At the Crossroads of Community and Calling

“If my own experience can be trusted, then God does not call us once but many times. There are calls to faith and calls to ordination, but in between there are calls to particular communities and calls to particular tasks within them – calls into and out of relationships as well as calls to seek God wherever God may be found.”

Barbara Brown Taylor from The Preaching Life

I took a “sabbatical” from church a while ago. I felt I needed to step back and think on things – how I felt about traditional church, community, “calling,” the role of church and faith in the 21^st century, and all the trappings that accompany those ideas. As a friend of mine on a similar journey replied when asked when she might return to church, I determined I would return “when I miss it.”

Well. I have missed it. The community, that is. I never stopped reflecting on my faith, God/Higher Power/Eternal One/Creator, and my place in this world. I, perhaps, did not miss community so much as I briefly lost the desire to search for the right community for me at this point in my life. I think I might have found that recently.

But let me digress for just a moment. I used to feel sorry for those who said they didn’t “need community,” that they could worship God as easily on the lake on Sunday morning as they could in church. Then I became one of those “lake people.” And I probably had some folks feeling sorry for me that I didn’t “get it.” That’s ok, too. I’m ready to “get it” – community – again, both in the sense of understanding its importance and enjoying the company of others on a faith journey.

My good friend, Marcus, has been pastoring a church in Kansas City on a temporary basis. I visited not long ago because I missed hearing him preach, it was Advent, and I missed community during that season of the church year. I have continued to visit, and may put down roots. As I shared with my mother recently, it is a smallish congregation that is diverse in every sense – black and white, male and female, old and young, straight and gay, reserved and charismatic (in the SAME service!). To which she exclaimed, “just like real Christians!” Yes, Mom, just like real Christians, and real Christian community. That is what I have missed. It is the kind of community I’ve been hoping to be a part of for a long time – which is not to diminish any previous church family I have previously been a part of. But I am at a different place in my faith journey, my spiritual calling, and my quest for a “home” to delve more deeply into both. I find myself at a mid-life crossroads of sorts, and it seems highly appropriate that this is the name of the church community I find myself becoming a part.

As Marcus shared this morning (and he was far more erudite than my summary will do justice), this journey isn’t just a GPS trip from point A to point B, but more like a scavenger hunt in which each discovery along the way, prepares you for your next destination. The quickest way to get lost is to try to speed to the finish line and skip those important intermediate stops along the way, or to merely stay in one place hoping to eventually see the destination in sight.

My latest stop has me at (a) Crossroads, and I can’t wait to find out what I’m going to learn in this new community, and how it will prepare me for my next destination in the journey.

Metamorphosis

I’ve been feeling as if I’ve been undergoing some sort of internal metamorphosis of late, and for some reason was drawn to re-read Kafka’s short story by the same name. I last read this as a senior in high school. Thirty-five years, and a good bit of life experience, lends quite the fresh perspective.

I read the story as an 18-year old as part of an assignment to compare it to Tolstoy’s Death of Ivan Illych. I may, yet, have to revisit that tome, as well. But as for the present, I’d like to use (my new favorite term of late) “fresh eyes” to examine Kafka’s work. After a disagreement – more emotional than substantive – with a dear friend earlier in the week on the value of a self-help book, it occurs to me today that one of the things that make great literature just that is its ability to continue to speak to us through different times and different readings. With no attempt at self-help, great literature simply speaks, and the reader uses his or her own filter to listen.

As an 18-year old, I suspect I probably focused superficially on Gregor’s death and casual disregard by his family. As a 53-year old, struggling with bouts of emotional self-doubt, poor self-image, and an intense need to be “seen” and accepted for who I am at my core, my filter in the re-read was somewhat different.

