that leave us wondering – am I making the right choice? If only I were smarter, if only I was stronger, if only I was more disciplined, if only I was more loving. Say no to these doubts – because the test is over, God has spoken once and for all. Say yes – the Holy Spirit will answer for you – saying yes to the voice in the wilderness Jesus trusted, the one that declared the same at your baptism and mine - “you are my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

This sermon was written for homiletics class last fall. It was from a given prompt, so not delivered at a real funeral, but I found out afterward that the prompt was one our professor had written about a dear friend of hers that had passed away. The sermon utilizes a poem, previously posted here. I wasn't sure how it'd work, but felt like it fit.

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We are gathered here for Evelyn. We are also gathered here for each other – for Sandra, her daughter. For her dear friend Walt and all her friends, family, and neighbor.

We are not here just to offer platitudes and flattering words. You can imagine the sarcastic face Evelyn would make at us for this and the way she would wave her hand in mock dismissal. We are here to be honest. . . As Evelyn was honest. And today that includes crying out to God for the loss of our dear mother, friend, and sister in Christ.

Perhaps you, like me, will miss warm, honest conversations with her over a cup of coffee. When visiting with her, I always liked to watch Evelyn's hands. Did you ever notice them? They have a lot to say. Evelyn's hands were rough, strong. From her years working on her property and in the kitchen they seemed resistant to any temperature as she ran the hot water and held the coffeepot. When she would take your hands in hers, there was a warmth about her, just like in her voice. Her grasp was always firm and her words matched. As she talked with you and me and sipped her coffee, she would turn her rings on her fingers – and would often tell me about them. Her wedding ring she often caressed when she talked about her dear Peter. This one a gift from her daughter, this one she bought herself after saving up secretly on her own. Evelyn's hands were honest hands.

Evelyn believed in the certainty of a firm grasp of our hands. We knew her well and loved her. Much more than what I could say about her today, as her hands told us and her life told us through each one of us.

Evelyn's hands were a reflection of her.

We will miss her hands and all that she meant to us.

This is a hard day. My hands are not Evelyn's hands. Your hands are not. We will never hold her hands again in this way. Today is a day where we breathe with the words of the Romans text and know what it is to suffer, to not know why, and to cry out.

In our crying out, God works. In our crying out, and in this scripture proclaimed to us today, God shows us a little of God's hand . . . literally. When we do not know what to do other than to feel lost, confused, grieved, or fearful, it is by the grace of God that the Holy Spirit speaks our pain in crying out to God. The Holy Spirit cries out to God! For us! In us! God who called us from before we were born, knit us together in our mothers' wombs, hears our crying of the Spirit as a sign of our witness as God's children.

And as a child knows her mother's hands so well, so we get to know and remember God's hands acting here today and every day.

Sometimes I struggle with the image of God having a body, but somehow God having hands makes a lot of sense. It was God's hands that baptized Evelyn as a baby, and so it is God's hands which have spread this baptismal pall over her as a sign of her eternal life in God.

God's hands baptized her and held her from there - a certain promise. A sign once and for all that Evelyn's eternal life is decided – held in God's hand forever.

In her baptism, God inscribes her (and our and all the names of the baptized) name on God's hands – a certain promise to never forget Evelyn or you or I, or anyone.

Today is the completion of her baptism, God who called Evelyn before she was born, God who kept her in God's hands, and God holds and supports her now in the clearest of promises – that (John) God gives eternal life, in which she never dies to God. No thing, no one can snatch Evelyn or you or I out of God's hands. We are inscribed there and even as people may forget, as Isaiah reminds us, God will not forget you. Evelyn believed in honest, plain words. In certainty. This is certain. God's hands do not forget.

God's hands which hold our names, our days, and our eternal promises, are also hands of immeasurable comfort. When our cries are heard, it's the Holy Spirit crying out to God for us. When our hands act in comfort, embrace, or holding, these are God's hands.

The poet John Shea – has something to say about God's hands in his poem The God who fell from heaven, addressing God:

If you had stayed

Tightfisted in the sky

And watched us thrash

With all the patience of a pipe smoker,

I would pray

Like a golden bullet

Aimed at your heart.

But the story says

You cried

And so heavy was the tear

You fell with it to earth

Where like a baritone in a bar

It is never time to go home.

So you move among us

Twisting every straight line into Picasso,

Stealing kisses from pinched lips,

Holding our hand in the dark.

