Don’t flay the sheep.

What to Say

“There are no words” says my wise friend Katherine, regarding the shootings in a Connecticut elementary school today.

I’m saying the F-word under my breath quite a bit here, but I am now trying to figure out what on earth to say to my first grader when I pick her up from school in a few hours. Because I’m going to have to come up with some words.

I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’ve got a few years of working as a children and youth pastor under my belt, so here are a few things I’m thinking about the coming conversation.

1. Unfortunately, you can’t script this. You need to figure out what your kid needs to know and what your kid needs to talk about.
2. This is a really horrible event. I don’t mean to minimize that. But, younger elementary students don’t always yet have the abstract reasoning skills to understand geography and probability. And, as adults, when we are frightened and upset we, too, loose some of our logical capacity. The 24 hour media news cycle and a generalized anxiety in our society exacerbate this. If you live close to where this happened, this is going to be a whole different conversation than if you live far away. As you think about talking to kids about this, acknowledge that it’s scary, but please, for your own peace of mind, and their’s, please remember that the probability of something like this happening in your community is relatively small. Again, I’m not trying to minimize this, but you are more likely to be hit by lightening.
3. When you talk to your kids about this, be calm. That is the biggest gift you can give. Calmness is not a lack of emotion…we can be sad about this. Take a few deep breaths before you talk. Make sure you are not living in the animal part of your brain when you talk to your kids. Live in the part of your brain where you are attentive to your emotions, but not being reactive to your emotions.
4. Hug your kid. Because you’ll want to do that. But, again, don’t make them unnecessarily anxious. (Don’t say, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re safe!”)
5. Your kids don’t need to watch too much of the news coverage. Neither do you. The paper will have more information in the morning. Turn off the radio and the TV.
6. If your kid comes home and hasn’t heard about it yet, you don’t have to talk about this right away. Spend some time thinking and praying about how you’ll talk about it.

So then, what to talk about?

1. The biggest thing: you are safe. Your actions as well as your words will communicate this.
2. Let kids tell you what scares them. Listen. Take them seriously.
3. But, don’t push kids to talk about or own fear that isn’t theirs.
4. You can also talk about how we are sometimes sad on behalf of people we don’t even know. Teach compassion. Pray for the families of these kids. Pray for people who are scared tonight. It’s a good evening to pray with your kids.
5. Don’t demonize. I’ll get a little theological here. I don’t believe people are bad. I believe God created us good. But we do bad things. Everyone does. If you want to teach your children this, don’t say, “A bad man did this.” And this poor young man must have been wrapped up in a horrid place in his life to do this. This is radical compassion.
6. If there’s a conversation about death, the line I’ve used in the past is, “We are sad they are gone. Very sad. We miss them (their families miss them). They are OK. God is taking care of them.” If that works for you, feel free to use it.

Prayers, friends. And peace, deepest peace. That might be my best bit of advice: abide in God’s peace while you have this conversation with your kids. You will be safe. Your kid will be safe. God is taking care of you.

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On Santa and Calvin’s Third Use of the Law

It’s the time of year again, when we try to figure out what to do with Santa around here. And this year, I’ve reached some new clarity on the issue, with the help of Zora’s continually astute questions and a little assist from my dear John Calvin.

To review, we never really told Zora about Santa. She caught on when she got to preschool. Now in her third year of formal schooling, she asks if Santa is real. My stock answer is, “Well, what do you think?” (Good, huh? Feel free to steal that line. It’s definitely one of my finer parenting techniques.) I’m with my good friend Martha on this (well, truth be told I’m not quite as freaked out by the whole thing as she is, but I like her thoughts about gratitude.)

Around here, we do stockings. We also do shoes on the eve of St. Nicholas and give the kids one early toy (instead of a bunch of candy or crap they don’t need). We read the Demi book, The Legend of St. Nicholas. I recommended it to my friend John a couple years ago. And while he enjoyed it, he did point out that the stories about Nicholas from ancient Christian tradition are much much stranger and freakier than the creepy old guy who invades your house by chimney.

There are things, though, that bug me about the Santa tradition that I haven’t always been able to articulate.

