Maxin' and Relaxin'

Today is my first day off! Well, I guess not, really I had a day off last week too, but I was so overwhelmed that it was not a particularly relaxing day. I am discovering that "days off" are really "get things done" days. Today we are getting our new phone installed, we're going to the bank to set up new accounts, to the Secretary of State office to tell them where we live, and to Home Depot to buy some paint, and perhaps there will be grocery shopping and a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond in our future as well.

And yes, I said paint!! One of the joys of home ownership - besides the conspicous absence of cinderblocks - is the ability to paint whatever we want. So, we are starting with the dining room. We have chose a color called "Roasted Pepper" from Behr paints. Then, I think we're going to take a tip from a friend, and see what colors they have already mixed that they couldn't sell, and get one of those for the downstairs bathroom. Its just so exciting!

Then, tomorrow, back to work to finish Sunday's sermon... more on that later perhaps.

Such A Lovely Blue

Before I left seminary, people warned me how much I would miss the regular worship life. I already knew they were right - I missed the worship life just over Christmas break! Now, I was one who tried to take advantage of the wide opportunities at Seabury. For those of you still there, I truly hope that you will do the same. The chance to have daily communal prayer and worship is simply an amazing gift and powerful spiritual disicpline, and not something to be taken for granted.

So, I was very happy to learn that at my new church, we have a Tuesday noon Eucharist in the chapel. I was a little less enthusiastic when I discovered that the altar is attached to the wall, and the it is really a Mary chapel... but still, I'm glad for the extra worship during the week. Last week, the rector presided, and I did the deacon's role - and observed him doing the whole "east-facing" thing. Today was my turn. Even though the rector is still here (he leaves on vacation later this week), I was going to do the entire service on my own. I chose to transfer yesterday's feast of Benedict of Nursia, marked my BCP and the Bible, found a nice reading from Sam Portaro's book Brightest and Best, and even had a good chat with a friend on some liturgical points. At noon, I was ready to go. Alas... I was the only one ready to go. No one came to the service this week. Now, east-facing altars and Mary chapels are a bit beyond my piety but I was willing to go with it. I am not, however, willing to stretch that to private priest Eucharist. I said noonday prayers, read the Gospel for Sunday (I"m preaching), put my vestments away and locked up.

Seminary changes you. Three years ago I couldn't possibly imagined myself excited to celebrate an east-facing service in a Mary chapel - heck, I'm not sure I was really aware there was such a thing. But I hope that as my ministry progresses, I never stop feeling a twinge of disappointment when the chapel is empty, even if I did need the private prayer time.

An icy hot day at the end of the beginning

Since we last talked, there have been ordinations, mortgages, hellos and goodbyes, beginnings and endings. I'm sure you will get all caught up over time, and if not, then there will be more stories to share when I see you the next time. For now, I'm just going to share a bit about my day.

Today was my first Sunday as the curate in my new church home. I've been working in the office all week, getting settled and stuff like that (lots of organizing! yay!) but today really felt like my first day. I got to preside at the Eucharist at both 8:00 and 10:00. At 8:00, the lovely gentleman serving as acolyte and chalice bearer said to me during the setting of the table, "Stop shaking. You're doing fine." I replied that I was pretty sure it would take a few years for the shaking to stop. In the meantime, I hope I don't knock over a chalice. Ah well. Presiding is simply wonderful, I am quite sure already that I will never get tired of it, and if it involves shaky hands, well, God knew what we were getting into.

Then, I drove to a planning meeting for a celebration that is to happen sometime in the next couple of months. The church camp where I grew up, and then spent several summers as staff, is being developed and sold. Our diocese is no longer able to afford its upkeep, there have been a lot of maintenance problems, etc. It is incredibly sad. Those of you who have had the privilege of camp ministry know that camp is a sacred space. I cannot even begin to count the number of lives changed in that place: the number of children who learned that God is not only for their parents, the number of youth and young adults who discovered that with God's help they could love even the most difficult campers, and the number of people who learned that God loved even them. This place has been central to my formation for nearly twenty years - and it does not cease to amaze me how people are surprised by the deep grieving happening with those of us whose faith journeys are woven into the fabric of this place. Grief cries out for a way to say goodbye, to celebrate what has been, and to gather with those who share our memories so that we can remember that hope goes on, life goes on, and God moves in other places. So, a group of us gathered to plan just such an occasion. I hope it will be helpful to see the buildings one last time, and perhaps discover that we can say goodbye to things and places without losing what they meant. I hope that this gathering will help us move to new opportunities for youth ministry - including a more sustainable camping ministry. It is a celebration, not a revolution, we are planning... but you never know what might happen when people come together to talk about their encounters with God, Christian community and the power of love. At least, thats what I decided on the way home while I listened to this song.

We’re trying to see beyond
The fences in our own backyards
I’ve seen the kingdoms blow
Like ashes in the winds of change
But the power of truth
Is the fuel for the flame
So the darker the ages get
There’s a stronger beacon yet

Let it be me
(this is not a fighting song)
Let it be me
(not a wrong for a wrong)
Let it be me
If the world is night
Shine my life like a light

In the kind word you speak
In the turn of the cheek
When your vision stays clear
In the face of your fear
Then you see turning out a light switch
Is their only power
When we stand like spotlights
In a mighty tower
All for one and one for all
Then we sing the common call

Let it be me
(this is not a fighting song)
Let it be me
(not a wrong for a wrong)
Let it be me
If the world is night
Shine my life like a light
-"Let It Be Me", Indigo Girls (of course)

New Digs

This is it. I'm outta here.

I am leaving the seminary today, and heading back to Michigan. I'll be away from the blog for a few days (which isn't so different from any other week I suppose) and when I get back, it might look a little different around here. Isn't closure great?

Timepieces

Last week, on one of our all-too-common trips to Michigan, I turned on Talk of The Nation and heard this interview with Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth. He just put out a book called Mix Tape: The Art of Cassette Culture. It was an interesting piece, with callers sharing stories of mix tapes that provided the soundtracks for moments and relationships. Now, I didn't hear any particularly ground-breaking ideas expressed, but it did bring back some fond memories.

Then, the next day in the midst of packing, I pulled a box out from the back of a closet - and found a crate full of old tapes from high school! Some of them are purchased tapes - including my copy of Tori Amos Little Earthquakes, Luke's copy of Eric Clapton Timepieces, and the soundtrack to Newsies. That stuff was good, but the real treasures were all the old mix tapes. We found two of the three classic rock mix tapes that Luke made me for my fifteenth birthday. It was long before we were dating, but we hadd known each other long enough that he knew I couldn't really tell the difference between Zeppelin, Hendrix or the Stones - a situation that has been remedied thanks to those tapes. There was another mix tape from my friend Emma, where the titles of all the songs fit into a poem about the history of our friendship. I still have the poem in a drawer at my mom's house, but I thought the tape was long gone.

Listening to these long-lost tapes reminds me how much has changed - and how much really hasn't. Son of A Preacher Man still ends up on half the mixes I make. I haven't listend to Tori in ages - I still know all the words to Silent All These Years, but the angsty sadness of Winter just doesn't resonate any more. And I'm glad for it.