Don’t flay the sheep.

Our hearts are restless…

Don’t you love when two completely unrelated topics converge in your head?

Here’s mine for the day: Billy Graham and Wilco. I kinda love them both. Billy Graham, admittedly not perfect, but who is? I think in many ways he is a model Christian. Devoted to Christ. Grew in his faith and in his actions through his life. Humble, even though he did great things. Also, he can preach.

Wilco: from Chicago. Some of the best road trip music ever written.

Now, the most obvious convergence: I’m SURE the members of Wilco hold Johnny Cash in high esteem and Johnny and June were dear dear friends with Billy and Ruth as they all settled into old age in the mountains together. (Oh, to be a fly on the wall for one of their evenings together!)

But two articles today have me connecting them in a different way: restless hearts.

(And, just to make it a little better, let’s add this quote so that e can make a three-way connection: Wilco, Billy, and Augustine:

et inquietum est cor nostrum donec requiescat in te

Our hearts are restless until they rest in you)

In this lovely review of the new Wilco album, John Thompson points out that Wilco’s indictment of religion is not a complete rejection…it may, in fact, be restlessness rather than rejection:

Tweedy is in rare form lyrically. His is a consistent meditation on the need for – and personal commitment to – lasting love that runs far deeper than mere sentiment. Even his ruminations on faith and his own lack of religiousness feel more like a rejection of hypocrisy than the middle finger so many rockers and cynics seem to feel the need to throw at God. When Tweedy talks about the God he doesn’t believe in, it is with sadness, not vitriol, and often sounds like a God I don’t believe in either. His thoughtful and brutally self-aware articulation of his frustration with his own nature, his need for the love of others and his fractured commitment to be there for the recipients of his love is moving. His seems to be a heart facing in the right direction. Here’s hoping he finds that heart’s true home, if he hasn’t already, before his journey ends.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Montreat, NC, Billy is waiting to die. And he’s written honestly about what it’s like to grow old, and what it’s like to wait for full union with God. This reinterprets that classic Augustine quote for me. Restlessness goes on and on, even after one has “found” God (or, should I say, after one has figured out that God never got lost or lost you). The restlessness continues throughout the Christian life, and the final restlessness is in the waiting for reunion.

So, here’s a hopeful prayer: in that reunion, may we someday see Johnny and June jamming with Wilco while Billy and Ruth and Augustine sit back, nodding they heads to the sound of the eternal choir.

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I’ll take what I can get

It would be an understatement to call the last week of parenting around here “rocky”.

But, I’ll take what I can get…

Erik took the kids out today. I stayed home and hacked away at the home organization project. And enjoyed a few hours of no one needing anything.

I met them for dinner. We walked to the (super nice) grocery store and had caramel apples custom made.

We walked home in the dark.

Abram went to sleep relatively quickly.

And then Zora hugged me on her way to bed and I said,

“You’re my best girl.”

And she said, “You’re my best mama…no you’re my best baby.”

“Really?!?”

“No…you’re my best peanut.”

“Then you’re my best cashew.”

And then we made up a lullaby based on the song, “Close Your Sleepy Eyes, My Little Buckaroo,” but called it “Close your sleepy eyes my cashew”.

And if that’s the best 15 minutes I can get this week, I’ll take it. Makes everything completely worthwhile.

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Praying on 9/11

As I write this, I know I have some ministry colleagues who are rubbing their eyes from computer-strain, and earnestly begging the Holy Spirit to GET ON WITH IT already and give them a little boost for the sermon tomorrow.

I think, for church-y people, the tenth anniversary of 9/11/2001 falling on a Sunday is both a curse and a blessing.

On the one hand, it means that an expectation of commemoration during worship has fallen on us. Ten years later, how people react to 9/11 still runs the gamut, and often says as much about other things in their lives as it does about how they were affected by the actual event. There’s a good chance that someone in your congregation will think you got it wrong, no matter what you preach, how you pray, or what special thing you planned for worship.

On the other hand, if you’re a church-y person, you’ve been given the opportunity to commemorate in the way you do best: with the gathered community, in prayer and reflection.

I’ll be off to church tomorrow, my second Sunday of this new adventure as not-the-pastor. I have no illusion that, as an associate pastor, I would have gotten to preach this Sunday. But I know I would have at least had an opportunity to help plan worship.