So now when I pray

I sit and turn my mind

Like a television knob

Till you are there

With your large, open hands

Spreading my life before me

Like a Sunday table cloth

And pulling up a chair yourself

For by now

The secret is out.

You are home.

Happy Easter!
Holy Week and Easter Sunday were an exhausting, wonderful, prayerful time. I loved celebrating Holy Week and Easter at my field ed congregation, Christ Lutheran in Kulpsville, PA. I also celebrated the Easter Vigil at University Lutheran downtown in Philly (in addition to the one at CLC), which was a great worship experience and a wonderful way to break into Easter.

More in general . . .
It is amazing how life can change in a year, or just a few months. Now I am getting ready to wrap up my second year of seminary and start internship, at Christ Lutheran in Lancaster, PA. I am really looking forward to internship, for the challenges and many gifts it will bring. I am so ready to be back in the "real" world again, living on my own and feeling more of my own person than this seminary bubble sometime allows. Christ Lutheran, my internship site, is a small-ish congregation in downtown Lancaster, a huge old church now in a very different neighborhood than it originally grew up in. I have worshiped with them once and look forward to worshiping there again in June as we prepare for the transition and my starting there July 1.

Also, I am engaged to be married (next summer '11) to Evan! He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I am more sure of this than just about anything I've ever known (excepting only perhaps my sense of call). I never thought I would date anyone who was also in seminary and preparing to be a pastor, but then there's that old saying about God laughing when you make plans . . . God is laughing quite heartily. God has blessed us quite a lot with this, and I am very thankful. If anyone reads this, please pray with us for continued discernment and future life serving the church.


Other random thoughts . . .

I miss Virginia, and CTK, my home church, especially on not celebrating Holy Week and Easter at home.

Perhaps because of the harsh winter, but this is the first time I've been really excited for spring.

I am dreading moving, but looking forward to living alone again. And actually looking forward to the organizing and cleaning moving will require. I just need to finish this semester first! One thing at a time.

The Preacher's Mistake

The parish priest
of Austerity
climbed up in a high church steeple
to be nearer God,
so that he might hand
His word down to His people.
When the sun was high,
when the sun was low,
the good man sat unheeding
sublunary things.
From transcendency
was he forever reading
and now and again
he heard the creak of the weather vane a-turning,
he closed his eyes
and said, "Of a truth
from God I now am learning."
And in sermon script
he daily wrote
what he thought was sent down from heaven
and he dropped this down
on his people's heads
two times one day in seven.
In his age God said,
"Come down and die!"
And he cried out from the steeple,
"Where art thou, Lord?"
And the Lord replied,
"Down here among my people."

-Brewer Mattocks

I was blessed to preach this sermon at my home congregation, Christ the King Lutheran in Richmond, VA on 11/15/09. I was blessed to struggle with the texts - Exodus 16:1-12, Psalm 138, Titus 3:1-8, Luke 12:13-21. This sermon was for the ELCA Women's thankoffering service 2009, which at Christ the King especially means that all of the quilts made by the "Holy Tearers" (haha) quilting group are draped on the backs of the rows before they are sent and donated to various needy people/organizations.

-----

You may remember the reality t.v. show, “Extreme makeover,” where contestants would undergo radical plastic surgery and other treatments for a new look. Or maybe you are a fan of extreme home makeover, which comes quite close to the image in the parable today, of tearing down barns to build larger ones. These shows and the rich man in today's parable encourage us to ask ourselves this question:
What about myself would I like to tear down and build larger?

These are things we say to ourselves, like the rich man in Jesus' parable - “And he thought to himself, 'What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?' 18 Then he said, 'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.' God said to him, 'You fool!”

I say to myself, what if things were different? But just like God in Jesus calls out the rich man in the parable, I must call myself out as the fool. And we all are when we ask and tell ourselves such things.

Think with me about the package of gifts, for better or worse, that we are given when we are born into our families. This is our barn. This is our inheritance.
In today's story, the man speaking with Jesus seems to want to take his inheritance early. In this culture, this would be the same as disowning one's family. Why do it? Because he thinks he can do better for himself. Striking out on his own.
In the parable the rich man blessed with overabundance seeks to improve his life by expanding his barns, his storehouses – because just what he has is not enough.
We make this assumption – that what we have (our barn) is not good enough. That being born into another family, with a different lot in life, a different job, a different role, a different name . . . different relationships, would somehow feel like a much bigger barn. What is behind this is this is the lie we sometimes tell our selves - “what I have is not enough.”