But Zora, perceptive little being, helped me identify my  biggest issue with Santa this week. We were walking home from school and she was describing the class “trip” to Holland that day. (Her class is “travelling” to different countries to learn about holiday traditions this week.) Now, I don’t know exactly what was said in class, but, while there was no direct discussion of Zwarte Piet (aka Black Peter), there seems to have been some kid who brought up some version of the idea that someone travels with Sinterklaas and punishes the bad kids (curiously, it was also a different version than David Sedaris’s treatment of the subject in his hilarious description of Dutch holiday tradition).

So this gets Zora into discussing “the naughty list”.

And it hits me. I hate the naughty list. First off, it’s an empty threat. I mean what modern, with-it parent is going to actually act on the naughty list threat? This is basic parenting, folks. Don’t propose a consequence you have no intention of following through on.

But, I don’t believe in the naughty list.

Now, don’t get me wrong here: I don’t think kids should have “Santa” as their main model for how God is. But, at its best, the Santa tradition does embody something of the truth about God. Demi puts it well:

Throughout the world today, whether he goes by the name of St. Nicholas, Sinter Klaas, or Santa Claus, this figure who shows enormous generosity, a love of children, deep care for the poor and needy, and a completely selfless nature is considered to embody the spirit of Christmas and the true spirit of the Lord.

And I don’t completely agree with the argument that a kid whose parents lie about Santa will make the leap to an idea that the parents are lying about Jesus.

But, I do think that we get some of our image of what a benevolent higher power is like from the cultural version of Santa.

And I would prefer not to have a God who keeps a naughty list. We’re accountable, of course, for the awful stuff we do. But the naughty list comes without a hint of grace.

We don’t get gifts (or “graces”) because we’re good. We get gifts because we are loved.

These thoughts all coalesce in my brain in about a half block of walking. I have 2 blocks left before we get home. And I have to figure out how to explain it to Zora.

So, here’s what I say:

Me: “You know, Z, I don’t like the naughty list. I think that’s just something parents tell their kids to try to get them to be good.”

Zora: “So, is Santa real?”

Me: “What do you think?”

Zora: distracted by water in the gutter…water is a novelty here in California

Me: “And, here’s the thing: I think you should be good not to get on a list, or because you’ll get presents. You should do good things because you’re glad that there are people who love you.”

And that, friends, is Calvin’s Third Use of the Law (*see brief theological explanation below), right there, boiled down to first grade level (yes, it is more complicated than first grade level, but we have to start somewhere).

God doesn’t keep a naughty list that determines whether or not you are graced (gifted) with the presence of Jesus. God just loves you.

And being good isn’t about getting on the right list: you’re already on. You’re good because God loves you, and you’re thankful.

And that’s my biggest gripe about Santa. The naughty list. I can keep hedging a little on whether Santa is real or not, mostly for the sake of Zora’s classmates, because she doesn’t need to disillusion them quite yet. But there’s no way I’ll be propagating the myth of the naughty list. I just like the idea of grace way too much.

* Here’s an oversimplified tutorial just to get you up to speed theologically:

John Calvin, sixteenth century theologian who is one of my intellectual ancestors, had a way of thinking about the purpose of “the Law” (i.e. the stuff the Bible says we should or should not do) that has come to be called “Calvin’s Third Use of the Law”. Luther (who came before Calvin) said that the Law’s function was mainly two things: to remind us that we’re not doing what we’re supposed to be doing; and to keep us from doing even worse. Calvin added an additional use: it’s a guide for living thankfully because of what God has done for us. Different Protestant traditions used to fight about this a whole lot, but in my household (Presbyterian pastor married to a guy who was raised Lutheran; family currently attending the Lutheran church down the block) we mostly joke around about it. Because we are nerds about theology.

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She really loves her mama

Among the more amazing things about children: their incredible ability sometimes to do something that is intensely loving and also completely crazy making at the same time. You know, like when Abram starts kissing Erik’s hand the other day, and then bites it.

Zora took it to a whole new level yesterday, though.

Today is my birthday. We weren’t planning anything huge as far as I knew. I feel like the past three days have been gift enough. My parents flew in from Chicago. I ran a 10k (making incredibly good time, for me!) with amazing views of the Golden Gate Bridge. Then my parents took the kids back home, and left Erik and I in the city for a 24 hour date: time to wander the streets; dinner with an old college friend (one of the great joys of being married to your college sweetheart: you have these wonderful mutual friends from college!); a comfy bed in a decent hotel; leisurely breakfast of croissants and coffee; Erik sending me off for a teeny tiny shopping spree before we took the train back; returning home to happy kids and a house cleaned by one’s amazing parents. What more could I want?