And, for me especially, being in church to remember seems about right: ten years ago, I spent 9/11 surrounded by my seminary classmates, watching the news on a big screen, with the sound turned down while we prayed…and prayed…and prayed…

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How it’s going

It’s official: I’m no longer working. Or, in church lingo, I no longer have a call. As of September 1, I am a stay at home parent.

Given that in this same week, Zora also started kindergarten, and, without the commute, I finally feel like I am living in the new neighborhood, it feels like a whole new life.

Here are a few thoughts on how it’s going:

1. The other kindergarten moms (because, yes, they are mostly moms) all seem to know each other already. This is the thing that I always find hardest about moving…I feel like I’m disturbing the balance of things when I try to break into a chatting group. And, then I start going toward the introvert-side of things, and hang out on my own in a corner.
2. Thank goodness, then, for Abram’s winning smile. This kid literally stops people in their tracks on the sidewalk with his goofy, enthusiastic grin. He is my little conversation starter.
3. And, as for making friends, yesterday was a great reminder that I already have some: Kim, who I taught with several years ago at Providence St Mel lives 5 blocks north of me. And she, too, has just left the workforce. We went for a walk yesterday morning. Then, in the evening, another friend who precedes our move to St. Charles and this subsequent move, Alison, dropped by to “borrow” our piano, and stayed for dinner.
4. The kindergarten schedule is kicking my butt. Zora’s fine. But as I get into the rhythm of dropping her off and picking, and taking care of Abram in between, I find myself thinking: how would we do this if I was working? The truth is, we managed a pretty crazy pick up and drop off schedule last year (preschool in the morning; daycare in the afternoon) and if we had stayed put, without a middle of the day transfer from one place to another, things would be easier this year. We would figure it out if I was working. But I understand how easy it is to get used to not having to figure it out!
5. Most important achievement of the week: doing enough unpacking that I can turn my little study/office space into usable office space. (Which is why I’m finally dipping my toes into the blog again…) At the beginning of the week, the study was just scary boxes everywhere. You could barely walk through the room. Now I am sitting at a desk, and I have a comfy chair, and a wall full of books. Pictures and plaques and crosses are going up on the walls. There’s a desk lamp. Oh, it’s so nice.
6. And unpacking and organizing are exactly the kind of thing I now have time to do. I feel like my “call” for now at least, is to dig through several years of organizational neglect of our household. (Not because I’m the woman: if for some reason Erik were the at home person right now, I’d expect him to do it.) But I think this will be a good cleansing.
7. I’ve jokingly called this time my “baby-batical.” November will mark the 8th anniversary of my ordination. And, while I’ve not stayed in one position that whole time and had some respite between calls, I think I do need some time to regroup. So, joking aside, it seems like the right time to pull some things, and myself, together.
8. At the same time that I am enjoying this, I am reminding myself of what a privilege it is that I can do this. By some measures, we probably can’t afford me not working as a family (for instance, I’m sure it will delay any possibility of home ownership for a us a god bit longer…although, in this economy, I sometimes think our renter status is a bit of a privilege as well). But in the grand scheme of things, we will survive just fine, and quite well in fact. And I’m grateful that we have the affluence to slow down like this.

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Spiritual but not religious

I find this meditation on the whole “spiritual but not religious”  thing by Lillian Daniels to be true, but also a bit harsh. (And, I would like to add as a disclaimer that Rev. Daniels serves a church not too far from me, so partly just in case I ever run into her: from everything I’ve heard about her, and from other things I’ve read, she is a lovely person and deep thinker, so if you are really turned off by this piece, I’d say you ought to read more of her stuff before making any quick judgement calls. I also recognize, as a writer, that this sort of short-form meditation is hard to write because you usually have to leave quite a bit out.)

The harshness of it, to a large extent, I understand. I get her frustration as a clergyperson. Because I do find God in nature, but I also find God among the gathered community. So it sort of breaks my heart when people are unable to engage the community as part of their spiritual life. I think they are missing out.

And, I agree that American religious and spiritual practice, both inside and outside of religious institutions, has become too self-centered and individualistic.