This is the exact opposite of the Israelites' experience in our Exodus reading. God has given a gift which means they can only have enough for one day. For one day. Forget bigger barns, the Israelites were so daily dependent on God, none was kept. I always think how amazing it is that God knew God's people so intimately to know that the people needed just enough for one day.

In my own world though, today's manna does not seem like enough. I say to myself, you have done well. Now what? I will make a plan . . .
And right there, in the very assumption that I will make a plan, is the greatest deception. Telling myself like the rich man in the parable, relax, you have done well. The deception is not in enjoying oneself. The deception is not even in having possessions. The deception is in thinking that I have earned it. On my own.
In reading these verses from Luke, it struck me as funny how the rich man in the parable speaks to his soul – and I say to my soul, soul. I find that often these little wrinkles of humor or oddity that stick out often hold important truths. The rich man is focused on speaking only to himself. Someone is missing from this conversation. What does God have to say about his and our barns?

So, thinking we have earned it, we say to ourself, it's time to build. We make plans to store what we convince ourselves we have earned all on our own. But the truth is, brothers and sisters, that Jesus exposes this lie we tell ourselves. In the parable, God says to the rich man, 'You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?' Making plans and storing goods is not the sin, but it is our self-dependence. We make plans, and we always will. But even more surely, we will die. Our barns and our plans will leave us. The rhetorical question is piercing here – the things you have prepared, whose will they be?

It is in the very fear of death itself that Jesus breaks grace into our hearts. This parable shakes us free of this lie that we can do it ourselves. We cannot. We will die. But we are not left alone. God is a part of this conversation and has something to say. God gives enough for this day.

In the Old testament, God gave manna each day. God spoke to the people with a dependence on God that meant receiving. And receiving only what was needed. God said to them as God says to you today, “Here is enough. I am enough.”

Where is our manna? Literally, manna was daily bread. And as we pray, “give us this day our daily bread,” what do we mean?

I find my daily bread, in these words from Titus -
The good news is, God says every day to me and to you – these words – “But when the goodness and loving-kindness of God our Savior shined, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy.” Daily God seeks to speak these words of grace to us. I like the translation and the image of Christ rising here as the sun – shining – our daily promise. That because we have Jesus who came down, all the way to the cross, we are saved by God's mercy. It doesn't matter what your barn looks like, or whether you are in the process of remodeling it yourself on your own. We do not do anything alone.
And wouldn't you know it, it's all because of our savior, Jesus who was born in the last place you'd think, in a barn, levels and destroys our storehouses of self-righteousness. We are not valued based on our barns, or any good works we could achieve with our possessions. But instead, God comes right in those big barn doors of our lives, whatever mess they may be, and wraps us in a quilt of tightly woven promises.

This quilt, is something that we cannot ever sell, build, or disown this inheritance given to us. We can share it. And we do. It's our call to the world. But most importantly, it's a new way of valuing ourselves. Just as the recipients of these quilts will not see them just as another blanket, but as a depth of warmth and love, God does not see the size of our barns or how we manage them, but only this quilt of promise, wrapped around us at baptism.

This is our daily bread. This is what we are here for, for the water of rebirth. Christ calls us into this relationship daily – and wraps us up in love. With this baptismal quilt wrapped around us, there is no need for a bigger barn. In these words, woven together for us, God speaks to our souls.

We realize that God has been shouting at the top of God's lungs, speaking to us.
In the waters of rebirth, saying to you - “you are mine.”
In the bread and the wine, saying to you, this is for you. This is enough for today.
And washed in the word, clothed in a quilt of God's promises, fed with enough for today, we are blessed. Amen.

I love this poem Dr. Swain shared with us last semester, and I offer it here as a prayer and devotion. I hope to revisit this poem more often.

If you had stayed

Tightfisted in the sky

And watched us thrash

With all the patience of a pipe smoker,

I would pray

Like a golden bullet

Aimed at your heart.

But the story says

You cried

And so heavy was the tear

You fell with it to earth

Where like a baritone in a bar

It is never time to go home.

So you move among us

Twisting every straight line into Picasso,

Stealing kisses from pinched lips,

Holding our hand in the dark.

So now when I pray

I sit and turn my mind

Like a television knob

Till you are there

With your large, open hands

Spreading my life before me

Like a Sunday table cloth

And pulling up a chair yourself

For by now

The secret is out.