Gregor’s transformation into a cockroach or beetle of epic proportions gave him “fresh eyes” as to how his family viewed him. When he became unable to provide for them unquestioningly, his attractiveness and needs were suddenly suspect. They responded to his “change” with shock and a feeble attempt to meet his most basic needs.  It appeared, however, that this response was in the dim hope that he would become his “old self” again, meeting their needs, and placing few, if any, demands on them to return the favor. Even his sister grows weary of her early sensitivity in caring for him, as she becomes more self-sufficient. As their hope for resolution of this calamity wanes, so does their resentment of, and disgust for, Gregor increase.

Even in his most awkward state, Gregor attempts to negate his own discomfort by protecting his family from their own. He hides his unsightliness under the couch, and further, under the drape of a sheet, lest their fear and disgust be intensified. How many of us hide our “unpleasantness” from those around us out of a misguided concern for protection, comfort giving, or some other high minded virtue designed to keep others happy, content, and properly cared for?

The bedroom, the closet, the couch – too many of us withdraw into these for the sake of others, at risk of losing ourselves. A friend shared a Parker Palmer quote with me the other day – “Solitude does not necessarily mean living apart from others; rather, it means never living apart from one’s self.” I’m going to continue to do the hard work addressing my own personal demons and learning to live with myself. If you need company to do the same, come out from under the couch and join me, and perhaps we can accomplish what Gregor found impossible, and try to pick the apple off of one another’s backs.

Whose Self is it, Anyway?

Jesus had his 40 days in the wilderness.  Cindy is having her 40 hours at the Wilderness Club at Big Cedar.  Granted, my 40 hours doesn’t even knock on the door of being Spartan, but somehow, I think we are accomplishing something similar and sacred. I’m trying to renew/find my sense of self. It seems to have gotten lost – at least a part of it – somewhere along my way. So my little retreat, however indulgent, has been an attempt to regain some of that, to find a sense of wholeness that I’ve been missing. And what good little Christian girl wouldn’t then make the leap to “oh no, I’m not being very selfless” to sabotage her wilderness retreat?

For those of us who have grown up in the Christian tradition, we have been pommelled with the importance of selflessness – of being Christ-like – of being the only Jesus some people will ever see. I have tried to do this in my own life, but I’m starting to raise some questions with God on this topic. And before anyone goes all “she’s second guessing God!” on me, bear in mind that I think God kind of enjoys having a “real” conversation with us – hashing these things out – us being honest – being authentic. What’s the point of being otherwise with God? Not like you are going to be able to hide anything . . . ask Mother Teresa. But I digress.

There have been times in my life when I have spent more time in church than I have my own home, so I’ve had quite the opportunity to observe the trappings and trippings of Christianity in action. I’ve watched a lot of people – in the name of Jesus – neglect their families, their friends, and themselves to give their time and energy selflessly to the church. They don’t question, they don’t say no, they just do. Until there is nothing left to give – to anyone, even to God.

Please don’t misunderstand.  I am not denigrating those who have made sacrifices and devoted their lives to serving God.  I know that is part of the gig.  I get it. But in our human frailty, I fear we go overboard, out of context, out of God’s intent on the big Selfless Ship (where there are no lifeboats).

I’m just not sure the word, selfless, is such a good word. If God made us who we are, if our “self” is God given, does he/she really want us to give up our “self” to be more to others? Is not being my best self – mein besseres ich – going to honor God more and enable me to relate in the best/better way to others? This is the chat I want to have with God. I think it’s the chat Mother Teresa wanted to have as she dealt with her doubts for so many years. It didn’t keep her from being the only Jesus some people would ever see. She devoted her life to a cause, but she did not give up the essence of her selfhood. That part was essential to her having something to give to the people she served. As I think about it, the only entity to whom we can give our self is the one who created it in the first place. And the Creator is going to triage and give it right back so we can become our besseres ich.

If we give up our self, what is left to give to anyone else?

Unintentional Guest Blog on Love & Hell

For my close friends who know the path I'm currently traveling, I think these words by Thomas Merton need no explanation.

