Robot

I think I might be a robot; it's impossible for me to pass the verification things to prove I'm not a robot so I must be one. 

There should be an automatic pass when you don't complete the clicking on squares for more than a minute because obviously you're trying to find your glasses so you can identify all the crosswalks, cars, and storefronts in the pictures. 

Or you should get an automatic pass when you fail finding all the stupid buses more than four times. Do they mean a tiny part of a bus or does it have to be an entire bus?

Sometimes I overthink things, but it is all making me pause before I click the "I am not a robot" box. Shouldn't there be another choice, like "I am a middle aged woman who can't see or figure out how to verify my identity, but you can probably hear me swearing so that should be enough" or maybe a button saying "I might be having an identity crisis and starting to think I'm a robot".

I'm now on a mission to prove I'm not a robot. Here is my plan:

1. Make more irrational choices. I think I need a few more of these to protect myself from the systematic processing of a robot so I do things that are uncomfortable and don't have a good reward. Today I went for a long hike in the pouring rain without my raincoat. No robot would do that, even though it wasn't a choice as much as I just forgot my coat. I'm pretty sure having water drip down my back into my underwear could be a verification test to prove I'm not a robot. 


2. See the world without a utilitarian agenda. People and things do not exist for me to use for my personal agenda. They are not steps in my program to get me to the final result. Every being has an integrity on its own; I do not get to control or manipulate others for my machinations. I get to hang out in the mystery of being without pretending I'm in charge.

3. Take time to laugh and cry. Our ability to experience joy and pain will always set us apart from machines. Even if machines could figure out how to laugh or cry at appropriate moments, I would still have them beat because I do these things at inappropriate times, just ask anyone who has watched a movie with me. 

We are not robots, consumers, work units, tax payers, electors, or plebeians (that's just too fun of a word to pass up). We are unique mysteries or as my faith tradition states, "we are beloved children of God." Maybe that could be a box to check at the end.  

If I Had A Boat

An inflatable row boat saw me through middle school. I lived on that thing in the middle of the faux pond in the new sub development where we lived.

I would drag my boat to the pond as well as an anchor, sail, radio, snacks, books and fishing pole. And that's how I stayed relatively sane. Nobody could call me a dork or nerd because all the popular kids lived in town and those who didn't couldn't see me hunkered with my book deep in my imaginary ocean. I loved that boat and I'm so thankful that Elijah got one for his thirteenth birthday.

That's why I carried it out camping with us this past week. I'm guessing I carried over 100 lbs at least ten miles by the end of our week camping, but it was worth it.

We all took turns on the row boat in the cove by the cabin and I got to experience one of those brief and eternal moments of pure joy. The sun was shining, the water was calm, and I was tired of rowing so I lay in the boat face first looking down into the water. It was just the kids and I and they were running around the cliffs giggling and daring each other to explore a little further. I was basking in the sun watching the jelly fish, sea anemones, and sea stars dot the water below me. And it all was perfect for that moment. All was right with the world and I was filled with beauty and joy until it was overflowing.

So I started to cry. 
Naturally. 
Because such moments are precious and fragile; one cannot hold onto them and everything changes.

And that's okay. 

The kids started yelling for me to row over and catch them in the boat as they jumped off the rocks. That's a bad idea so instead they dove off and climbed out of the freezing water into the boat and I taxied them back to shore. They all pushed and encouraged each other to make the dive and I helped get them back safely. That's what family does on our best days. 

I also started to cry this last Sunday during communion; I'm noticing a pattern. Presiding over communion is often emotional for me. I know about the struggles and brokenness people face and I place a moment of perfect love in their hands hoping it will bring some wholeness and connection. It means I absorb the fragility and changing nature of life as I place the body broken and made whole for us into outstretched hands. 

It's kind of intense every Sunday, but when we're saying good bye to a slew of young adults scattering to the winds, it gets cranked up a notch. I made it through three of them, but buckled with the fourth. The tears just started flowing; one cannot hold onto them and everything changes.

