BIG Questions

You would think doing a 45-60 minute weekly Bible Study, our little group of 9-10 people would only have time to read the three readings coming on Sunday, touch on some semantics in interpretation, clarify some confusing passages, comment briefly on connections between the Old and New Testaments and Gospel, and say good bye as we refill our travel coffee mugs.

Yet, it seems as each week goes by, we keep layering on deeper and deeper questions. These questions have no answer, and even if they did, each of our answers would be very personal. We keep coming back to them again and again. "If God called me to His service, what would I say?" "If I encountered God, would I know Him? And what would my reaction be?"

There all kinds of little stories about these questions. There's the man drowning in the sea, praying to God to save him. A boat comes by to offer help, but he doesn't take it. The same thing happens again. He finally drowns and dies and goes to heaven. When he gets there, he asks God, "Why didn't You save me?" And God asks him back, "Why didn't you get into one of the two boats I sent?"

There's a song along these lines too, that Jesus is the carpenter on the roof, the woman begging for food on the street. Stories like this abound, but they are like any other cliches in our lives. They are so overused they are meaningless, or close to that. So when we ask these questions in our Bible Study, really ask them, we all sit silently. Someone might say something about reacting the way most of the people in the Bible do, saying they aren't worthy, that they aren't the right person for God's work.
For example, Moses, when God comes to him on the mountain, says he can't do His work, and doesn't feel okay with things until God says He'll be there to help him, and will give him the right words. Isaiah doesn't think he's worthy of God's work until the seraphim touch his lips to cleanse him of his foul words and thoughts. There are more stories like this of people saying they aren't worthy, and not feeling good about God's calling until they are reassured by God. But there's also the story of Jesus telling the rich man to sell his belongings, leave his home, and come follow Christ. And the man can't bring himself to do it. Where would we be in these stories? What would it take to convince us?

This coming Sunday is Transfiguration Sunday, and the Gospel reading is from John, retelling the story of Jesus meeting Moses and Elija on the mountain, and Peter and two other disciples see the three men in their blinding glory. Peter says to Jesus that they should make three tents for the men to stay in, and as he speaking, a cloud comes over them, and God tells them, "This is my son. Listen to him." This is as close to a Stooge-esque slap on the back of the head as Peter gets. It's not like Peter didn't see Jesus walk on water, cure the blind, make ten loaves and fishes into hundreds. But even this late in the game, Peter has to be reminded there's a plan, and Peter needs to shut up and listen. So even when we decide to follow Christ, sometimes we forget who's doing the leading. And we manage to make mistakes and speak without thinking.

So what if seraphim come to me one Sunday as I sit praying in church with their strange triple sets of wings? What if I'm out for a hike at Starved Rock and a cloud comes over me and I hear God command me to do something for him? What if I meet Christ on the street, or my office, or he darts in front of my car? My tendency is to say that none of this will happen.

But then again, I know God has asked me to reconnect with Him and rescheudle my life around His call to me. And I've done it. He has called me to teach, and I'm doing it. He has asked me to love people that I find very challenging at times, and I keep working at it. Every year, He sends students my way that I have a hard time seeing any trace of Christ in their hearts, but I look and look again. I am not transfigured into a glowing white creature like Moses was, so bright that people asked him to cover his face with a cloth so they could be around him. I probably am more like impetuous Peter who says the dumbest things without thinking about them, or rushes out of the boat to follow Christ onto the lake, and then panics in Wile E. Coyote fashion and sinks.

I think most of us are there. We strive to be the best we can be, and find we fall short. We listen and listen for God's call, but sometimes we don't like what we hear, or we're listening for what we want to hear. Again and again the Bible tells us people are like children and sheep. Tell a four year old you might take her to Dairy Queen, and an hour later, she'll claim, "You promised!" Ask a ten year old boy to clean up his room, and it's like you've spoken to a wall. Sheep are great at following, but left ot their own devices, they will eat things that aren't food and make themselves sick, get lost, get stuck in bushes and rock outcroppings and hurt themselves.

Thank goodness God knows our nature and loves us anyway. He knows he's like a parent who has to say things over a thousand times before it sinks into our heads. He knows he has to ask, and ask, and ask, and ask, and maybe He'll get from us the answer He so wants.

Christmas

I'm soooo excited! Tomorrow night, Paul and I and our friends will meet at church at 10:30 p.m. We'll sing carols as more people gather, and we'll have the accompaniment of our choir, and the organ, and a brass section helping out. We'll get bulletins and candles from the ushers, and hug people and smile at newcomers, and wish them Merry Christmas. And at the end of the service, around midnight, we'll light our candles, the church will go dark, and we'll sing Silent Night as we kneel in the circles of light that glow from our candles.