You are home.

John Shea, The God Who Fell From Heaven

This is a picture of me leading worship drawn by a young congregation member today during the first service. So adorable. When I took a good look at this picture after she gave it to me, I felt affirmed and like that is where I am called to be - leading worship as who I am. I know this is just a silly little drawing by a precocious kid, but it is sweet, and it was just what I needed. In general, I felt affirmed today at church. I am enjoying getting to know the people at CLC, and loving the relationship and ministry there. I will continue to make little mistakes and be critical of myself, but the Spirit works.

The first couple weeks of the semester I was feeling out of balance. I was not taking things one at a time or being prayerful as I like about the use of my time and my general priorities.

A week ago, at the ordination, as I wrote about in my previous post, I started to feel a shift back to the center. Which for me, that center is breathing, a feeling of calm, that Christ is at the center and I can relax.
So this week I have reconnected with my pastors, friends, and things I like to do to relax (getting back into a schedule of working out, reading poetry, being easier on myself. . .)

I had a little pity party for myself when I got my seminary bill for almost $11,000 the other day (my scholarships and other monies hadn't been applied yet, so I won't owe that whole amount! but still!). I am about to take on debt (of some kind) for the first time, at twenty-six years old. I am blessed and I recognize that even the ability to have debt is a privilege that most people in the world cannot afford. Yet I admittedly, selfishly, mourn my salary and the privileges that gave me - being able to give to my church, balance my spending, and yes of course, spend money. Ironically I feel like sometimes I spent less when I had my salary - somehow it feels like I had less expenses (like I had good insurance from my employer instead of crappy, crappy insurance I pay for).

But I am over this now. This seems to be the latest theme in my recent discernment - that right now, being a seminary student is my call. Even if I could make some more money and (try to) make ends meet by working lots of hours, would that be best? I feel prayerfully called to be a student, to take things one at a time, to focus on my life as a seminarian. I'm not saying working is wrong during seminary - hardly - and I will continue to work. But I am feeling my own boundaries and the intentionality of leaving space and feeling that being a student, taking breaks, and spending time on things is valid. I thank God for the opportunity to study, and all of the nudges and swift kicks in the right direction through the Spirit I have been given in my discernment toward call and clarity.

God is good . . . all the time.

Peace+

The last two weeks or so have been among the most tiring in recent memory. For scale, that means that I am actually longing to be back in CPE! (But actually I miss CPE for more than just this.)

I have picked up two (soon to be three or four maybe) families that I tutor for regularly. Though I am taking less classes than ever, I am TA for one and also chair of a committee.

This is all not to illustrate my own tiredness or gripes but to make a simple point. Amidst all my distractions, God finds me and gives me space to really feel at peace to pray and worship. I know, as most of my recorded thoughts, this one is pretty simple. But, I find it important that when I get up earlier than usual (which is early!) to study, I find prayerful moments and am able to feel peaceful. Compline tonight was one of those times.

One of my roommates (C, I think) put up over the summer this quote on our bathroom mirror - which I have bolded - as in searching for it again I have found it is a part of a larger prayer of Kirkegard's:

Father in Heaven! You have loved us first, help us never to forget that You are love so that this sure conviction might triumph in our hearts
over the seduction of the world,
over the inquietude of the soul,
over the anxiety for the future,
over the fright of the past,
over the distress of the moment.
But grant also that this conviction might discipline our soul so that our heart might remain faithful and sincere in the love which we bear to all those whom You have commanded us to love as we love ourselves.

You have loved us first, O God, alas! We speak of it in terms of history as if You have only loved us first but a single time, rather than that without ceasing.
You have loved us first many times and every day and our whole life through.
When we wake up in the morning and turn our soul toward You- You are the first- You have loved us first;
if I rise at dawn and at the same second turn my soul toward You in prayer, You are there ahead of me, You have loved me first.
When I withdraw from the distractions of the day and turn my soul toward You, You are the first and thus forever.
And yet we always speak ungratefully as if You have loved us first only once.

What an amazing prayer. Again, I like how the agency is on God here. God acts - loving us first - over and over - it's a fact - the can and possibility language is taken out. I would like to share this poetic prayer and keep it with me.

God loves me first in a lot of new ways lately. I am doing my field education at Christ Lutheran Church in Kulpsville, PA. Perhaps because I grew up not really ever hearing a lot of language (or even preaching, maybe) of people claiming God and the Spirit working in them or being open about their faith, but this is a new way God has been surprising and loving me. The people are extremely warm and welcoming, and it is a very lay-empowered congregation. I give great thanks for this congregation and their warmth toward me.