If I were her, I would have added the observation that just as a sunset and the mountains and a lovely peaceful deer are parts of nature, so too is the busload of stinky people you are crammed into mass transit. Yes, human beings are part of the natural world. Not always pretty, but there are times when unlovely things happen in the mountains as well.

That said, I wish there were some tiny little attempt in her piece to find a way to express the desire to engage the “spiritual but not religious” person in the community. And I don’t necessarily mean getting them through the door of the church. I’m not even sure myself how to do this, but Daniels mentions the idea that spirituality practiced in community is hard work, and I wish had tipped her hat to the idea that spirituality practiced in community could include the community of the airplane seat-partner.

What do you think? I’m really curious to hear some other reactions to this!

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Book Boxes

I started packing the books this afternoon. There are (probably quite literally, but I am afraid to count) hundreds of other things on my to-do list, and with a week left, I wonder if I have no business squandering time when my brain is functional to pack books. I should probably wait until next week when, in my last three days at this call, my mother in law will be in town to watch my kids and I can pull all-nighters packing.

The book shelves in my study carry great weight for me, though. Again, probably literally, but I’d prefer not to think about what carting these boxes to my car will do to my back, or how many trips of the car it will take to get them home.

I’ve been a minister for almost 8 years now. But this is the first position where my books have had a more permanent place to rest. I packed them up 8 years ago at the end of my seminary internship, and unpacked some of them into my classroom at my first pastoring job: as a high school religion teacher. For the two years I was there, though, I had to pack up the books and take them with me when I left for the summer.

I didn’t bother to unpack them when I was in a pastoral residency program after that: my office was in a hallway and there was barely room for me, let alone my books.

When I arrived here a little over 5 years ago, the congregation was busily preparing to move me into a bigger room. I started out in a smaller one, and spent a few months there, but I returned after my maternity leave that fall to a lovely, huge study with a beautiful picture window next to my desk.

And opposite that window, there’s a whole wall of bookshelves. I got to pick them out of an office supply catalogue. And a dear, dear man named Len assembled them, and lovingly anchored them to the wall since he knew my new baby daughter might learn to crawl and pull up at church.

My books are not just some ivory-tower collection. They are connected to what I’ve done as a pastor. There’s Adam by Henri Nouwen, the book we bought all the kids on a mission trip one year, whether they were ready to read it or not, because we knew Nouwen’s story of his life with a young man with disabilities might help them understand their the week of service at an “Exceptional Persons” camp.

There are several copies of the book I give to grieving parents.

There are Bible commentaries that taught me everything I needed for sermons.

There is a beautifully bound set of all of the worship bulletins from one year of worship in this church that my head of staff secretly stashed away for a year and then turned into books for me and the other associate.

There are my Spanish grammars and workbooks that, as the pastor with the most (although it is truly pitifully little) Spanish I’ve had to use once in a while to help with translation for one of the preschool moms, or for a final check of the language in a document for a mission trip to Guatemala.

There are books about my past, and books about my future. There are books that will always remind me of a certain person, or a certain event.

Even the shelves themselves make me think about Len: when he died a year and a half ago, I was the only pastor available for an immediate visit, so I got to hold the hand that put together my shelves just after he had died, and pray with his family as they let him go.

I went into ministry for many reasons, but the books are a big reason. I love books and learning. I love the way a book can preserve knowledge, dialogue, and community, even through the centuries. I love how they smell, and I love their weight (except when I’m moving them). I love that Christians are “people of the book”.

I know this makes me a traditionalist, and a bit of an old-foagy. And I’m OK with that.

I’m not going to a new call yet. I guess God thinks I need to be not-as-busy for a little while. So in our new apartment, we have given the children a shared bedroom. My husband painted the extra room in a deep browny-purple color, and installed a floor-to-ceiling shelving system for books. In a few weeks, I’ll start unpacking my books there, across from my little arts and crafts oak desk, with one small cozy window looking out at the brick of our neighboring two-flat. There might not be room for all my books: they’ll have to share with Erik’s books and some of the kids books. And this is where I’ll write the occasional sermon and other things for the next little while, and where I hope to carve out some time to read.

As I started packing the books, I realized that they are something of a plug: one of the shelves is empty now, so I know that I am going to leave. And that I’d better get to work because there’s a whole lot to do.