In fact, if you discover any kind of love that satiates you, it is not the end for which you were created. Any act that can cease to be a joy is not the end of your existence. If you grow tired of a love that you thought was the love of God, be persuaded that what you are tired of was never pure love, but either some act ordered to that love or else something without order altogether.

The one love that always grows weary of its object and is never satiated with anything and is always looking for something different and new is the love of ourselves. It is the source of all boredom and all restlessness and all unquiet and all misery and all unhappiness; ultimately, it is hell.

Conundrum

. . . the clean, unselfish love that does not live 
on what it gets but on what it gives; 

a love that increases by pouring itself out for others, 

that grows by self-sacrifice 
and becomes mighty by throwing itself away.

~ Thomas Merton 

Dear TM,

In my very recent life I would have read your words, nodding my head in wholehearted agreement, and continued to strive to reach the nirvana of selflessness. And I realize your living of the contemplative life logically brings you to this conclusion. It is noble and admirable and, as you say, the "perfection of love." But contemplate and answer this:

What of those who live IN the world who have less time for contemplation and prayer, and who attempt to carry these thoughts to their self-sacrificing extreme, striving for that perfection? What is to happen to them when they "pour out for others" at such a level that they have nothing left of their "self" to "throw away?" I think in your contemplative life where renewal of self is part of your daily practice, you may forget that the self must be continually replenished and renewed if it is to be able to have anything to offer anyone else. Otherwise, like the anorexic whose body begins to feed on itself because there is nothing left to consume, one becomes an empty shell with very little to offer.

Pour out yourself for me, Thomas, and contemplate that.

Love,

Cindy

Withdrawing versus Escaping

They have not come to the monastery to escape 
from the realities of life but to find those realities: 

they have felt the terrible insufficiency of life in a civilization 

that is entirely dedicated to the pursuit of shadows. 

~ Thomas Merton

At various times throughout my life, I have felt the desire to escape for a few days or weeks to a monastery or cloister. I knew I didn't want to go some place where an elevated entity was going to provide inspiration and answers; rather, I craved a place of solitude, apart from all other distractions, where I could look inside myself and listen only for the voice of God. "Escape" was often the word I used, but I think, perhaps, that "withdraw" is the more accurate term. I should clarify - I have never actually followed through on this "escape."

I became reacquainted with Thomas Merton in a little book (Mornings with Thomas Merton) I picked up at the infamous Women's Retreat mentioned in an earlier post (Days of Wine and Sticker Roses). And this morning I felt compelled to renew that acquaintance with him yet again. 

I find myself in one of those places in my life where the need to withdraw from the pursuit of shadows is strong. I don't envision myself heading off to a cloister anytime soon, and certainly not a (read in hushed tones) Women's Retreat. Nevertheless, I am going to seek some time to withdraw in the cloister of my own little home. The Frau and I have gone our separate ways, and while I find this to be a most right decision, I'm not just bounding off into the future with a carefree Tigger-like spring in my step. I'm going to need some withdrawal time, not to escape from the realities of life but to find those realities . . .  I will share my journey as I am able.

Thoughts Under The DOMA

“Hey Cindy! We want to invite you guys over on Friday.  We’re having a group of people over and want to include you and Gayle.”

“Sounds great!  What can we bring?”

“Not a thing.  Just yourselves.  We just love you two!”

* * *

“Come on in! Glad you could make it.  Dinner is almost ready.  Ok, everyone, listen up. We don’t have enough china and steaks for everyone.  So, all the straight couples are going to eat in the dining room.  Cindy & Gayle – we have one other gay couple coming, and we thought you guys could eat in the kitchen at that table.  Help yourself to paper plates, and there are some hamburgers and chips on the counter. If you need cheese or other condiments, they should be in the fridge.  We are SO glad you could come – we just love you guys!”