Luckily, I serve a congregation where I could wipe my eyes on the sleeve of someone's shirt as they came through the communion line when tissues were not accessible. I did not blow my nose; even I know that crosses a line. 

I wish I had brilliant advice and spiritual tools to survive the chances and changes of life, but right now I'm leaning heavily on time spent in an inflatable boat. 

Raw

I needed a rainy day. It seems to give permission to grieve with the world - tornadoes, floods, killings, and so much fear and anger. So I'm curling up with curry, a fire and my dog and trying to be present with the hurt.

These last few weeks have felt so raw as I got to pray as part of the police memorial and baccalaureate. I want you all to know I made it through without weeping. That's impressive.

I'm going to start trying to do formal prayers and sermons to protect myself some, except I'm afraid I might fall asleep or become numb so I probably won't actually become any more formal or predictable.

I'd like to share these raw moments and prayers because I want folks to know my prayers are not a flippant response to tragedy or pain, they are a deep investment of my heart in the suffering of others.

Police Memorial

Seeking to respect the beliefs of all, I offer this personal prayer

Prayer is the place where I examine my heart and offer it to the redeeming love of God. So this prayer is my heart: 

A heart that is heavy with the weight of grief. We remember families and pay tribute to all officers who have made the ultimate sacrifice. We also honor the daily sacrifices made by those who serve as well as their families. The world is never the same when one has faced the brokenness of humanity, the long hours of labor, and the tedium of paperwork. 

My heart rejoices in the courage and integrity of so many who are part of this calling. I give thanks for your willingness to be people of compassion and seek what is right even in the murky waters of complex relationships and conflicting stories. 

And somewhat selfishly, I must confess a heart that hopes my husband comes home every night. I know what it is to have a heart that beats faster when the time wears on or the sirens break through the night and I trust that worried heart into God’s love.

Whatever may come, I pray I may have a heart that hopes that the light of love can shine and redeem even the darkest of places. 

Baccalaureate 

Gathering prayer

Respecting the beliefs of all, I lift this prayer to God the source of life and love,

As we gather, I give thanks for all the beach days we have survived to get you to this point. All those field trips where it was either freezing with sideways rain or sunny with no see ums and the stench of rotting varmits. 

Even when I couldn’t feel my fingers, it still brought me delight to flip over rocks and see what slithering creatures were hiding underneath. I loved trying to catch the critters as much as any of the kids. And that’s my prayer for you all as we gather. 

May the God of creativity and curiosity urge you regardless of weather to investigate, observe and flip over rocks. Even when you are ready for your hot dog and freezing cold, or sunburnt and parched, keep poking around and there might be an octopus hiding or a sculpin waiting to be caught.

May you never expect life to come to you, but be willing to risk exploring, to face discomfort, and to dig a little deeper. May you bump into the God of life and love as you engage the mysteries and wonder around you.

Sending

As we are sent, I remind you of one last guideline for the beach: always put things back the way you found them and tend the creatures around you with respect and care.

May the God of compassion and grace guide you into being faithful caretakers of the world. May you be curious and adventurous but also kind and loving. 

May you look around at those who are here tonight, who have probably accompanied you on many field trips and who love you even in the wild wind at the beach with snot flying and eyes burning, and know if they will stand beside you on beach days they will stand with you through anything. 

May the peace that passes all understanding wrap you tightly and give you the courage and strength to go forth to be curious and kind. 

Donuts

Sometimes I suck as a parent.

And sometimes I should get a high five for being a rockstar.

I suck because there was one old-fashioned donut left in the box the other morning. I suppose I knew somewhere in my soul that my beloved eldest daughter was saving the donut, but I was just going to have one bite. Then it looked uneven, so I ate the outside ring.

Hannah was saving the donut because she knew it was going to be a hard day and she wanted something to look forward to. 

I felt bad. And was reminded of how much I suck on a regular basis. 

So I made it right. 