I'll probably cry, as much from the feeling of being surrounded in God's love and the love of those we gather with as from knowing that this baby boy who was born, and is born in each person, came for me. I can barely remember most of the people I went to high school with, but God knew all of us before we were ever conceived. He came for me, and you, and all the people of the world. People who don't know Him and maybe have never heard of Him. People who have forgotten they once knew Him. People who know Him, but are in pain looking for Him, or worse, ignoring Him. He came for me even though I was a pain-in-the-ass kid who lied constantly and ruined a Christmas snooping for presents with my four year-old sister. He came even though I'd spend years thinking He was no more real than Greek gods were to the Greeks. He came even though I still sometimes act like a stupid kid, or don't do what's right out of some sense of spite. He's here with me now and always, even when I forget it. And it's that way for everyone.

I'll cry because this event is so run-of-the-mill and yet so special. Babies have been born for thousands of years, and His birth was no different. Mary probably cried and screamed and moaned and wondered what the heck she was thinking saying, "Yes," to an angel. She couldn't blame Joseph, but did she get a little mad at God for choosing her, giving her so much pain? Jesus was born in the same mess as all of us, cleaned up and wrapped in fabric. It's normal and ordinary, and yet every mother will tell you that birth is a miracle. He would later perform miracles, but isn't this the biggest one of all? God and man? Wow.

I'll cry because of the times I missed Christmas, when I was an angry teenager, when I was in college searching for something that was already there, when I was too drawn up in myself to care about what was going on with other people in the world. I'll cry because of the joy that those times are behind me and I can go ahead in life with my head up and aware and full of prayer. Most of the time.

I'll cry for the people who don't have all that I do, who aren't surrounded by love and friends and family, who don't have a house or apartment or a room, who don't have enough to eat. I'll go home to a warm house with barking dogs greeting me, and a bed and a shower and blueberry french toast after opening a few presents in the morning. There are people who give a finger for a good candle to light their way in whatever darkness they have to live with, and all I have to do is move my finger to be surrounded in light.

I pray that everyone gets a tear of joy and one of just a little sadness too, this Christmas. I know I'll be busy with friends and family inn the next few days, and I pray that you will be too. But remember there are people, like Jesus, who are huddled and alone, who face living in an uncertain world that is hostile to them, who were babies once, just like you, me and Him.

Belated Thanksgivings

I just saw that my last post was at the end of October! This is what happens as the semester draws to a close. I'm busy grading research papers, and getting ready for the holidays, and my birthday arrives, and the getting ready for end-of-the-year stuff at church and work, and before I know it, the semester is over and we're facing the Christmas/New Year holidays!

So I missed blogging over Thanksgiving. And since I did, I'm going to have a brief entry here about what I'm thankful for. I heard a story on NPR with Maya Angelou about her being mopey one day about the state of the world, and her son gave her paper and a pen and had her start a list about all that she was grateful for. She went back to that list whenever she started to feel sorry for herself, or bad about all the events in the world she had no control over. I think it's a good practice, and even thought Thanksgiving is over, we should all take time to make such a list.

1. my family, immediate and not-so-immediate, in-laws and those members I adopt
2. my friends at church, work, from writing circles, from past lives as a student
3. all the students whose lives I've touched, whether I knew it or not, whether they realized it at the time or later
4. my opportunities to love others, from the acquaintances who just need a smile, to those who I get to share the most intimate moments
5. my work which changes, challenges, excites, frustrates, teaches, and expands me
6. my talents from writing to cooking to crafts to telling silly jokes and making fun of myself
7. my faith that upholds me when times are tough, and reminds me that I am not and never will be alone or unloved
8. the opportunity to worship in that faith in a country that allows me to do so freely
9. my voice and thoughts which I am blessed to have full use of in the United States
10. my home, my pets, and the food that's in my cupboard and fridge
11. music, art, literature, plays, all the creative ways that people express themselves
12. caring people who will smile back at me, say a word or two, and remind me that God is in everyone
13. the painful parts of life, without which I would take all the good times for granted
14. Christmas lights, chocolate, hot cider and good wine!
15. the people who I pray for each night, people I don't even know and who I will never meet, but who need my prayers, and the prayers of others.

This list could go on and on, but it's a start. I hope in this season when we tend to rush around, you will think about your own list, and what is important to you. Blessings!

The BIG Question

We’ve been through two un-shepherded discernment meetings so far. The first one covered my spiritual autobiography and prayer life, and the last one, just this past Monday, covered my physical and mental health. I won’t go into all that here, but one of the members (who knows me well) had poked a little fun saying that my mental health is a little touch and go. This was meant in a positive way (see my last entry), but I also alarm some people. I’ve been known to read dessert menus aloud as if they were some sort of sexy romance plot. I don’t do this to strangers, but still… it’s a little strange.