* * *

Ridiculous isn’t it.  Imagine inviting your friends over and making some of them sit at “the kids’” table, or in the kitchen, serving them something less than what the other guests are eating because you just didn’t have enough for everyone. And expecting them to believe you when you tell them they are just as important to you as your other friends who get to sit at the same table as the hosts and have the full meal.

We have visited a couple of “welcoming and affirming” churches the past few weeks, and I begin to see more and more why this is such an important identifier for the LGBT community.  I have been blessed to be a part of some congregations who have been very welcoming and loving to me, but they have not been able, yet, to take that next step toward being openly affirming. It seems to say - Our straight members can have their unions celebrated and blessed by their church family, but not everyone would “understand” if we offered this to same sex couples in our family. It’s not legal in our state, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.  

And why do I want to be “blessed” by a church that for centuries hasn’t seemed to want to recognize my existence? I  want to share this with my church family because I love these people, too; we share the same journey in seeking to know our Creator’s purpose for our lives; we share many of one another’s struggles; and I want to fully share one another’s life celebrations.  I prefer not to have to tip toe gingerly around some topics. Marriage has been the topic of the day thanks to the Supreme Court decision overturning DOMA.  But churches need to realize that marriages (or blessing unions) is not the only “affirming” issue on the table. If a gay couple adopts a child together, would you be willing to celebrate with them in a baptism/dedication of that child? (And if so, are you prepared to explain to the child as he or she grows in the church why you could not bless the union of his/her parents?). If one of the partners should die, are you willing to gather around them and acknowledge the partner’s loss that is left behind as you would any other member losing a spouse? DOMA is important, but it is just the tip of the iceberg.   

To be openly affirming, in my mind, means that I get to sit at the “adult” table.  The china and the steak and the wine are not withheld from me because I’m “too young” or just not “quite” a full-fledged member of the group.  It’s a bit like saying, “We love you guys! But please don’t ask for more than we are prepared to give. You’ve done without this long – let’s not rock the boat and risk offending anyone. YOU understand, right?”

Looking Back, Living Forward - Part 2 (or Days of Wine and Sticker Roses)

As my previous post explained, the Frau and I made a move recently, and I have been "treasure hunting" as part of the downsizing process. I have been amazed at some of what I have uncovered - my old locker combination from high school - really? whatever for? Straight to the trash can. Then again, I have been lucky to uncover some real finds.

When I first moved back to the Kansas City area twelve years ago, I joined an Episcopal church. It was a bitter pill for my Baptist minister father to swallow, but he handled it with a great deal of grace. In the throes of becoming acquainted with my new religious affiliation, and persuaded by some of the women in the church choir, I did something that goes against everything I have ever believed.  Something that would shock anyone who knows me.  I look back on it now and still can't believe I did it.

I went to a weekend Women's Retreat.

There.  I said it. 

But after all, they were Episcopalian, so there was wine. And episodes of the Vicar of Dibley.  And I'd have my own room.  So . . . How bad could it be?  

It was actually not bad at all. I credit the wine and single room with much of that.

One of the activities we participated in was to reflect on a woman who had influenced our life - our spiritual life - in a most significant way.  Everyone got a colored index card with a cute little floral sticker shaped like a heart (the sticker almost ruined it for me) with instructions to write down their reflection and plan to share it later. We had some time to ourselves between writing and sharing, and I went back to my single room and started thinking through the women who had influenced me.  

I had completely forgotten about this until we started packing and moving. But I found my little blue index card, sticker still intact in the top left corner, in a drawer somewhere and reading it again twelve years later, I was glad that I went to the retreat, and that I saved the card. 