I was in Anchorage for a conference and bought two of what were supposed to be the best old-fashioned donuts in all of Alaska. They sat in a bag safely tucked away in my carry-on while a little voice kept saying Hannah would never know if I ate one and only brought one donut back. There are days I want to smack that voice, but I ate airplane biscuits instead and thought how two donuts were needed to set things right.

Yay me! And they did. No more guilt trips. At least about the donut.

It got me thinking about forgiveness and reconciliation. Hearing again the horrendous murder of James Byrd Jr. as they executed one of his killers in Texas this past week and listening to folks trying to make sense of so much pain has made me think again about forgiveness and setting things right.

I've been sitting with an excerpt from a recent interview on NPR with author Philip Gourevitch about Rwanda 25 years after the genocide.

GOUREVITCH: But what's interesting to me, too, is - what does forgiveness mean? I mean, to some extent, when I went and I heard the word forgiveness, I thought it sort of meant you'd restore whatever the relationship was before.

MARTIN: Yeah.

GOUREVITCH: And they would say, no, that involves trust. That's a whole different thing. Forgiveness doesn't require trust. Forgiveness simply means letting go of the idea of getting even, forgoing the idea of revenge. Right? Now, even that's a big ask. But it means accepting coexistence.

This is all obviously way bigger than my donut issue, but what does it mean to live in our relationships, community and world letting go of the idea of getting even? 

Justice is different than revenge. 

Justice creates safe spaces where relationships can be restored or at least coexistence is made possible. 

Revenge is inflicting more hurt thinking that will somehow create less hurt. I'm thinking at least part of the message of the cross is the end to the cycle of revenge. 

I'm also thinking I had lots of time to think sitting on the plane trying not to think about how yummy the donut would be with my coffee.

Expectations

There are so many wonderful surprises that come with age - like where hair starts to grow. 

It makes me laugh and I keep reminding my beloved that I have a secret crush on Chewbacca so any extra hair he grows doesn't matter. Then our conversation devolves into Chewbacca not wearing pants, his hygiene and sooner or later dingleberries. This keeps us from ever talking about my hair.

We're in for the long haul together and it has lovely times, challenging times, and times when I talk to my chickens. Part of what keeps it lovely is being open to surprises. I'm not going to mention that I'm ahead in the ping pong game count, even though that's a huge surprise.

I'll share instead my surprise over Ip Man. I do like martial art movies, not the gory ones, but I enjoy a well choreographed fight. It was Kirt's night to choose the movie and he chose what looked like a pathetic martial arts movie and I might have whined and talked about how much it was going to suck. I'm not always charming and kind.

But, I was wrong. If you haven't watched Ip Man, even though it's not a real promising beginning, it is amazing. It's based on a true person Yip Man who was a martial arts master and teacher of Wing Chun (one of his students was later Bruce Lee). Ip Man stood up to the Japanese army when they invaded China and he had to rebuild a life after persecution and poverty. 

So I had to apologize for whining and admit that I was surprised and thankful that my beloved didn't listen to me. It wasn't what I expected. 

Expectations are not always helpful, especially when we are so set on them that we'll ruin an experience just to prove we were right (or it can go the other way and you post a million smiling pictures even though the experience stunk). 

We're entering Holy Week in the church when we relive and remember all the surprises and upended expectations of Jesus. He washes feet, he weeps in prayer, he is betrayed by a dear friend, he dies a scandalous death, and he leaves the tomb empty. 

I try not to overthink and analyze this week. It's not the week for cynicism, but a week of showing up willing to be surprised because life is rarely what we expect.

Kids

I should stop saying that I don't like kids. 

It's partly true in the same way saying I don't like chickens is true. 

I'm not particularly fond of children or chickens en masse. They are often loud, kind of smelly and slightly terrifying in a group, but I often find chickens and children wonderful mysteries to love and encounter as individuals. 

I say I don't like kids for several other reasons, besides some truth in the statement.