So the last two Sundays I have officially "started" at CLC, which means leading parts of the liturgy each Sunday (basically the apostolic greeting, prayer of the day, creed, Lord's prayer (sometimes), intercessory prayers, peace, etc). Some of these parts of the liturgy had never before been my words to say. Honestly, the first Sunday I did feel a slight butterfly or two, but especially this second time and overall I have felt so comfortable, so called to this, so loving the liturgy because God loved me first, and I am excited to proclaim, teach, and serve. Oh my gosh am I ever cheesy. But that is why I am here, right? Because I am being formed, I love this stuff, and I am not afraid to talk about it.

The picture in this post is tied to this next thought though, and a beautiful experience I do not soon want to forget. I love and miss my CPE group and supervisor. There were five us in our group - two Presbyterians (one male, one female), one Roman Catholic male, one Ukrainian Catholic male - Ruslan Romanyuk, and me, all seeking ordination as priests or pastors in our denominations. We have our differences, but we found big parallels also. Well, Ruslan, who is married to the lovely Lesia (sp?) and is father to the beautiful baby boy David, was ordained on Sunday at the Ukrainian Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception (pictured). The entire service, which I think was the "divine liturgy" plus some rites of ordination, was beautifully breathtaking. With only a few exceptions including the gospel reading, the sermon, and a prayer or two, the entire two and a half hours of liturgy were non-stop singing/chanting. The interchange between the congregation, choir, bishop, priests, and Ruslan, the one to be ordained, were beautiful in and of itself. In some ways it was like being in another country and a part of something very sacred and intimate.

In coming to that day and praying for Ruslan, I naturally reflected on my own call and ordination. What will it be like? I realized that this is the first ordination I have ever attended. I have a feeling there will be plenty more, however. Our whole CPE group and supervisor were able to make it, and I felt it was powerfully emotional but also fitting to be all sitting in the pew together, teary-eyed at points, as our dear friend who grew so much with us, was being ordained.

After settling into the gilded, gorgeous space and into the liturgy of which the words I could not understand, I began to breathe more deeply. I always think of how my dad has always told me when I am stressed or if I have a big day ahead to - "take deep breaths, and say the Lord's prayer." So the whole liturgy was a prayer for me, like a long period of meditative prayer and chant, while I watched the large party of priests and Ruslan intently.

The only word of the liturgy that I understood was after the bishop had laid hands over Rusland and prayed over him to ordain him a priest. The bishop rose Ruslan to his feet and they took off his outer robe - just his black cassock beneath. They then ceremoniously dressed him in his new alb, stole, and many other pieces. For each one, the bishop sang out - "Axios" - and then Ruslan kissed the piece about to be put on and the congregation would sing/chant "axios" in response through the ceremonious dressing of that piece. "Axios" means "he is worthy" - it was beautiful and hard to describe.

Ruslan's emotion was palatable, as was that of the congregation for this new priest. Apparently it is a special thing to receive a priestly blessing from a newly ordained priest, and so we all did, as Ruslan let out a beaming smile now and then and radiated joy and peace. Yesterday was the international day of prayer, and I give thanks for the beauty that God has given us in the deep, rich variety of denominations and practices in God's church. Thanks be to God for Father Ruslan Romanyuk and days where things, though insanely busy all around us and taking us from place to place are just this simple - that we can breathe and pray with space for peacefulness. Again this comes back to one of Pastor B's favorite concepts - being intentional about doing one thing at a time and focusing on it. There is worship. And every now and again, even on my busiest days, God gives me space to really worship.

Peace+

Yesterday I finished CPE. It has not yet sunk in that I no longer have to go to the hospital, write verbatims, or knock on doors/curtains/tables, saying: "Hi, my name's Brett, I'm a chaplain here. Do you mind if I come in?"

I have learned a whole lot. I will take away a lot that I don't know how to fully put into words. Of course, we have to try - with our self-evaluations, endorsement essays, etc. Another way I've reflected is through my theology of ministry paper/reflection, which I've pasted below. I'll probably borrow a lot of it for my endorsement essay.

