December 15th will mark the three year anniversary of my ordination to the Priesthood.

Addison was a mere three months old. I was home in Phoenix for the first time since getting married. My whole family was present and we were celebrating everything we could- my ordination, Christmas, births and soon to be births. It was joy filled and fun and marvelous.

I was so wrapped up in what lay ahead- a new call at St. Mary’s awaited my return to Texas. My new Rector Beth was present at my ordination, showing then what I have now learned to be unwavering support and camaraderie. It seemed as if it were the culmination of all that I hoped God’s call would be for me to the priesthood- joy and hope and love all around.

 

But how it all changed.  The day before, December 14th, I sat in my sister’s living room glued to the TV, shocked and horrified at what I was seeing.  Weeping as I held my tiny baby in my arms, imagining the fear and devastation of the parents, family and friends of the 20 children and 6 adults who were murdered in their school, Sandy Hook Elementary. Of the guilty relief of those who survived. Of the misinformation and fear-baiting. Of my fear of what it means to birth a child (now 2) into a world where such things happen.

Today I still cry, am still overwhelmed.

 

And the next day, completely undone, a stole was draped over my shoulders and a chasuble over my head, and I took vows to be a priest in a world where such evil is present and real.

I remember praying with Reverend Beth before the service.  She asked me what I would like prayers for, and I cried as I asked for prayers not for myself or my (hopefully) lifetime of ministry, but for the families of those who lost loved ones to gun violence and for a world in which that happens.

As I reflect on my ministry and ordination, the shootings at Sandy Hook are so deeply woven into my start as a priest. Evil and sin are so closely linked to my understanding of the world in which I minister.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised then, that in the three years of my priestly ministry, gun violence has loomed large in my eyes and in the narrative in our country. As a Quaker disguised as an Episcopalian, violence and murder in any circumstance is abhorrent to me. Yet it is inescapable, common, and an every day occurrence. And the weight of the daily news- of the reality that there have been more mass shootings in the United States this year than there have been days, is among many things, a testament to the need for God in a world that has distorted what it means to be brother and sister, a world that has distorted exactly what the love, mercy and redemption of Jesus looks like.

I offer to you prayers that I have been praying as I reflect on my priestly ministry. I am a firm believer that prayer comes in many forms.  I encourage you to attempt with me to have your prayers not just be something said silently or aloud, but that your prayers also take action in the world.

I believe that gun violence doesn’t have to be something that is a common occurrence. I know that it isn’t within God’s will. And I know that me simply not murdering people isn’t enough- real change will take courage and perseverance.  But most of all, it will take prayers turned into action. Won’t you pray with me?

Prayers for the Cessation of Gun Violence

 

Sometimes it is really hard to say goodbye- like when people we love die.

Sometimes it is really easy to say goodbye- like when you know you’ll see someone tomorrow.

And then there is saying goodbye in the church. And that feels so different.

When we talk about church as a family or a home, it makes it very hard when people leave- regardless of their reason. And people leave their churches for all sorts of reasons.  They move.  They get married and join their spouse’s church.  Their needs change.  They change.  The list goes on and on.

And while what draws us to church might be very different- the church has only one main goal- to form and send disciples into the world.

Because being a disciple is what we are called by Jesus to be.  And not just a disciple- but a disciple who makes other disciples.

In Matthew 28:19, Jesus tells his disciples to, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

In light of this scripture, it is best to remind ourselves, that the church is more than a family or a home.  It is also where we go each Sunday to PRACTICE being disciples.  It is the place to practice being disciples, so that way come Monday morning, we are able to go into all nations- Toyota Nation, Wells Fargo Nation, and even “in your own house” Nation- and make disciples. Church is a safe place to practice, learn, experience, and grow as disciples so that we can go out and witness to Jesus Christ in the world- and make disciples.

We stay at church to practice being disciples- so that come Monday morning we can go into our nations…and make disciples.

But sometimes we forget this command from Jesus.  We can think that the church exists to meet only our needs, when actually we exist in the church for the purpose of making disciples.  All of the other great things the church offers- fellowship, friendship, and family- is icing on the cake. Delicious and life giving, but still icing.

And so, when people leave- or if there comes a day when you leave- know that as a disciple AND as someone who is part of a family, saying goodbye is important and necessary.