When I think of the women who have influenced my life in the most significant way, I am prompted to realize that God not only shapes us by our contact with spiritual giants, but also by our encounters with searching souls. One of the most influential women in my life was a high school English teacher. She was a fascinating and eclectic enigma - German born, she spoke beautiful English with a British accent, was well read, an avid tennis player, and loved music - from Debussy to Hindu chants to Neil Diamond. She introduced me to a world of books I had not hitherto encountered - from Norwegian esoterics to Egyptian and Sumerian mythology to classic science fiction, and everything in the gaps. She explained to me the concept of the Renaissance man, and modeled the Renaissance woman. The greatest gift she gave to me, however, was the opportunity to discuss my faith in true intellectual dialogue. She was searching - and we had many discussions about the dichotomy between my view of a loving, forgiving God - which she admired - as opposed to her perspective of a vengeful, wrathful God, which was the only one she had every known and couldn't quite release. She allowed this 16/17 year old to meet her on an equal plane in these dialogues - and sometimes trade roles and become the teacher. And being able to wrestle with WHY I felt the way I did about God so that I could dialogue with a mentor whose intellect I so respected, was truly one of the greatest spiritual growth experiences of my life.

Some Things Just Can't Be Explained

My ongoing dialogue about the existence of God continues with my oldest friend, and while I maintain that the more I know, the more I realize I don’t know, and while I enjoy any conversation that encourages me to think and question what I believe, I continue to rest assured about the existence of God. And here is just one reason why.  

In the past few weeks I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of several significant music making experiences. This is one of the perks of having chosen a profession that I love and that gives to me far more joy than frustration. As a result, I’ve been lucky enough to experience unexplainable welling of emotion in several instances in recent days. In some cases I was moved by text as enhanced by music, in others by the simple joy of watching young people actually capturing the meaning and joy of what they were singing—as they sang it.

While in New York with some of my students who were participating in the Honors Performance Series National Honor Choir, under the direction of Dr. Eph Ehly, I found myself brought very close to tears of joy during not one, but two different rehearsals of Dan Forrest’s gorgeous setting of  You Are the Music.  Amy Lowell’s poem, which grounds the work, is moving in its text, but gains its power from Forrest’s setting of the lyrics to music.  Were I to simply read the poem, I would no doubt be moved, but not to the heart-rending depths that occurred from hearing this text sung—and understood and experienced—by almost 300 talented high school students from all over the country.

‘Tis you that are the music, not your song.

The song is but a door which, op’ning wide,

Lets forth the pent-up melody inside,

Your spirit’s harmony, which clear and strong

Sings but of you.

Throughout your whole life long

Your songs, your thoughts, your doings, each divide,

This perfect beauty.

Waves within a tide, 

Or single notes amid a glorious throng.

The song of earth has many different chords; 

many moods and many tones,

Yet always ocean.

So is this one music,

with a thousand cadences.

– Listening by Amy Lowell

A couple of weeks later, I was back in Kansas listening to the Kansas All State Choir rehearse under the direction of Dr. Edith Copely. These talented kids were exploring the gamut of human emotion in the various selections they were preparing, and they were realizing some powerful musical and emotional moments. I shared one of those “in my gut” moments when I am moved and so glad I am a part of this profession as they sang How Can I Keep From Singing arranged by Taylor Davis, and Tides of Ocean by Matthew Orlovich. Because of near blizzard conditions in Wichita, these young singers had been fighting staggered arrivals of members of the choir, and the stress of getting there themselves.  Dr. Copely, however, managed what could have been an untenable situation, guiding them to some incredible musical moments to which they followed willingly and received their just reward.

I’m not a publicly emotional person as a rule.  Perhaps this is why music is an important part of my life, because it gives voice and expression to emotions that I am loathe to express openly in any other way. What is it about music that gives it the ability to reach to our very depths and extract the very feeling that has been suppressed and craves outward expression?  What is that overwhelming wave of feeling that conjures up goose bumps (or “chicken skin” or chills, depending on your geographic locale) almost to the point of weeping or laughter?  I can’t explain it, anymore than I can explain God’s existence.  But I can’t deny the power of it.  And how could something that powerfully moving not have some divine Creator as its author?