1. I like to push back in our culture that worships youth and tries to hang on to childhood for as long as possible. We tend to romanticize and idolize childhood and it leaves us with folks without boundaries who need to grow up. I don't do things for children that they can do for themselves, especially if they are demanding about it. I don't coddle or sweet talk children, but I try to respect who they are and where they are in their development.

2. I also like to rebel against some of the assumptions made about female pastors. Churches often put women in children or youth ministry and I don't want to be pigeonholed into those specialties. Luckily I've served small churches so I get to do a little bit of everything, including fixing toilets and boilers as well as hanging out with kids.

3. It sometimes gets me out of volunteering for things, like chaperoning the middle school dance, which it didn't get me out of doing this last weekend. 

It was actually a lovely gift to get to hang out and observe middle schoolers for a couple of hours at their first dance. There is so much awkwardness, drama, meanness, gentleness, joy and hormones. It was a bundle of raw humanity that I got to watch and occasionally intervene in their dramas. There were little beachballs all over and shockingly they started throwing them at each other instead of dancing. Nothing shows you care like whipping a beach ball at someone's head. 

One of my favorite kids from summer lunch was there and I had to remind him of who he was and how we behave a couple of times, especially as he had other kids in chokeholds. 

When he was getting really wound up I had him come sit by me and tell me some stories about the school year and life. It's easy to be perpetually angry with this kiddo and I've found giving him space to tell some stories helps us both get reoriented and be a little more human. And I think it's in that space we figure out how to love, not an idealized love or affection for who you want a person to be, but a moment of shared humanity. 

I don't love kids as an idea, but I do like to create safe spaces where they can reveal what is lovely or painful in their lives. Like all humanity, kids are not objects to adore, but complex mysteries we get to encounter and figure out how to be in relationship with.

Hell

I had several sticks in my bra so it must have been a good day in the woods. Cassie and I had to bushwhack to get a better view, just in case you thought I was doing something inappropriate.

It was a stunningly beautiful day and that got me thinking about hell.

Before I broach this subject, please know there is no universally accepted Christian understanding of hell. I can break down some of the history of our concepts of hell, or here's a helpful link and you can do your own research http://www.earlychristianhistory.info/hell.html.

I'm content to join the leagues of folks like C.S. Lewis and Dostoevsky who approach hell with some poetic license so it doesn't turn into the place we send people we despise or who drive slowly in the left lane.

One point of theology, if we define God as the trinity, the mutual outpouring of love, then hell is the space where one is given the freedom to live outside that love. Let's say that's my basic premise to ground this imagining.

What if we thought of hell, that space for those who insist on living outside love, as stunningly beautiful?

Stay with me. Thinking of hell as a place of torture and punishment isn't overly helpful for many reasons, but imagining it as beauty allows vileness, hate, and evil to be revealed for the repulsive things they are. There is something about beauty that not only knocks the breath out of me, but it makes me feel alive, real, and in many ways exposed and vulnerable.

I hike on Mondays and bask in the beautiful because I carry so much brokenness and sorrow with me. People suffer and carry horrible burdens and on Mondays I offer them up to beauty; I let beauty wrap her arms around all that is grotesque in this world and even though it can't make everything right, it does put it back into perspective. Beauty is part of how I see God being revealed, but it's not beautiful in the sense of pretty, but as a wholeness that encompasses the love and suffering it takes to get to that place.

I'm not sure I can explain it well, but there is something about beauty that exposes and redeems, which is why I think it could be hell for some. One can disguise evil and hatefulness so much easier when one is surrounded with mediocrity and numbness. It is the extravagance and splendor of the beautiful that reveals anti-love for what it is.

I think it is hard for us to take salvation or hell seriously when we live in so much comfort and gray. Concrete and convenience make it hard to experience beauty or hell.

I don't know what I'm getting at other than I appreciate getting sticks in my bra and scratches on my face so I can find the ridge where the mountains stretch brilliantly before me. Somehow it lets the sinfulness of the world and the redemption of love meet and I can trust and hope that all will be well.