Skookum

I pick up hitchhikers when I can.

I know this goes against some safety standard set in someone's mind, but it truly isn't more dangerous than walking in bear country or crossing the road in a city. I've depended on the hospitality of strangers too often to ignore an outstretched thumb.

Kirt and I just celebrated our anniversary, which reminded me of when we had to hitchhike 60 miles on our honeymoon. Whoops. 

More than once I've had to extend a thumb hoping someone who wasn't scary would be hospitable. That might seem unnerving, but here is what I've learned about life so far: everyone gets hurt and dies regardless of how careful we are. 

Asking for or offering hospitality is always a risk, but no greater than isolating oneself and dying of loneliness and boredom.

That brings me to my favorite word perhaps of all time: SKOOKUMS.

I love this for three reasons:
1. It's the name of the metal recycler where all the abandoned cars dumped in the church parking lot go after a ton of hassle and money. I appreciate the reminder when I stop by there that nothing stops "being" just because you haul it away and get it out of your sight. This is the graveyard for metal where it is collected and transformed into something new (or a pile of parts waiting).

2. Skookum means "strong, brave, powerful." 

3. Skookum also means "a woodland monster kind of like Big Foot." 

It's #2 and #3 I want to focus on, even though I'm eternally grateful for #1.

I wonder what would happen if we renamed Holy Spirit, Holy Skookum. It would be nearly as fun to say as Holy Ghoooost, but it would also give some grit to the pallor of words like spirit or love. 

Maybe I'm the only person who thinks "love" and "spirit" tend to be empty and ethereal words. They are nice to say or put on cards, but they don't necessarily keep your feet moving when the world is crashing. They don't give one the backbone needed to extend and accept hospitality to strangers let alone those we deal with daily.

I feel like most hard parts of life and relationships require a swift kick in the butt to move out of comfortable numbness or unhealthy systems. We are willing to live with so much hurt and destruction if it means we can avoid putting on big girl panties and facing the darkness. 

That's the gift of Holy Skookum, a blend of courage and a creepy woodland monster. I kind of dig imagining the Holy Spirit as a giant, hairy monster who walks beside us with the power and courage to live without lies and numbness. 

The love we see in the person of Jesus is actually pretty terrifying so I feel better with Big Foot beside me than Casper the Friendly Ghost. 

Or I'll be honest, I picture Chewbacca and that's kind of the image I need to strengthen me to speak up, to face brokenness with truth, to reach out to a stranger or a loved one. That's the courage I need to live in relationships based on forgiveness and grace, not disregard and numbness.

Imbecile

I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time. 

Take dinner the other night. 

There is always an element of adventure in our meals, but the kids have now developed the new game "root roulette" where they guess the poisonous root that mom accidentally put in the casserole. 

Guess which root is inedible? 

In my defense, it was mixed in with my heritage carrots that come in all shapes and colors. Luckily it was nasty enough that we didn't eat it, but I got a crash course on hemlock. It wasn't hemlock, which is why I can joke about it now, but it was cow parsnip hiding in my carrots. I probably should not be trusted to garden when I'm too lazy to weed.

Or take last Sunday when we invited all the churches to come hang out to eat and play games or instruments. I didn't really have a plan or outline for the evening. There was no litmus test at the door to see if folks should be there or not. A whole slew of people came from a variety of churches. We ate barbecued chicken, played some games, shared some music, and called it a night. 

I'm not sure there were any great revelations or that the 40 Christian congregations in Juneau are suddenly singing Kum Ba Yah together, but it seemed faithful to chip away at some walls and break bread together.

I learned some important things about myself. 

1.  I'm loud when I play games. That might have been jarring to some of our guests to hear me screaming while playing Mad Gabs. 

2.  I don't always like people I'm called to love. I probably shouldn't admit this but there are some folks who I find more interesting than others and there are some people I find annoying and needy.  

But, I actually believe this Jesus stuff and that life is richer when I love as I am loved. And I know myself well enough to know I too can be annoying and rub people wrong. That's the gift of the song All God's Creatures Got a Place in the Choir. It's my mantra when I am losing my patience with someone and it reminds me to appreciate the voice they add to the choir.

3.  Encountering people is serendipitous and I find myself falling in love with folks I might have missed. As the evening was winding up, a crew of teens, friends, and Rev. Mark Boesser gathered at a table to sing. It was a beautiful communion. The mix of ages, backgrounds and voices were a witness to what the church can be. 

I was going to call myself an idiot for so often being clueless; it feels like I should know what I'm doing by now. I'm not a big fan of the word "idiot" so I settled for "imbecile" instead.

I can be an imbecile and this might be my new favorite word. The etymology of the word dates back to mid-16th century France where it meant "without a supporting staff." 

Here's the last thing I learned about myself: I'm not an imbecile for all the times I don't know what I'm doing. I am an imbecile when I don't know what I'm doing, but in my arrogance pretend like I do and refuse to ask for help.

Those times when I'm willing to try something new and risk looking like a fool are actually some of the loveliest, most faithful moments of my life. They are the times where I lay down some control and depend on a "supporting staff." It's where I recognize my limits and find my way with a walking stick, a guide, or a friend. I'm an imbecile when as an individual, or an individual church, we think we can go it alone. 

