Waves

I hiked out to Lena Point yesterday. It is what we like to call an Auntie Whit hike: short with big pay off. 

Lena Point trail ends at a bluff where you can watch sea lions, whales and beautiful scenery. I'm borrowing the following detailed information from the Juneau Empire, because details evade me.

There are dramatic views south to Admiralty Island and north to the snowy Chilkat Mountains.

In the early morning hours of Sept. 7, 1952, the 352-foot ship Princess Kathleen sailed into the rocks off Lena Point, going 9 knots. All 307 passengers and 80 crew members managed to climb ashore. The next afternoon, the ship slid stern-first off the rocks. She now lies on her port side, with the bow only 45 feet below the surface and the stern about 145 feet.

Dramatic views and a shipwreck. It doesn't get much better than that on a Sunday afternoon hike. But the thing I loved were the waves. The wind was whipping and the waves were crashing so wildly they splashed me standing on the cliff. I'd tell you how high that is to truly impress, but distances also evade me.

So, I'm standing there with the wind whipping and the waves crashing surrounded by dramatic beauty and destruction. It was enthralling and terrifying all at the same time. I wanted to remain in that moment with the chilly salt water and wind knocking the breath out of me, communing with the wreckage of the Princess Kathleen and the splendor of snow cap mountains, but I had to pee and strong winds and peeing do not go well together.

Naturally in the moment, I was thinking of Rudolph Ottos' description of the holy, "Mysterium tremendum et fascinans" That's the only Latin I know, but it sounds more impressive than the "tremendous and fascinating mystery." 

The holy is something that is terrifying and captivating, overwhelming and alluring, tremendous and fascinating. The holy is something we cannot explain or control, but it draws us in and scares the snot out of us.

I was recently thinking about why I'm a pastor. Other people might wonder this on a regular basis. I'm not particularly well behaved, or preachy, or drop Jesus' name into every conversation. I'm unsure of most things and there are times the Church makes me want to scream, but I am called and find great meaning as a pastor. 

Sometimes I feel like the main thing I get to do is create spaces and experiences where folks are open to bumping into the holy.  The church is at her best when folks are drawn into a mystery loved as they are and willing to risk ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. 

The last part is one of my favorite prayers from morning prayer. The rest of it goes, "Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord." 

Misery Meter

We've had some challenging family adventures. I'm all about shaping resilient children so we have slogged, sweated, and sometimes wept our way through some difficult trips. It's just kind of expected so we're all a little disappointed when things are comfortable and easy.

Misery by armpit

I'm recovering from the Sr. High overnighter at John Muir cabin. That means I'm currently on the couch with a glass of wine and the dog. Overnighters take a toll.

Eleven of us headed up in the fresh snowfall that ranged from six inches to a foot and we headed down in sideways rain. There was some grumbling amidst the teens about this being rough. 

Photos courtesy of Cameron Marx

Hannah and I ranked it as a .25 on the Stage-Harvery Misery Meter. Finding our way up with some serious post holing and falling through snow so our boots were caught in muck started to get tedious so it did make it on the meter.

But we've experienced worst. 


I started to tell my little pack of teens stories of Stage-Harvey miseries as we were working our way up to the cabin. Most of them included a part where one of us sat down and refused to keep going.

They were all incredibly thankful not to be in our family, but finding motivation even in the midst of misery is a vital skill in life. There was one point when our gaggle in the back was contemplating snow caves for the night because they didn't want to go any further. 

So, I bribed them with food. If they made it through this patch of woods, then they could have trail mix. I used to carry candy for Elijah for this kind of situation. Just make it through this gnarly part and I'll give you something to eat. 

One young woman commented that she felt like she could keep going now that she'd consumed some chocolate.

The kids made me laugh so hard once we got to the cabin and they were dry and fed. Suddenly they found the energy to play, run around, and even be thankful for the experience.

One of my favorite Bible stories is Elijah under the broom tree. He is miserable, his life is overwhelming, so he curls up under a broom tree and swears to God he is ready to die. So God sends an angel to bring Elijah food. 

Seriously, God's words of comfort through this angel is "Get up and eat." Elijah eats and drinks and then curls up under the tree to die. Again, the angel shakes him, gives him food and says, "Get up and eat for the journey is too much for you." No duh. That's why he wanted to curl up and die.

There are no false promises that it gets easier, God doesn't tell Elijah he's got this, and God doesn't deny Elijah's misery or the difficulty of the task. Get up, have some food and keep going. 

Some of life sucks. There's no way around it and you don't get to curl up on the side of the trail and stay the night. Get up, have something to eat and keep going. We told some great stories, goofy riddles and played games to get through some of the hard parts, but sometimes you just have to eat a little something, put your head down and keep moving forward.

This morning when we looked out the cabin window, it was raining sideways. It looked and felt miserable. Hannah's quip was, "Now this looks like a Stage-Harvey adventure." 

Zootopia

I might have been the only person who cried through the movie Zootopia. I sat in the theater watching this story about a female bunny trying to find her way into her calling in the midst of a masculine world and I was weeping. My heart hurt in a way it hadn't in a long time as I thought through the past 18 years in ministry where I have been disinvited or ignored at best, belittled and preached to at worst. The lecture is the worst. But I have always had to prove myself capable.

I might also have been the only person who screamed during the movie. Welcome to my life.

It wasn't until I watched Michelle Obama's speech tonight with my daughter that I felt the tears well up again. 