1. Say goodbye. Tell people if you are leaving. Allow for people to say goodbye to you.  Say goodbye to people who are leaving. In this digital age, it is easy to stay connected- so make the effort to say those sometimes difficult words to say.
2. Talk to your priests. Feeling that perhaps it is time for you to leave? Feeling sad that someone has left? Feeling anxious about what people leaving may or may not mean?  Please, talk to your priests. We can offer prayer, support, context and perspective that would be difficult to find elsewhere.
3. Grieve.  It is a loss when people leave.  It is a loss to leave a church.  Allow yourself to grieve this loss. Also know that as new people arrive in churches, they too may be in grief from leaving a church.  Be gentle with each other.
4. Remember that the Body of Christ is bigger than the walls of a building.  We do not stop being brothers and sisters just because we worship in different places. Leave on good terms if you can.
5. Know that people come and go from churches all of the time. Some you will notice are gone.  Many you didn’t notice when they were there, and so you never noticed when they didn’t come back. The coming and goings of people to churches is seasonal and cyclical- and each of us will have seasons and circumstances in our lives that will initiate the coming or going from one church to another.
6. Pray and be prayed for.  Let your church pray you into a new community that will help you continue to grow as a disciple. Pray for people as they journey- knowing that finding a new church is a journey that requires faith and courage.
7. Lastly, know that you are loved. In your coming and going, as a disciple and as a beloved child of God.  You are loved.

This picture has been in my Facebook news feed for the past few weeks.  I’ve seen it posted in clergy groups, by parishioners to their priest’s Facebook pages, by clergy themselves, and even a few Bishops have shared this picture.

Take a close look at it.

Because I did.

And it makes me angry.

Now, don’t mistake me for a stick in the mud- I get full well that this is a joke.  Ha. Ha.

But I am really tired about the way that alcohol is used as a “joke” among Episcopalians.  And it needs to stop.  Because alcohol is no joke in the Episcopal tradition- and clergy especially should be mindful of what these jokes are saying about us and what they are saying to those we lead.

Because we are a tradition where alcohol is used and abused by many- and yet is also treated cavalierly by clergy and lay alike, creating an environment where people are enabled in their addiction and unhealthy dependence is even, in some circles, encouraged.

I am not saying that drinking alcohol is bad.  Far from it.  What I am saying is that joking about alcohol- and in the instance of the picture above, that clergy are drinking while not only WORKING but PROCLAIMING THE GOOD NEWS OF JESUS- is in poor taste.  And gives the wrong impression. And just ick.  And that we as a denomination need to be more mindful about our relationship with alcohol- how we talk about it, how we consume it, and how we think about it.  We need to be mindful about the messages that we are putting out into the Kingdom- and the message that alcohol is a joking matter has no place in the Kingdom. And joking about something so serious only helps to keep those who need help in the shadows of their addiction- and we should be people of Light!  We should be a people who encourage people to live into who Christ calls them to be, not enabling addiction or unhealthy relationships with alcohol OR cultivating environments in which darkness, secrets, and shame run rampant.

*In my quest to see if the artist of the above cartoon is an Episcopalian (his personal blog is down and Google failed me) I did see that he has criteria to use his work.  I offer this link to his site to be in bounds for using this drawing.

It is the custom at St. Mary’s that we send the Sunday altar flowers to visitors and folks who might need a little pick me up: recovering from surgery, birthday, because your name jumped into our hearts.

Dedicated volunteers arrange the flowers and other dedicated volunteers deliver them. Just a way to share a bit of God’s beauty.

I walked into my office yesterday morning to see a single, beautiful, yellow rose on my desk. A yellow rose from Sunday’s flowers.

 

My mom- who died in 2006 when I was in college- loved yellow roses. They were her favorite. My family and I laid yellow roses on her grave stone. My dad and I held a yellow rose when we danced the father/daughter dance at my wedding.

To some the yellow rose may belong to Texas. But to me it is my mom, and it was a gift to see her on my desk this week.  Gratitude to the person who left it there- you have no idea of the enormity of this little gesture.

 

May this serve as a gentle reminder that it is the little gifts- the little gestures of love and tenderness- that swell the hearts of those who receive them.

Scarcity- the notion that there isn’t enough- sneaks into our churches and our lives with Christ.  Not enough resources, not enough people, not enough caring and love. Oh how I wish we were immune, but we aren’t. And we try- I see the efforts of many as they combat the pervasive culture of scarcity in their lives- but it still creeps in and we are constantly having to remind ourselves that God does not operate in scarcity.

Because this is how Jesus showed those who seek him his love.