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The Almost Completed Move

Late last fall, I told my current congregation that I would be leaving at the end of August. Erik and I had decided that we could handle 2 kids and 2 jobs, but not if one of those jobs involved a long commute (that would be Erik’s job with its close to three hours of commute time each day). (Here’s a link to the long-version letter to the congregation explaining that decision.)

This has been a move in stages. Normally, pastors in my denomination search for a new call, get one, announce this to their current congregation, and begin the work of leaving, usually within a few months.

Our process, for a variety of reasons, could’t work this way. We had to start the work of searching for a new place and dealing with the questions around school for Zora (a complicated process in Chicago) last winter. We knew there were enough small-world connections between my church in Geneva and people we knew in Chicago that there was no way to do this secretly for  months. And, my church has had an interesting year (2 sabbaticals and a family leave) in terms of staffing.

We moved to Chicago in June. Since then, I’ve been commuting back to Geneva 3 weekdays with my kiddos in tow since their childcare is out there; working from home other days; and, of course, commuting with Erik and the kids on Sundays. Except, of course, for the weeks when I had youth group trips; or Bible School; or vacation time.

And now I have less than 2 weeks left. And the long goodbye is almost over and it is brutal. These leave-takings were one of the reasons I would have preferred NOT to go into ministry. I hate leaving people and places.

I’m keeping my ears open for ministry opportunities closer to our new home, but so far there’s nothing lined up. And, in all honesty, I think I need at least a month to get Zora rolling in kindergarten; have conversations with Abram about things other than sermons and mission trip plans; really truly finish unpacking the house (large portions of our life are still in boxes); get some household matters in order; start exercising regularly; and to wean my poor family from the diet of fast food that has become an inevitable part of our ridiculous schedule. There is lots of bulgar wheat in our future, I think.

There are so many things I wish I could write about this transition, as well, but it has to wait because there is so much to do. Final sermons; packing my office; a long list of final to-dos; saying goodbye.

All of this a perfect illustration, of course, of one of the great realities of ministry (and life in general): there is never enough time.

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Six Months

Abram is six months old today.

He and I celebrated this morning by…going out to a cafe where he was supposed to take a nap and I was supposed to write a sermon.

Instead, he rolled around on the floor by my feet while I got partway through the writing.

This (and a pastor-friend’s comment today reminding me that it’s not out of the ordinary for pastor’s kids to become pastors) got me thinking about a non-traditional catalogue of what Abram has done in 6 months: church work.

He is well on his way to a fine record of pastor’s kid activities. (In fact, I would say, child of a female pastor especially, in that the need for him to be in close proximity to the milk-machine made most of these activities possible!)

So, six months of PK-hood for Abram:

• a three-day clergy clinic on family systems theory
• portions of a  worship colloquium for worship grant recipients
• the 3 1/2 hour each way road trip with 8 teenagers that went along with that colloquium
• 2 youth group trips, both to North Carolina (including a 12 hour each way bus ride for one of those trips)
• about 5 staff meetings
• perching on my back for VBS opening and closing gatherings

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Transition

We are in an extended transition around here. In June, we moved back to the city. But I am still working in the suburbs (the far, far, far west suburbs) until the end of August. During a “normal” week, this means I get one day to work at home, three weekdays to commute with the kids in the car (daycare is out in the ‘burbs), and then Sunday to commute with the whole family to church.

Not that there are many normal work weeks for me. It’s summer and I’m a youth pastor. Since we moved, I’ve had:

• a three day road trip with 8 teens to a conference on worship in Michigan (my kids in tow; no Erik along, but we were on the campus where my Dad works and he was an AMAZING grandpa!)
• followed within 24 hours by departure for the youth group mission trip to North Carolina with 40 teens and 12 adults (again, my own kids in tow; Erik along this time; and our little family flew rather than taking the bus)
• VBS week, in which the kids and I (without Erik) moved into my head of staff pastor’s house (he and his wife are away while they’re on sabbatical) so that we didn’t have to commute every day
• followed, again immediately, by departure with 11 youth and 2 adults for a youth conference in Montreat, NC (my kids in tow; no Erik; 12 hour bus ride on either end of the trip)
• sundry vacation time…

All of which means I haven’t had to commute every week with the kids.

But, I’m getting pretty ground down by the transition. And how the transition keeps going on and on and on and on.