Granola

My husband is currently on night shift so we get to see each other for ten minutes as he heads to bed and I get up. 

I shared with Kate and Marcel:)

He confessed to me in one of those brief windows that he found another love. This would normally take longer to process, but he followed up quickly by saying that it was my granola.

This might make normal people sigh with relief, but I retaliated by wrinkling the sheets (he hates that).

I don't share my granola. I'm a selfish, horrible person but God made Cheerios for a reason. If you've had my granola, then it means I super duper love you and I know that my sharing is temporary. I love my family, but sharing my granola means making it more than once a week since Sophie alone can consume an entire batch in a day.

Here is what I do to keep resentment at bay; I share the recipe and empower them to make their own damn granola. I don't think love is giving away everything precious and then stewing in bitterness; it's about equipping those we love be the fullest people they can be.

So here's as close as I have to a recipe - make it yourselves dear ones.

Stuff to pull out before you begin so you don't forget it and start to swear:

Cast iron skillet - mine is bigger than my head and deeper than my thumb
Oil
Honey
Vanilla
Candied ginger
Coconut
Wheat germ (this is one of those magic things that I feel obligated to eat, but forget on a regular basis)
Mixed salted nuts (I said nuts)
Old fashioned oats
Parchment paper
The really big cookie sheet that fills the whole oven

Fill the bottom of cast iron pan with a centimeter of oil (look at me being all metric)
Do five swirls around with the honey (I'm thinking a cup but I definitely would never measure it)
Add vanilla and whatever else looks yummy on your spice rack

Chop the nuts and candied ginger. I'd say about 2 cups of nuts and the same with the ginger, but I really love ginger. 

Heat the oil and such on super low until the honey melts into the oil. Add the ginger, nuts, wheat germ, and coconut (however much I find in the fridge) until it's coated. Turn off the heat and add the oats nearly to the top of the pan. You want to be able to mix them but also make as much granola in one batch as possible. It's too much if they end up all over the stovetop. 

Make sure everything is coated in the honey oil so it all looks shiny. Pour it onto the cookie sheet in a thin layer. The parchment paper helps keep your husband from yelling at you for ruining his cookie sheets.

Here's the tricky part where everyone diverges on granola. I put mine into a cold oven and turn the heat to 350 degrees. Once it hits 350, I turn the timer to 10 minutes. I then sit in front of the oven with a glass of wine and a book so I won't be distracted and burn it. 

After 10 minutes, I stir it with my ugali spoon from Tanzania. The spoon is wooden and huge so I don't burn myself sticking my hand in the oven. It also makes me think about all the kids who would gather in my kitchen in Africa and tell me how to cut onions. 

Then 5 minutes and do the same. Then 3 minutes. Then 2 minute shifts and keep stirring until it is a rich brown. If you undercook, then it's not crunchy enough. If you overcook, then the candied ginger will break your teeth. That's why I camp in front of the oven. 

Wait until it cools, then break it apart and store in an airtight container. I'm enjoying it with fresh raspberries right now, but craisins are yummy too. 

Body and Blood

Church hike today:)

I promise a "normal" blog tomorrow with a copy of my granola recipe, but this post is for church nerds.

I wanted to share my sermon from today. It's not particularly brilliant, but I do think it's a faithful beginning to a vital conversation.

I'm slightly obsessed with the doctrine of the "real presence" in communion so below is my sermon and notes. I do believe Becky posts the audio sermon on Mondays, but I've charged the congregation with contemplating the mystery of real presence so I wanted to share the text for reference.

Text: John 6:24-35

Title: Real Presence

Date: August 5, 2018

We are going to spend the next three weeks on some of the most scandalous passages about Jesus. The crowds want Jesus to be their monkey. They want him to perform all his tricks healing and feeding people; meeting the inexhaustible needs of humanity. I think we often still want this out of God. Perform when I need something; leave me alone when I don’t.

So in response to the crowds’ demand for a performance, Jesus says something gross and offensive. Way to go Jesus. The very end of our reading says, “Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” That doesn’t sound so bad but then he goes into detail about people eating his flesh and drinking his blood and folks kind of freak out. Ask Jesus to be your monkey again.

But, here we are left with some scandalous and offensive aspects to our faith, which are also the most intimate, beautiful, mysterious and real parts of our lives with God. There was such a drive after the Enlightenment for faith to make sense that the church kind of watered everything down so it was more palatable but completely disconnected from the mess and chaos we know as life.

There are two teachings of our faith that I love, but are way too neglected. I love the trinity. I love that my faith defines God as a relationship, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, a mutual outpouring of love, creativity, and life. There’s lots I could say about the nature of God; how we think about God has profound repercussions in how we love God and participate in meaningful relationship with God and the world. 

But the other teaching that is often neglected and has far more bearing on our reading today is the doctrine of real presence. As Lutherans along with many of the historical and orthodox churches we proclaim that the risen Christ is truly present in, with and under the bread and wine. Jesus says he is the bread of life, he later says this is my body, this is my blood, and we take him at his word and as much as all that makes us go huh, it’s a vital teaching that keeps us from the trap of spirituality. 