Anyway, at the end of the meeting, after we had talked about my exercise, diet, drinking habits (social and not too often), my occasional need for therapy and bouts of depression and stress, one of the members said something like, “Next time I want to know THE answer to the BIG question. Why do you want to be a deacon?” I said, “Sure,” in a cheerful voice, but really, it’s not an easy question to answer.

I’ve been asked this question by a few people recently, all from my parish, and all inquisitive and positive people. I tell them about Trinity’s need for more leadership, about our priest’s need for help, about my own spiritual growth. But these were all short answers given to slightly curious folks who just wondered. The question in the discernment committee is a big one. And as my husband, Paul, said, if I don’t have a good, specific answer for this, why am I going through all this and making other people take time each month for it as well?

So I’ve been praying about it, and the Holy Spirit has been giving me some ideas. When I’m wearing my professor hat at Joliet Jr. College, I have three areas where I am asked to set goals: my professional career, my department and the college as a whole. So I go to conferences for me, and to bring back ideas to my department. I serve on committees for my department and my college (I don’t get a lot out of meetings for my own well-being). What if I look at my deacon calling in the same way? What do I feel called for personally? What about for my church home? What about the diocese?

Personally, I love serving people and God in them. Serving others feeds my soul. I’ve been taking my dogs to visit a woman named Jean in our parish who suffered from a series of strokes. She loves dogs but can’t have one of her own due to her abilities right now. I love to talk to her, to see how happy my little pups make her. But when other people in my parish find out I go to visit her, they tell me how kind I’m being. Maybe it is kind, but it’s not a burden. I like spending time with her and her friend Grace. So, being a deacon will bring me to more people in the world who need someone to talk to, who need healing and prayers. And by being with those people, I am also healed and brought closer to Christ.

My church is a small but vibrant and growing church. We have one priest who has to do most everything. Being a deacon will allow me to help him out in some ways that I can’t right now. We have a growing population of older folks who are home-bound or in nursing homes. Wearing a collar will enable me to be available in hospital settings where not just anyone is allowed to visit with patients. And since I don’t know a lot of our parishioners who aren’t able to attend church, a collar might make me more “official” as a church visitor than just some woman who stops by to say hello and say a prayer. I already serve on the altar, but I’ll serve in a slightly different capacity if I’m a deacon. The same goes with committee work or serving in our community. When we go into the community to volunteer, people know Fr. Charlie’s our priest since he’s wearing the collar. But unless the rest of us have t-shirts on that say “Trinity Episcopal Church,” we lay people aren’t as visible. I’d be one more visible person serving our community.

Deacons answer to the Bishop and are considered to be part of “The People.” They are liaisons between the world and the church. I pray, and am pretty certain, that if I’m allowed to become a deacon, I’ll be able to stay in my parish and serve. In fact, I’d be the only deacon in Aurora, IL since our other Aurora parish, St. David’s, doesn’t have a deacon either. I’d be able to be a voice for the people of Aurora in the Diocese of Chicago. That is a huge responsibility, but our city is one of the largest in the state of Illinois, and also of the suburbs of Chicago. I pray that more deacons will come to Aurora to serve the many populations here that are in need of help and prayers. But one person is a starting point.

I don’t know that these answers will be the ones that satisfy my discernment committee when we meet again on April 27th, so I’ll continue to pray about them. But this is a starting point. If you read my first couple of posts, you’ll see that this call didn’t come from within me. When asked why I should be a deacon, part of me wants to say, “I don’t know. A couple of people suggested it, my priest was thrilled when I asked him about it, and then a deacon said I should move ahead.” But I know too that I need to hear the calling within me as well as without. And that call is growing more steadily and becoming less uncertain as I move forward in the process of discernment. This is a celebration of my work in the world and a confirmation that God is calling me to witness in His creation.

Trepidation

What is there to get all freaked out about? It's not like I have to take a vow of chastity, poverty, sign a form giving all my earthly goods to the church, or sell my pets. Why all the fuss? Here's a list of my fears about this journey, both before talking to Deacon Debby and still persisting.


1. I don't have the time.


This is a big one. Becoming a deacon means a pretty big investment of time. First, I have to go through discernment, which means several meetings over a series of months. Well, okay, I have lots of meetings already, so what's one more? Plus, this will focus on God's call to me, so it's not like sitting through a budget meeting or a student judicial hearing where I know that student is just biding his time and doesn't think he has any blame in whatever trouble he got it. Ooops. I started channeling "Professor LaTour" there. Sorry.


After the discernment meetings, if I move forward, I have to start getting some deacon education. That means giving up every other Saturday for a few years, plus some weekend retreats. Ouch. I just finished a low-residency MFA that took two years and sucked away time. Can I do it again? If I did it once, I suppose I can.