Turns out Zora thought a bit of celebration was in order.

Just as supper was coming together around here last night, the four adults in the house (Erik and my parents and me) started to catch wind of something Zora was planning without our knowledge (because it was a surprise). While out playing with her neighborhood herd, she had invited about 4 families (that would be a total of 16 people) to come to our house at 9 am and sig happy birthday to me. Then she went back to each family and asked them to bring cookies. And then she went back and told them it was going to be a party and they should bring presents.

Erik spent a good 30 minutes getting this information out of an irate Zora (this was supposed to be a surprise, after all). Then he spent another 30 tracking down everyone’s contact information (remember: we’re new to the neighborhood) and sending a few texts and emails to make sure we didn’t have a small crowd on our doorstep at nine. (I intend NOT to spend the morning in my pajamas just in case we missed anyone.) Then he had a chat with her about inviting people over for events without consulting with a parent.

Oh, this girl, though! The self directed assertive little thing that she is (which will be so amazing when she is, oh, say, 25). But, she sure does love her mama.

What a birthday present!

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My books are too heavy

Except for the fact that they are not round, my books are beginning to make me feel like Sisyphus.

When we moved back to Chicago two years ago, I insisted on the purchase of a top of the line wall full of easy to install and take down and reinstall book shelves. I also insisted on the third bedroom being painted a lovely, dark, dusky purple (which was actually called “Lincoln Cottage Brown”: Erik claims that this is further evidence that our 16th president may not have been entirely straight, that his cottage was not brown, but actually purple). I had 11 feet of floor to ceiling book heaven in my room for my collection of minister-books.

You should have seen the look on the poor moving guy’s face when we walked in there and saw what he was going to have to pack. But he did it. And now I’ve got all those books in a house in California with absolutely no wall on which I can install those bookshelves (believe me, I’ve tried to figure this out). There is also no basement. But that’s OK because people in California don’t actually park in their garages: they use them for storage.

I have a sunny little room here to use as a study. Yesterday I did the best I could to unpack the books. And get the sunny little room whipped into shape.

A hour and a half into this project, though, I realized that I had quite literally boxed myself into the room, by piling the books that wouldn’t fit in the doorway. I had to dig myself out before the baby woke up from his nap.

My living room is now full of book boxes.

So today, we roll again. Up the hill. Maybe I will have the book situation in this house sorted in time for our next move.

Or maybe I will never move again (if the landlord lets me stay forever).

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What a theological education will do to your parenting

As we took the “walk of shame” home from church (early) my mind is not only going to the parenting questions, but beating myself up over the theology of taking the 6 year old out of church and home before communion after repeated warnings to cut out the temper tantrum she started when she got back from Sunday School and the sermon had been a hair long and she had to wait through the prayers and offertory for the feast. I am now sitting on the floor in my bedroom. (I went to my room since she wouldn’t stay in hers…I hope she hasn’t destroyed the house.)

I’m a huge proponent of welcoming children at the table as soon as they are baptized. They’re covenantal children; this is the covenantal meal. My kids are huge fans of communion at this point.

So, what I essentially did was bar my child from the table by taking her home early. In dramatic fashion. I took her out the center aisle and she ran back in from the narthex down the side aisle. I had to catch her. In my heels. Then we walked home, her kicking and screaming the entire block long walk, I should note.

Did I do the right thing? I tried the right things to calm the tantrum (redirection, I stayed calm, warnings with natural consequences). But it didn’t work.

Maybe I should have leather loose it until we could get up the aisle for a little bread. God seems OK with desperation and, to be fair, this lovely little church is very gracious about children in worship (I’m actually more worried the sweet old ladies will judge me for being too strict).

Jesus would totally know what to have done. But I’m not Jesus.

I’m glad sweet Jesus is forgiving because we both need it.

Maybe Erik will sneak a little bread home in his pocket.

Lord, have mercy.

