Trickster

What kind of person climbs a tree during synod assembly and then teases one of the elders by saying his name from the top of the tree so he keeps looking around? 

Synod assemblies (big church meetings for the whole state) make me a little crazy. I don't sit well, but that's only part of it. 

-Crowds of people overwhelm me so I tend to make myself invisible by hiding somewhere and playing games. 

-I scream profanities when I feel like I'm being talked to like I'm an idiot. There is no question that clergy and lay folks are ignorant of many things, but that doesn't make us stupid. There's something about sing-song voices and rhetorical questions that make me want to scream, "Stop talking to me like I'm *&^% stupid!" 

Something delightful happens in the community when we dig into Tillich or Kierkegaard or scripture knowing we won't understand or grasp it all, but our minds wake up for adventures. This is why I stay in the balcony playing cribbage and Bananagrams. I'm not trying to disconnect, but I do enjoy my vocation and would like to keep it so I have to do what I can to keep my mouth shut at times.

-There is also the annoying habit at church meetings to love the church that doesn't exist. The disappointment and frustration of all our relationships where folks aren't quite who we imagined gets multiplied. The church is always a disappointment, but she is also one of the greatest delight and glimpse we have of what God is doing. Maybe when we stop dreaming of the beautiful bride we hope to be and live as the doxy (I learned this word playing Bananagrams), then we might learn something about love and forgiveness.

But none of these synod assembly challenges justify climbing a tree and tricking an old man. 

Except that's who I am as a person and pastor. When I think of metaphors for pastor, there are the nurturing ones of midwife and mothering hen, and that is not me most days. If I were to claim a metaphor for my ministry it would be the trickster, jester, or fool. 

The role of the trickster or jester is to approach the truth from the side. It traditionally has been using the absurd to distort one's vision of reality a bit so we discover hard truths ourselves. The jester was relied upon to confront the king with hard truths, but the king had to see the truth for himself. If the jester blurted it out, then he wouldn't leave with his head. Nathan and David are a good biblical example. 

I won't get too puffed up. Most days I'm just a goofy dork, but every now and then I play around enough that someone sees themselves, the world, or God in a whole new way.

Naturally I told sweet Vincent that I was messing with him later. I have enough native friends that I suspected he would laugh. A smile cracked open his face and he erupted in laughter. 

Those serendipitous moments of joy seem like empty tomb moments. In the midst of boredom, tedium, and death, a little foolishness lets new life seep out. 

I refrained from jumping out of the tree and yelling, "SURPRISE!" I should at least get points for that.

Liars

I hate liars. 

I know I'm not supposed to say hate, but does that mean it's okay to feel it as long as I don't admit it? 

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate people who lie. 

I lie on a regular basis and try to be aware of it. On good days when I find myself oozing into untruth to either look better or sometimes worse than I am, I stop and correct myself. On normal days, I just stop and switch subjects to something like raisins. (Raisins are truly worthy of all venomous hate, especially when you think they are chocolate covered peanuts but then bite into raisins.) On bad days, I keep going in my grand illusion until someone who knows  and loves me tells me to cut out the bullshit. 

There is a difference between people who lie and liars who've encased themselves in so much untruth that there is nothing left to hold onto and love. Liars are impossible to love because there is nothing real revealed, no exposed cracks where one can grab hold. 

True affection in the midst of delusion is impossible. 

It's like saying one loves a Kinder Egg in its tidy packaging without ever having tasted the chocolate or played with the toy inside. (Not that I'm endorsing Kinder Eggs since the traditional version is illegal in the US according to a 1938 law banning a non-nutritive substance hidden inside food).

I'm afraid if I don't hate liars, then I will become apathetic and dismissive of those trapped in layers of protection trying to appease others with disguises and masks. I'm afraid that I will submit to the distance and miss out on a chance of true relationship and love. 

So I hate liars. The word hate comes out of the roots that mean "sorrow, grief, pain, and regard with extreme ill-will." I hate liars because it hurts so much to be kept at a distance, to feel like you can't be trusted to love their true selves. Sometimes I think only feelings as passionate as hate, pain, or grief can break through the casing and expose something real. 

And you know what is funny, as soon as something honest, whether it is the worst or best thing about the person, bubbles up love becomes possible.  Finally, whether it is ugly or beautiful, there is something tangible that can be held onto with the grip of love.

I hate because I want so desperately to love.

I read what I wrote and immediately want to backpedal on the word hate. I immediately want to soften it, but then I remind myself that nothing soft can break through a cage. Hate shakes us hopefully enough to crack something open that can be loved. Niceties do nothing more than add to the layers. 

Flannery O'Connor knew this amazingly well. It is Mary Grace, the ugly girl who throws a book at the petty main character and tells her "go back where you came from you old warthog from hell." It is Mary Grace's hate that cracks open the tidy facade so love may salve what is real.

Nadia Bolz-Weber said, "The things we say in church are true but seldom honest" this past week at the festival I attended. That keeps rolling around as I think of all the ways churches dodge and soften love into niceness that adds another layer in our protective coating.

Jesus rages at hypocrites because he knew the facade we put on keeps us at a distance from the love he pours out. 

I hate liars so I don't dismiss or avoid them, but so I can crack away at them (and me dammit, I know I'm not above times of Teflon) until we find what is real and wrap it in love.

Idioms

We had friends over the other night and played one of my favorite games. Well, the teens and adults played the game while the younger ones went outside and shot each other with potato guns until that got old and they just threw potatoes at each other. Good Midwest fun right there!