My life flows on in endless song;

Above earth’s lamentation,

I hear the sweet, tho’ far-off hymn

That hails a new creation;

Thro’ all the tumult and the strife

I hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in my soul —

How can I keep from singing?

What tho’ my joys and comforts die?

The Lord my Saviour liveth;

What tho’ the darkness gather round?

Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to that refuge clinging;

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,

How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin;

I see the blue above it;

And day by day this pathway smooths,

Since first I learned to love it;

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,

A fountain ever springing;

All things are mine since I am his —

How can I keep from singing?

– Robert Lowry

Faith and Certitude

I went to a reading last night, by Kelly Barth, of her hilarious–tragic–inspiring–thought-provoking memoir, My Almost Certainly Real Imaginary Jesus (published by Arktoi press — see my previous review of the book here). As much as I enjoyed reading the book initially, it became more vividly real as I listened to the author read her own words in the sanctuary of a church that had been one of her previous faith communities. At times, it was like being a welcome guest at a family reunion as she laughed with audience members who had shared many of the memories of the birth of this congregation of which they were all an integral part. As she neared the end of the reading, she commented that the book had been a ten-year project, that she had morphed spiritually throughout its writing, with a huge spiritual morph just as she completed the book. But (and I hope I capture the essence of what she said even though I can't quote her precisely) the Christian faith in which she was raised is still deeply rooted in her marrow—she is still "genetically" Christian, even though her current faith practice has evolved into more of a contemporary cosmology.

Earlier this week I spent fifteen wonderful minutes listening to Rev. Adam Hamilton, Senior Pastor of Kansas City's Methodist Church of the Resurrection, give the sermon at the Inaugural Prayer Service (see it for yourself here). As he reflected on the Inaugural theme—Faith in America's Future—he summarized that "It is this faith that calls and compels us to humility, and compassion and concern for the nobodies. It is this faith that helps us to discover the kinds of visions that are worthy of our great nation and worthy of the sacrifices we can make. It is this faith that sustains us when we feel like giving up."

So, Cindy, this is all well and good, but what is your point exactly in sharing these two experiences? I do have one. Really.

In my previous post I raised some pretty pointed and serious questions by my dear friend, Robert. We have been having dialogues like this since we were in fifth grade, and it is one of the great gifts of my life that we continue to be dear friends and continue to challenge one another to think "deep thoughts." I still don't have answers for him, but I am so very glad that he has challenged me to continue to question "why."

Listening to both Adam and Kelly this week have at least sparked some "reasons"—if not clear cut answers—to some of those questions.

As Kelly pointed out, there is so much about the cosmos that we just don't know. That comforts me. People who combine faith and certitude frighten me. There are many things of which I cannot be certain, but my faith is so deeply intertwined in my DNA, that it does continue to sustain me, even if I can't ever explain why.

Adam retold the story of Martin Luther King in a moment of great despair, ready to give up and feeling wholly unable to continue on. Then King described "experiencing the presence of the Divine," and he found the strength to carry on. I have had similar moments in my own life—weeping in a dark attic apartment in the weeks and months after my youngest sister died, wondering why God sent angels to people in the Bible to comfort them in their despair, while I was left to wallow alone in my grief and depression. Then, like "knocking a hole in the darkness" the phone would ring and an old friend would say, "I just wanted to call and see how you were doing."  

There are many things I don't know. Many questions I can't answer. Many circumstances I can't explain. But I have experienced the presence of something Divine—and continue to—and hear the voice of something much greater than myself in the voice of others. Rejection is just not an option for me. And yes, the Church is full of human people who often get it wrong—really wrong and cause a lot of pain and scars. But with the faith that is an inherent part of me, I am compelled to do what I am able to "knock holes in the darkness" where I may, to wrestle, alongside others, who are brave enough to ask the tough questions, and to show compassion for the nobodies—whoever they might be. 

God help me. 

But if I ever become one of those certain, unquestioning Christians, 

God help me more.