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What “Dues Plus” Would Mean

The Board of Pensions of the PC(USA) is proposing a new dues structure (Dues Plus) for healthcare coverage for pastors. By way of explanation, in the PC(USA) we share the burden of healthcare for clergy among congregations with differing financial resources. Every congregation is required to pay in the same percentage of their pastor’s salary (currently 21%). So, a congregation that is able to offer its pastor a very generous compensation will pay more than a congregation that can only offer their pastor a minimum salary. Additionally, pastor’s dependents (and spouse) are automatically covered under that same percentage, so that a church with a pastor without dependents pays the 21% the same as a church with a pastor with, say, a husband and 3 kids would pay. What this does is ensures that there aren’t pastors and their families who are seen as more “expensive” pastors to call. And, it ensures that all of the full time pastors in our denomination, and their families, get good health care.

My simplified explanation of “Dues Plus” is this: starting in 2014, the percentage a church pays for coverage for its minister would be rolled back to 19%. But coverage for dependents would only be partially supported from that 19%. A pastor with a spouse or children to put on the plan would either need to negotiate with his or her congregation to cover that additional cost or take it out of his or her current compensation package. In other words, a spouse and kids on the plan would be more expensive for either the church or the pastor.

The great health coverage we currently have is a perk. I am well aware that this amazing insurance plan is a perk that not everyone has: many pastors in other denominations don’t have as wonderful a deal; many pastors in the PC(USA) are employed part time and don’t carry this insurance. (I wish we had national health coverage, but that’s another post). I know that the people in our churches are also struggling financially in this economy. But the argument that we pastor should give up this perk just because our parishoners don’t have it is a variation of the argument that a pastor should never be compensated more than the least-well-paid of their congregation.

I do believe fiercely in the priesthood of all believers. But some of us have discerned a call into career ministry. I know it’s not the cool thing to use the words “ministry” and “career” in the same sentence. But, a solid Reformational theology of vocation says that career ministry is as valid a calling and profession as, say, writing web code (that’s what my husband does). Thus, my call, and my spouses call are equally calls from God. And there’s nothing evil about making a living. I am happy to serve the church as a member, part of the priesthood of all believers, but I would like to be able to devote my time, my skills, and my training in ministry to the church as a profession. I know many of my colleagues feel the same way.

Dues Plus is a proposal. And maybe it really is the only way to save health insurance for Presbyterian pastors. But before the board votes, I’d like them to hear how it will affect those of us in ministry. Most importantly, though, how it will affect the Church and the churches we love.

If you’re a PC(USA) minister who blogs, would you be willing to write a post that gives your version? Let me know if you have in the comments section.

Here’s what it would mean to me:

I’m on a little hiatus from full time professional ministry right now. About 2 years ago I left a lovely associate pastor position so that my husband and my two kids and I could move closer to my husband’s job as a web developer and eliminate his long commute. Since then, I spent a summer working full time filling in for a pastor taking a sabbatical; and, my husband was offered a new, wonderful job clear across the country. We decided to move because he had spent 13 years of marriage moving for my career. It was our turn to focus on his career. Plus, we have two little kids.

I don’t know when I’ll be reentering ministry full time yet. Some days, I love being home with my kids. Other days, I would work for free starting tomorrow. I know myself well enough to know that I will not stay home with my kids for more a few years. I also know my finances well enough to know that we will not be able to afford me not working for more than a few years.

My husband’s new job came with a decent salary and wonderful benefits, including affordable health care options for our family. So I am not currently enrolled in the B0P health plan. On the face of it, Dues Plus wouldn’t affect me much.

Except for this: sometime down the road, my husband and I will decide that it’s time for me to think about what God is calling me to do next. This is how our bi-vocational marriage has worked: we both believe in each other’s God given gifts, and we covenanted to support each other in the growth of those gifts and the use of them to the glory of God.

My husband will be the first to tell you that he wants me in active ministry again. And if, several years from now, that might mean that we had to pull up roots and move again, we had talked about how that might work. Because we trusted that there were decent benefits, healthcare particularly, available to me as a Presbyterian minister, we thought there was a possibility that I could take a call that would take my husband away from a job he had (with excellent benefits); that he could work independently, or find another position. But the existence of those benefits meant we could always be open to possibilities of many locations; positions that didn’t pay as well; even the idea of having another child.

In the grand scheme of things, Dues Plus wouldn’t “hurt” my family in our current situation that much. But it makes me wonder: would we be able to afford uprooting to a new place and a new work situation for my husband, essentially, being able to go wherever God might call us? Will my two children strike a potential calling church as a liability, an extra expense? (Should I rewrite my Pastoral Information Form to indicate that I do have two children, but if I can stay in this area, my husband has them covered. So we would be a great deal for a church!)