My supervisor, Ann, was a part of the growth and gain of pastoral identity/authority that I felt this summer. My group was good as well, and I was thankful for the program.
Katy, one of my group colleagues made a list of Ann-isms, including: How does God interrupt God's people? Ministry is where the action is. Questions lead to deeper faith. Feelings are what they are. Vulnerability is the universal connector. You are the prayer - you may not need words. Lamenting is a beautiful thing - what I loved is gone. Tears will teach you. Embrace the growing edges. Your gut always tells you what to say - then we wrestle with it. A pastoral challenge is an invitation for someone to think differently. Security is an illusion, yet all of humanity seeks it. Doctors are mythical people who patients are always waiting for. Beware capturing people in sermons or in worship the way you capture people in a hospital bed! Agendas can block your own ability to listen, communicate, and be pastoral. If you can laugh at yourself, you're going to be a great minister. God is in the surprises.



To think that I made it through, conquering at least for now my phobias of blood/hospitals/needles, etc., and offering good care - amazes me. Thanks be to God for a great summer of learning.

Here's my theology of ministry paper/reflection:

At the core of my theology of ministry is the understanding that all people are God's people, and that we are all described in Romans 3:22-25, “For there is no distinction, ²³since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; ²⁴they are now justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, ²⁵whom God put forward as a sacrifice of atonement by his blood, effective through faith.” A pastor or a pastoral minister is not exempt from this brokenness by sin and lack of distinction, but is set apart by a call to minister to the terror created by this brokenness with the only things that she authentically can bring – her honest self and God's word, embodied and present. The word, the message, the ministry is contained in the richness of verses 24 and 25 above. This theology has a very concrete, visceral feel for me, and it goes more personal in 1 Corinthians 15:3-10¹, what I would describe as Paul's statement of faith. As a minister, the context of Paul understanding grace through his own brokenness and the fact that Jesus Christ came down to him, all the way to the cross, all the way to him on the road, to him the “least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle.” (1 Cor. 15:9) My theology lives through these verses, that authentic ministry means to me that we claim our identities here in this scripture - “But by the grace of God I am who I am.” To be a minister then, the minister must be true and authentic to this identity, gifted to her in her baptism, and sustained by the gift of faith, by living daily to be who she is – fully sinner, fully justified, called to share God's word.

Flowing from this theology, during this unit of CPE I have felt called to reflect on and truly embrace what it means and feels like to be a “non-solution-based” minister. I realized in this unit of CPE that one of my strengths is being able to sit with, (at least metaphorically) embrace, and listen to suffering without trying to “fix” something. I do not look for a solution or an end to tears, because sometimes opening oneself up to authentic sadness., anger, or confusion is just the pastoral care one needs There are comforting words to give from God, but I am learning that some of the most comforting words are those which open up a person's story, giving them space to find their own voice of personal creedal Christianity as Paul proclaimed in the Corinthians text noted below. Parker Palmer describes this type of ministry: “It is a love in which we represent God's love to a suffering person, a God who does not 'fix' us but gives us strength by suffering with us. By standing respectfully and faithfully at the borders of another's solitude, we may mediate the love of God to a person who needs something deeper than any human being can give.”²

At this point I feel empowered that my “strengths” for ministry are not as much the gifted talents I came in with so much as they are the edges in which I feel I have experienced the most growth. My edge which I have felt the greatest growth is in claiming my theology of ministry itself, and coming to an authentic understanding and living of my pastoral identity. This is also something that I believe I have brought to the group in this CPE unit. My growth in realizing and getting to know my own pastoral identity is hard to put into a few short phrases or sentences, but overall I have felt affirmed, challenged, blessed, prayerful, and balanced through this growing process in the CPE unit. I have come to intimately know and deeply trust my pastoral instincts, or as my CPE supervisor referred to it more aptly, my “gut.” It is as simple and rich as to say that I simply know myself better, my baptismal self because there is no other self, called to a specific yoke perfectly fitted to my authentic identity.

Another strength I have grown with this CPE summer is learning how I act among new experiences, stories, or peoples. Because I feel called, I was able in this CPE unit to live with the unknowns (e.g.: the elderly, various illnesses, how I would handle my blood/needles/medical phobias), to feel balanced, calm, and open to whatever might come my way. Befriending my anxiety about essentially cold-calling on people in hospital rooms was hard and I experienced a lot of growth in confidence. This confidence has pushed me to ask hard questions, offer to pray with people, and to feel emotions with people as I walk the road with them. But I was also gifted with (and surprised by) my calmness to not have that anxiety directed or triggered by people who were different, suffering, confused, angry, or unwilling to talk to me. A strength that really surprised me and enriched my CPE experience was that at the end of each clinical day I was able to get into the car and tell myself honestly that I had had a good day, I had done the best I could, and I felt happy and unburdened. While especially in those first few days I felt anxious knocking on doors, I did not have a theology which would make me feel anxious exiting doors – I did not wonder that I had not done enough, said the right thing, or approached a situation correctly. After all, why should I if I believe, “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain” (1 Cor. 15:10).