I would argue that one of the worst things to happen to modern Christianity is spirituality. I have no desire for you all to be more spiritual, especially if it means in some way disconnecting from your body and the world around you. I have every desire to see us all grow through the power of the holy spirit into showing up as our whole selves ready to love and forgive in the flesh as we are loved and forgiven. Spirituality in its popular form feels to me like an escape from this world, that’s not what I see revealed in the cross and resurrection of Jesus.

Okay, I printed some study notes for you and don’t fret if they don’t make sense, I just don’t want you to think I’m pulling this stuff out of Mad magazine. Jesus’ identity as the bread of life is deeply intertwined with the early church’s understanding that he shows up in the community when the bread is broken and the wine is poured. It’s not a symbol or a warm fuzzy feeling but we believe Jesus shows up. 

I want to read through these bullet points. 

• In that the bread and cup are given, there is a body present that is Jesus, and there is a body present that is the community, and a person’s relation to the one is not distinguishable from that person’s relation to the other.
• The risen Jesus is a real person and if he is actually present he is an object among us: We can locate him, turn to him, even affect him
• That the present risen Christ is not a disembodied pure spirit, that he is spirit and body among us, is a vital promise of the gospel. It is the gospel’s visibility
• We encounter Christ though he is bodily absent in a bodily way

That’s all good stuff. Keep rereading those points, but basically, when we do this, break the bread and share the cup, when we come in our vulnerability and brokenness to be fed and made whole, Christ promises to be present. If you want to see Jesus take down the pictures, especially the pasty white ones, and come to the table.

When we talk about the real presence, it’s not about magic, or grossness, but the nature of a God who loves. It’s not about a God who is floating around disconnected, an ethereal mist always shaming us for our aching knees and obnoxious bodily functions. This is a God who chooses to dwell and love in the particularity of the flesh. Because love is only real when it is has skin on it. It’s not a general sense of warmth for humanity, it’s forgiving and loving when the human next to you chews with their mouth open, or says hurtful things, or votes for someone different, or makes you angry, or makes you laugh so milk flies out your nose, or makes every cell tingle, or holds your hand. Love is the nitty gritty of life, not escaping it.

But what do we mean when we talk about the real presence? 

Two ways to be present:

1. Something may be in a place by occupying the dimensions that define that place. God is not present in this way.

2. A person may be somewhere in that he or she is available there, intendable and addressable there. In this way, says Luther, Christ’s body is where the the bread and cup are, and this place can be any place, in that all places are one to Christ 

What’s helpful in the Lutheran reformers is they didn’t argue about whether the bread grew veins or when exactly the wine became blood, that’s not the way they thought of real presence. We don’t think of God’s presence as matter taking up space, but under number 2 “a person may be present somewhere if they are available, intendable (they have an intended purpose) and addressable there. In this way, says Luther, Christ’s body is where the bread and cup are and where the word of good news is. 

Then the final paragraph from your notes, “The bodily risen Christ in fact has no other body than the embodiment of the gospel, including and self proclaimed by the bread and cup, for his location at God’s omnipresent right hand is simply his sharing in God’s possibility of making himself available where God wills” That’s brilliant and life altering even if you don’t get it. 

The risen Jesus isn’t sitting on some chair in space staring at you. We encounter the risen Christ, we encounter God when we experience the good news that we are forgiven, healed, set free, fed, brought into right relationship, encouraged, and loved. It’s not like the good news of what God is doing is just one thing, but all that good news comes in the flesh, primarily in the bread and cup at this table, in the community gathered around the table but also in the tables throughout our lives. God shows up, the ultimate reality of love and life are visibly present. And I want you to spend some time thinking about that this week. What is God and how is God showing up?

Doctrine of the Real Presence

Some notes and thoughts from Christian Dogmatics: The Means of Grace by Robert Jensen and Hans Schwarz

Person here means “capacity for freedom, consciousness and relationship.”

Embodiment: Whatever makes a person available to and intendable (having an intended purpose) by other people is that person’s body.

• In that the bread and cup are given, there is a body present that is Jesus, and there is a body present that is the community, and a person’s relation to the one is not distinguishable from that person’s relation to the other.
• The risen Jesus is a real person and if he is actually present he is an object among us: We can locate him, turn to him, even affect him
• That the present risen Christ is not a disembodied pure spirit, that he is spirit and body among us, is a vital promise of the gospel. It is the gospel’s visibility
• We encounter Christ though he is bodily absent in a bodily way

Two ways to be present:

1. Something may be in a place by occupying the dimensions that define that place. God is not present in this way.

2. A person may be somewhere in that he or she is available there, intendable and addressable there. In this way, says Luther, Christ’s body is where the the bread and cup are, and this place can be any place, in that all places are one to Christ 

The bodily risen Christ in fact has no other body than the embodiment of the gospel, including and self proclaimed by the bread and cup, for his location at God’s omnipresent right hand is simply his sharing in God’s possibility of making himself available where God wills