“And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.” Mark 6: 56

Jesus meets us where we are- and if that is at the hem of his cloak then that is where he will be. But he is also with us at our most tired and joy filled moments. When we are rejoicing in our success and frustrated in the shortcomings. Jesus will meet us at the hem of his cloak, only to reach down his hand and pull us up into a warm embrace. Jesus is constantly saying to us that we are worthy. Worth loving, worth healing, worth saving from ourselves and worth saving from the world. We are enough- good enough smart enough beautiful enough faithful enough as beloved children of God.

There is no scarcity in Gods love for each of us.

The phrase “swimming in a fishbowl” is one that gets used a lot when you are going through the process to be ordained.

fishbowl- a glass sphere in which everything can be seen.  THERE ARE NO SECRETS.

This should be abundantly clear for clergy.  After all, when we are ordained we take a vow that certainly touches on this.

“Will you do you best to pattern your life [and that of your family, or household, or community] in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that you may be a wholesome example to your people?”

This vow is made for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that living in the fishbowl means people are looking at you and toward you all of the time.  All of the time.

I certainly agree that being a priest means living a different life. And being held to a higher standard.  I go to bed early on Saturday nights (except when the kids won’t sleep).  I go to church (almost) every Sunday- which means my family and I don’t take spur of the moment vacations to the cabin for the weekend or sleep in Sunday mornings. I read the Bible.  A lot…like, really a lot.  And I read what other people, who also read the Bible a lot, have to say about the Bible.

I keep my Facebook clean and don’t comment (often) on crazy stuff I read on the internet (because let’s be real, there is a ton of crazy stuff on the internet).

And I encourage my family to do the same.  My kids are at church before most people are even awake and are still there once most people have gone home and are watching the afternoon game.  My husband comes to most events and worships most Sunday’s (except when he’s home with a sick kid). I do my best to keep our family- as the vow asks- in a Jesus pattern.

Fishbowl living hard at times. But thankfully, the vow only asks, “do your best.”

Which means there are times when we mess up.

Like when Addison was mispronouncing a lot of words, so she stayed home 2 Sunday’s in a row because “Sock” just wasn’t coming out right.  Or when I forget about a commitment.  Or when life happens and the sermon isn’t quite what I would like it to be- not even good enough, just enough.

There are times when my temper gets away from me, when my hair isn’t perfect, when I’m not in a good mood, and when I absolutely just want to be at home in my pajamas watching crap TV (ok- sleeping while crap TV is on).

But I’m trying.

A friend recently shared with me this: the way we act as Christians either reinforces or challenges someone’s opinion of God.  Which is another way to look at fishbowl living.  Are my actions speaking well of God?  Or am I giving God a bad name?

The way we act as Christians either reinforces or challenges someone’s opinion of God.

Not everyone takes vows to pattern their lives to be wholesome examples…but maybe everyone should.

As Christians, it means something different when we show up for people.  When we apologize and admit to being wrong.  When we take responsibility for our actions, both good and messed up.  Because it isn’t just us that we speak for.  We represent all Christians, Christianity as an institution and religion, and even God, to some people.  It’s recognizing that we are both awesome and sinners- and even awesome sinners sometimes.  And it means welcoming and loving all people as your neighbor.  It means striving for excellence knowing that it won’t always happen- and that simply trying your best is all it takes.  And when trying just won’t happen, that a new day will dawn and you can try again.  It means something different when we do- or don’t do- things as Christians.

And thankfully- because we aren’t striving for perfection- there is always room for more people in the bowl. No one is too good or too bad to come and swim.  It takes some work to be in the bowl- but we are all better off if more people jump in.

 

 

Daring Greatly is hard.

I have spent the past week at Camp Allen working with the Daring Way program- if you’ve heard of Brene Brown, and read any of her books, find this. Learn this. Live this.

While it deals with a lot of issues and topics, it mainly encourages people to live transformed lives. To show up. To be seen. To live bravely.

Easier said than done, yeah? Yeah (This is me pretending it’s easy- C’s face is a better indication as to how hard this is).

But, after a week of full day sessions. Of feeling all of the feelings, and crying a lot of the tears. I can tell you this. It is worth it. Living bravely, being seen, showing up.

I am going to try- every day- to dare greatly. And when I fail, because I will, I will get up, dust off the dirt and wipe away the blood, and start again.

Because the opportunities to live bravely, be seen and show up never cease- only the desire.