In the last third of my CPE unit, I have actually felt most enriched by the things which still challenge me, those “growing edges.” By knowing my growing edges, pushing them, but also knowing my true weaknesses and limits, I am a more authentic and whole minister, just as the vulnerable people I minister to. I have discovered that a very specific growing edge for me is handling how to minister to people who are supremely devout (of any religion, but usually conservative). I think this weakness has also given me growth in my ability to not argue with people who think they have it all figured out but to be pastorally available and get to know what it means to offer a pastoral challenge. Another growing edge I have discovered is that sometimes my relative good health and inexperience with medical language makes me miss things hidden in people's language. Working in a Catholic environment has challenged me in a positive way, but also at times deeply saddened or frustrated me. I have come to experience my own limits and weaknesses and love them as a part of me. I have reflected often in recent days on the images in Isaiah 49 – of God calling us from our mothers' wombs, of God who will never forget us, with our names inscribed on God's hands. I feel that in these weeks of CPE I have gotten to know my own hands of pastoral ministry, and seen God's name inscribed on them. But ultimately I am sustained not by my own strength, willpower, or abilities, but by the knowledge that this is God's doing, that God is present, and after all, this is just God's work, my hands.

Mason Jennings is hands down my favorite singer/songwriter/artist. This fall he will come out with his next album, which is a little darker and focused on his understanding of the world and its issues - global warming, war, etc. This video is my favorite new song of his, called The Field. (The song starts about 2:30 through.) It is powerful, about a family that had lost a child in the war. Some of the lyrics that particularly strike me -

If I was the president, if I was that man,
I would walk out with those kids out across the sand.
If I was the president, if I was that brave,
I would take a shovel, then dig each child their grave.
If I was the president, and my world turned back.
I wouldn't want no victory, I'd just want you back.
I don't want no victory, I'd just want you back.
I don't want no victory, I'd just want you back.
I don't want no victory, I'd just want you back.

This piercing words also make me think about a God who put God's very self on the cross in Christ, just to get us "back" - the ultimate act of love, getting someone back.

I have been very upset lately with what all is going on the world - wars, desolation, and yet in America we have been fixated on the death of a once-ridiculed singer.

On the day of Michael Jackson's memorial, when the regular broadcast news was crowded with news of this one person's death and the thousands mourning, I watched NewsHour with Jim Lehrer on PBS. At the end of the program, as he generally does, they had a moment of silence for each American soldier reported dead that day. It is powerful to see these young faces - and for the television to have no sound for even those few minutes. But where are their memorials broadcast on t.v.? In the hospital people die every day, some completely alone like the 100 year old Lutheran woman I had on my floor a couple weeks ago, who had outlived her family and all her friends, and didn't have a soul in the world to come and sit bedside with her and listen or just be there, celebrating her life. Except me, I suppose, that is part of my job.

And so, I am really enjoying CPE. It is hard, hard work, and I am exhausted at the end of each day. Just introducing myself to so many new people a day and trying to be open to them to forge supportive relationships is hard work. But when it comes down to it, I love it. I have been privy to some very sacred moments and trying times, at death and with families and people questioning their faith in the face of illness or hardships piled on top of each other. I have not done a perfect job, but I have done the best I could. I know more than ever some of my "growing edges" or weaknesses, but CPE is a good time to meet them head on and challenge myself.

Most of all, I feel very affirmed and confident in God's call of me to ministry and thankful for my opportunities. Some days are more challenging than others but I feel comforted that my faith and the theology I personally hold gives me peace and comfort for meeting people where they are. I am really thankful that I had pastoral care class right before starting CPE, as well as Lutheran Confessions.

I am wrestling with applying for a part time job teaching Latin online. Maybe I will apply, maybe not. I'm not sure about making time commitments and how many hours I could devote to a job this fall. We'll see. As with everything else, I'm still discerning. I guess that's a good way to think about everything.

Peace+