I don't want my daughter to have her ass grabbed at work and dismiss it because it's a manager and everyone laughs it off. 

I don't want her to go on trips with a bunch of pastors and priests and learn to stay with a buddy in the hallway so the guys don't trap you and try to get a good feel. 

I don't want to whisper a good idea in a man's ear because I know he'll get heard in a way I won't.

I've adopted so many different techniques through my years in a man's world, and most of them are dismissive and demeaning to me.

And I think I'm tired of it. It really is too much to be asked to dismiss on a national scale what I've been forced to laugh off or ignore for a good chunk of life. 

I talk pretty openly with my kids about assault and boundaries. Hannah's been traveling lots with volleyball and they stay in host homes. Sometimes I know too much about humanity and what we are capable of doing, especially to those we think will remain quiet  so I teach them to yell and swear. 

I worked with Hannah to point with purpose and say, "*%#$@ Stop It! That's inappropriate." No one gets to touch you without your permission and if someone is making you feel icky then tell them to %$&* off and get out of the situation.

Men cannot do anything to you they want. 
It doesn't matter how much power or money they have. 
We are not owned. We are not less important. We will not be dismissed.

And if a man wants to call me any kind of slang term for a vagina, that's fine with me. I'll carry those names proudly because I've brought three kids into this world and I know just how flexible and strong vaginas are.  

Glaciers

Least favorite quotes as a pastor:

"Sorry Pastor, we're out of pie." 

"Pastor, the toilet is clogged."

"Look at this incision for my hernia surgery."

"I'm sorry I haven't been to church for a long time." 

"My kid doesn't go to church, but she is really nice." 

I have my reasons for cringing at all of them and most of the time I'm happy to speak up or make gagging sounds. It's the last one that I've never figured out the right way to respond.

I see absolutely no correlation between being nice and going to church. The super nice people are the ones I trust the least in church. I always imagine they're hiding bodies in their freezers and the niceness is just a facade so I don't go looking in their freezers.

Sometimes I think about telling people there are actually lots of assholes in church so if she really is nice she might want to stay away. 

Church isn't about becoming better people; it's about becoming people who live in community.

Church has something to do with figuring out how to live as the body of Christ so we need all kinds. We are one body and the goal is not to achieve niceness, but some sense of real community:

• knowing each other in our messes and gifts
• confessing when we've hurt others 
• forgiving what stands in the way of relationship
• being honest about our limits and gifts
• taking risks
• offering hospitality and compassion
• having boundaries
• laughing and crying together
• opening our tables
• taking turns unclogging toilets and taking out the trash

Maybe I just don't want my faith to be about niceness because I find my nice moments to be my least authentic and often the ones that stir some resentment. They are the moments when I put on a mask and create some distance. 

Maybe it's because being nice makes me feel a bit like a doormat where I forget to be alive and try to always care and tend for others.

I had a long list of "shoulds" today. I suppose that's different than being nice but they are wound up together in my mind. I've learned that I cannot be compassionate and loving if I don't take at least four to five hours and wander the woods on my day off. It's hard to check out for that big of a chunk of time, but I have to. 

Today I got to experience a beautiful day and place with one of my good friends. We got to be the church knowing, confessing, and laughing. It was a kingdom moment and I might have missed it because I was thinking about what I should do. 

You can tell me your kid doesn't go to church, but please follow up by telling me where they or you find meaningful community, where do they find places to be themselves confessing and forgiving, loving and being loved? I'm not sure it always happens in our churches, but if it's not happening anywhere in your life then I don't care how nice you are, it sure sounds like hell to me.

Ravens

I don't feel very fun in the fall. I've moved into the earnest, somewhat stressed, not enough Vitamin D mode. 

Except at dinner last night when I spit smoothie. My children like to mock my cooking concoctions sometimes. I will always be a cheap German who tries to use everything until it is gone, unless I can leave a tiny bit in the bag so somewhere else has to throw it away.

So we had halibut on Sunday night. But I got distracted chasing chickens out of the neighbor's yard and overcooked it a minute. Here's the thing about halibut. If you overcook it for a minute, it turns into this never-ending chew experience. Nothing some special sauce and cheese couldn't fix, but there were some leftovers.

I couldn't just warm it up as is for Monday night or they still would be chewing so naturally I made it into chowder. And maybe I threatened that if it didn't all get eaten, it would reappear on Tuesday night as casserole. My sweet Hannah asked if it would be soggy bread, chewy halibut with cheese on top casserole. Turd. They ate it all and made me laugh hard.

But that has nothing to do with ravens, except there is a paper raven taped to my window that simultaneously makes me laugh and creeps me out. It's on my office windows at church so the whole time I'm trying to focus on Jesus I hear, 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary ... 

It's not easy trying to think of something inspirational when the tapping, tapping of death is right there. 

And it is. This fall has been a difficult one for Juneau with way too many tragic deaths.

But it also makes me laugh. Becky taped them on the office windows because we have a mountain ash tree in the front of church. If you are unfamiliar with mountain ash trees, you should get one for your yard. Actually, come dig the one up from the church and put it in your yard.

The berries are edible and messy all over the sidewalk, but they also ferment and the robins who love eating them get drunk. 
Seriously drunk. 
And fly into our windows. 
It's horrible. Except when it's slightly amusing watching them behave erratically. 

So we remind them of imminent death if they don't change their ways or at least where the window is they should avoid.  

Such is the nature of fall.