What about after I'm a deacon? How much time then? I'll pretty much do what I'm doing now, with a little more focus and purpose. Deacons are ordained, but "of the world" so they function in both places. I'll still serve on committees. I'll still visit people who can't leave their homes. I'll still be at church every Sunday. And I'll still be a professor. but who knows knows what else?



Verdict: Trepidation EASED



2. My husband, who I love, isn't the church type.


Paul is a super guy. He's into sports, writing, movies, indie music, trips into Chicago, and me. He's been open to adopting abused chihuahuas, putting up with my annoying cockatiels, my venting about students, and my going back to get another Master's degree. He even comes to church with me sometimes. But he's not really the church type and has some issues with the whole idea of church. If you read my first posting, you'll know I had some issues with church stuff in my life. Growing up Catholic meant that we went to church and were active volunteering. But my mom used birth control. And I was not a nice kid so I went to confession, I was pretty much lying that I was sorry for my sins. And let's not go into the whole sex-abuse scandal. I wasn't abused, but friends of mine were.



I brought up Paul when I first talked to Deacon Debby. She pointed out that my growth in the Holy Spirit is apt to help Paul more than hurt him. And if he's half as cool as I made him out to be, he'll hang with me through this. I get a lot of comfort from the passage about a wife with an unbelieving husband. In Paul's First letter to the Corinthians he says," And a woman who has a husband who does not believe, if he is willing to live with her, let her not divorce him. For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife" (verse 13).



However, for whatever issues Paul has with "church," he likes Trinity and really likes the people there. And he's being supportive of this whole "calling" thing. And I think he might find those collars kinda sexy. But probably not.



Verdict: Trepidation EASED

3. There is not any compensation for this.

I know this may look like a really, really shallow trepidation, but we all know about the connection to money and time. And you know I'm a teacher. Teachers don't make the big bucks. And I'm a poet. Poets can only dream of big bucks. I get asked to be a featured reader at several open mics around Chicago every year. For my 20 minutes of reading and hour and half drive, I make about $40. I had to pay some money up front to get a book published and while I've made that money back plus some, it didn't even make a car payment. So I know a lot about doing things for the love of it and not for the cash.

However, being a deacon can be like a part time job on top of whatever job the deacon already has. And that whole "in the world" thing is pretty serious. Deacons don't get full time deacon jobs like priests do. So whatever extra roles I take on in this journey are just that, extra. Please refer to trepidation #1. But also look at my answer for that one.

Verdict: Trepidation EASED

4. This will change me and I don't know exactly how.

Ah, the fear of the unknown. We're surrounded by this right now. What will the stock market do next? Will gas prices stay low? How will Obama do as President? Will Krispy Kreme still be open on my way to church on Sunday?

But self-change is even more frightening. And as you learn about me, you'll know that I'm a little on the edge of normalcy, so change can be even weirder. What if I get more weird? What if I start acting normal? As a case in point, when I met the Bishop of Chicago, Bishop Jeff Lee, when he came to our church this summer, I greeted him with a loud and excited, "HEY BISH! Nice to see ya!" My husband rolled his eyes, and Fr. Charlie was a little taken aback. I think that may have been because he had asked me to entertain Bishop Lee's wife Lisa that afternoon. "Dear Lord, please don't let Kristin frighten Lisa," might have been going through his head.

What if I stop being this strange quirky person I've become? What if I become all studious and holy and have a light glow about me all the time? How will I go shopping? How will I drive at night? Will my students get a glare off the white board?

Verdict: Trepidation EASED (I'm going to stay strange.)

5. I don't need to be a deacon.

I'm doing my part in church and that won't change if I'm a deacon. I can still visit people who are sick or homebound. I can still serve on committees. In fact, I don't think Trinity will let me go back to not participating as I did the first few months I was getting to know everyone. I'll still be a teacher and God's light in a secular place. I'll still pray for my students, my fellow faculty and other people. So why do this?

This comes to the difference between wants and needs. My mom was big on saying, "You don't need that, you just want it." I have this problem in other areas of my life as well, the problem of distinguishing between wants and needs. For example, I've been losing weight. Paul will point out that my pants don't fit so well. So I wear a belt. I don't need new pants nor do I want new pants.. But really, there's a point at which putting a belt on won't fix things. I'll need new pants. I still won't want them, but I'll need them.

So this isn't necessarily a call that I want. I'm fine and dandy. Right as rain. Good as gold. Wonderful. I don't want to change a bunch of things in life or add complications. I have enough already. but this little voice keeps calling to me, either in my heart or from other people. "Why not become a deacon, or at least give it a shot?" I don't have a good answer. So maybe this is a need. A real call. Hmmm...

Verdict: Trepidation CONTINUES. . .