And the reality of moving and leaving friends and a church dawns on us slowly. (About a week ago, it finally hit Zora that she won’t see her friends as frequently this fall. She thought we would see them often, since we see them often now.)

I am admittedly jealous of a pastor friend who was packing her family for a cross-country move the same week that I was packing for our cross-metropolitan one. At least they got to pack the boxes, load the truck, and rip off the bandaid. We are having all our “lasts” spread out. Two nights ago, leading a back-home group meeting on this youth conference, I realized it was kind of my last time leading my youth group in prayer. I had to pray incredibly slowly so as not to burst into tears. As it was, I didn’t burst, but basically leaked throughout the entire prayer.

Meanwhile, it has me and Erik thinking about ways we create some traditions and consistency for our kids. Erik and I are both pastor’s kids, so we know how the moving thing works. We loved living in different places. We didn’t like feeling rootless.

Here are at least two things we’ve  come up with.

Family pictures in place: We are having a family photo shoot done in the neighborhood where we lived in St. Charles in two weeks. We’re thinking we’ll make this a tradition every time we move: that we have some good quality family portraits taken in the neighborhood where we lived before we move so that our kids can mark time and memories in the places they lived.

Regular places: After my third time going to the Presbyterian Youth Conference in Montreat, NC this week, I am seriously considering applying to be a small group leader next summer. In all likelihood, I will not be working with a specific church youth group next summer, so I won’t be going as a chaperone. But, it’s a place where you can take your family along (incredible child care! room for relaxation and contemplation for an accompanying spouse). Zora has gone on three of these trips now, and at this point, her weeks in their kids clubs have been her experience of summer camp. So we are wondering if this might become a consistent place for us.

(And now, off to take a nap: being in this in between time is exhausted.)

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Seven Things for the Seventh Month

Let’s just say: June was off the charts crazy around here. And by “here” I mean: Chicago, where I now live; Geneva, Il, where I still work; Michigan, where I went to a conference with my worship grant team; North Carolina, where I took my youth group on a mission trip; Wisconsin, where we went to a family wedding. June kicked my butt.

What I wish I could write about is that crazy mission trip, a trip which I do believe could be made into a movie entitled: “National Lampoon’s Mission Trip” (I want to be played by Julie Bowen, by the way, because I like to imagine that if I was ridiculously thin, that’s what I would look like). However (and I’m serious about this) I’m worried that I might be charged with libel if I speak too freely.

So for now, amidst the general insanity that is my life, seven lovely things for the month of July.

1. We have a backyard. I haven’t had a backyard since I left home for college. My parents haven’t lived in a place with a backyard for about 10 years. Thus, my backyard living has been severely curtailed. But now we have one. Fenced in. Complete with fireflies, bunnies, and a garage completely overgrown with ivy. Sigh.

2. On our commutes to and fro, Zora and I have been exploring ways to drive through as much forest preserve as possible. So far, we’ve seen these magical things: egrets nesting; an elk herd; fireflies like stars; patches of prairie; fields of brown eyed susans; and a blimp.

3. Erik and I fell in love with Carolina style barbecue ( the kind with vinegary sauce), and found a good slow cooker approximation. We’re almost out of our first batch, and I think it’s time to make more.

4. A beautiful thing: Zora playing with her herd of little Moe cousins this past weekend…all of them lighting up sparklers in the twilight right about where their Great Grandpa Orville’s barn used to stand.

5. Speaking of that, sparklers were provided courtesy of Erik’s cousin Amy at her wedding. How awesomely nostalgic, sweet, and meaningful is this: Amy and her now-husband bought Orville & Ruth’s farmhouse and had their wedding under a big white tent that stood just to the side of where the barn was (until it had to be taken down a few years ago). Erik got a little teary, I think, when he first spotted the tent, like a phantom of the barn.

6. Two stops, on that wedding trip to northern Wisconsin, for lunch & pie at Norske Nook restaurants. You would not believe this pie. It is too good to be real. I think it might be a sin to drive past one if these places & not stop for pie!

7. Speaking of weddings: my sister Anna is getting married this fall and she is the BEST BRIDE EVER for selecting a bridesmaid dress for us that is completely rewearable…gorgeous but also appropriate for a minister at a professional function.

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