The rest of us played what we call "fax machine" but has been marketed as Telestrations. You have a packet of papers and write an idiom on the top, then pass it so the next person draws a picture, the next person writes the phrase they think is captured in that picture and so on around the table. None of us were amazing artists.

This is especially fun to play with a mixed group whose idioms are not known to each other (and with me who makes them up). I told Kirt the other night not to throw the whole ball of wax at me. He just looked at me and shook his head, "What does that mean?" He's lucky to be married to me and get so many neck exercises.

"Don't kick a cow when it's down" (I try to be inclusive with idioms and "man" just seemed too exclusive) turned into "Let's club the bear with our buddy." 

"The blind leading the naked" led to many inappropriate illustrations but ultimately another 80s song, "Shot through the heart and you're to blame." 

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch" turned into "A time to die." 

"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" turned into "A bird in the hand is better than dropping it." 

We laughed for a couple of hours and it was good. Friendship is a lovely thing. We are blessed with many wonderful friends here, but I've also been trying over the past couple of years to reconnect with friends I lost somewhere in the chaos of small children.

Only the best of friends wear
vampire teeth together in the pool

That's been an incredible gift. I've enjoyed rekindling relationships with those who keep me grounded and giggling. That's really all I look for in a friend.

But, in the midst of reconnecting, I've also had to take time to grieve those friends lost. It's hard to think about some of the ones who have actually died. I'm way too young for that shit. But, I also have to mourn those I've lost either through laziness, differences, or tensions. 

I miss my soul sister tremendously at times. We laughed and loved each other. We traveled and worked together. I never imagined my life without her, but then we started living in very different realities. Her reality involved aliens, past lives, and all organic foods. I could handle the first two, but the last put me over the edge. It's hard to look at the pictures where we are inseparable and think of all the years that have passed without speaking, let alone the fact I wouldn't even know where to find her.

There are others who I never imagined a life without, but somehow a Christmas card doesn't even get exchanged. It sucks, but I suppose it's good preparation for dying: the hard work of letting go and finding new life. You treasure what was lovely and forgive what was not.

Before I grow too maudlin and start singing Michael W. Smith, Friends are friends forever . . . , just remember what I always say, "I have a happy belly button!" (That one started out as "pizza is good" - famous teen idiom).

Curiosity

I recently got to hang out at the beach with seven 15 year olds. When I say hang out, I mean I got to wander the beach awkwardly while they sat around the fire eating chips. 

Haeden, my favorite teenager because we have exactly the same attention span, not only coined a fabulous new idiom (He's not the smartest cracker in the box), but he is also the one who came to get me before they burnt the Christmas tree. I'm pretty sure this had nothing to do with the safety of the group and everything to do with the fact that I'd be willing to hold the top of the tree while he held the bottom. This was not a plan that lasted long.

We both got slightly distracted walking back the beach with catching varmints in the tide pools. I had a cup so it was just like beach day with the third graders, except I didn't have to bother with kids. Haeden and I caught several awesome creatures. Okay, Haeden caught the eel and crab because they tried to bite my finger off. I caught the sea star and glob of eggs. Actually, I caught two globs of eggs.

I commented that I couldn't catch the eel and crab because my eyesight isn't what it used to be. Haeden mentioned that I was slow and loud and those might be contributing factors too. Still my favorite.

So, we had a cupful of critters to show the others. 

After lighting the tree on fire, which was exciting and involved several new revelations about how fire moves up, I decided that I wanted to see if the eggs were herring eggs and if they were good roasted. 

I think it is important to model curiosity to youth. I can stare into a tide pool for hours watching critters. I can do a backflip when the sea star moves swiftly away from the crab. Who knew they could move so fast? 

I can roast a small glob of eggs over a fire and eat them in front of teenagers. Instant hero. They were gross, though, and I spit them out.

Then something magical happened in the cup. 


All the eggs in the other glob started to hatch and the cup was filled with bubbles and new life. Little eyeballs bursting forth. We all gathered around the cup with horror and awe. I probably have a couple of those critters swimming in my gut right now. For just a moment, all coolness and ennui was set aside, and we were enthralled by this new life erupting. And then they told me I had to return them to the water. It was the responsible thing to do and they could return to discussing whatever fifteen year olds discuss without adults present. 

I remember an interview several years ago with Senator Murkowski about whether she thought Sarah Palin would make a good president and her answer was something like, "She lacks the curiosity to be a great leader." It might have been a diplomatic way to say something else, but I'll take it at face value and agree that leaders need curiosity more than certainty.

That's a hard sell in our current climate. I don't think education focuses on stimulating curiosity. Curiosity takes time, patience, and a willingness to be uncomfortable. Politics does not encourage curiosity. Our attention span has grown so short that entering into the complexity of systems is nearly impossible. And religion isn't much better. People want answers that are tidy and comfortable.

My glob was much smaller, but
if you look closely you can see
their eyeballs.

Sometimes I think the best I can do as a parent and a pastor is encourage folks to be observant and ask good questions. Be patient enough to watch what is going on around you, make some connections, and wonder about life. Certainty normally involves creating idols. Curiosity is often more in the groove of entering the mystery of God and the universe. 

I thought about roasting a limpid and eating it too, but it had latched onto my hand and I felt much more emotionally attached. I know what those taste like anyway. They were part of the first meal I ever made Kirt. I had to make sure he'd be up for adventure.