How does the Church really feel about young parents, working two careers, struggling to be faithful to God’s call?

And what about the Church? How is it affected? I’ll dispence with my normal Midwestern-female inclination to not speak too highly of myself and say this: I think I’m a good pastor. The Church has put some investment into my education, training, and growth as a leader. I’d like to keep serving. I’d like to be open to where God might need me. I’d like to be open to where the Church might need me. Plus, good boundaries aside, my family has been part of my ministry. Being a Mom gives me credibility and access to other women in my neighborhood; my husband has done so much to support me and my congregations; my kids (and, of course, I’m biased) have blessed people on church trips and at potlucks, in worship, and on visits to elderly ladies who just wanted to touch someone who was new to the world.

I’ve been proud to explain to pastors from other denominations that the PC(USA) has a just system of health coverage. It’s a witness to how things ought to be.

I know it’s going to have to change, but I pray that whatever change happens, it happens with an eye to justice.

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Roadtrip

We drove from San Carlos to Eugene, Oregon and back over the weekend. North on the California coast, and then back south through the middle of the state.

(In between those drives was lovely time with Erik’s family. Really lovely. But this is about the drive. Also, Oregon is lovely. But we spent most of this drive in California, so this is about the California part of the drive.)

We drove on windy roads along cliff faces descending to the ocean; twisting mountain roads; along the edges of canyons and rivers; through flat lands with miles and miles of olive groves.

We camped one night, and woke up underneath giant redwoods.

We ate lunch tucked in near a cliff base on a sandy beach.

I stared for a good hour at Mount Shasta, as it appeared on the horizon, then turning to keep my eyes toward it as we drove south.

What a drive.

And this was only the northern half of the state…

I can barely believe we live here.

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The Tyranny of Stuff

The process of unpacking and then re-organizing your home convicts you of the tyranny of your stuff. The hours I’ve spent this last week and a half in “home-making” are really hours spent in taking care of the ridiculous amount of material goods that we possess. Now that we’re in the new house and loads of empty boxes have gone to the recycling center, it’s time to find a place for everything and get everything in its place.

I’m not sure we have a place for everything.

As I toted the eighth plastic box full of kids craft supplies from one room to the room where I suspect (if I can get some shelves installed), I wondered who in their right mind needs an entire shoe-box sized bin of crayons. My friend Stephanie, who has raised a child to high-school-age, while living in Chicago apartments and condo units, told me I would be thankful for the use of precious storage space if I saved those craft supplies because of the usefulness for every random school project over the years.

When my Grandpa Loyd was about Zora’s age, his family moved from Kansas to California. I can only assume there was not room in their car for such luxuries as 400 crayons.

Grandpa Loyd’s grandpa (my great-great-grandfather) owned a general store in their little town. One of Loyd’s girl cousins tells the story that once, their grandfather gave Grandpa Loyd, the much-beloved boy-grandchild, a pack of crayolas. He ate them. His girl cousins were horrified.

I bet there are 400 crayons in our stash. And Zora frequently begs for a new set of 96 crayolas. I haven’t caved, but I’ve considered it. It’s a little embarrassing.

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48 hours in California

We are 48 hours into our “new life” in California. A few things I now know:

(1) It smells beautiful in the morning: pine and eucalyptus and rosemary.

(2) We will all be incredible hill walkers in a few weeks.

(3) My children love to be outside.

(4) Bees massing on rosemary hedges are beautiful.

(5) Being married sometimes means you have big fights. It also means you forgive each other.

(6) Moving is incredibly complicated.

(7) Everything is going to be just fine.

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We’re gonna need a bigger table…

Honestly, there’s not much reason for me to weigh in on the Todd Akin controversy. Others have done so much more profoundly and better than I have.

Still, here’s what I’ve wanted to say:

Todd Akin’s comment was stupid (even the way he said it, “shut that whole thing down” betrays a complete lack of respect for the intricacies of a female reproductive system). I’m not an OB-GYN, but I did have a little run in with secondary infertility and let me tell you, I spent about two years absolutely obsessed with how babies get made.

But other than his lack of compassion, and speaking ability; other than his wrong-headed understanding of science, his position against abortion in all cases is consistent with the GOP’s official platform, right?

But I’ve avoided making comments about it on social media because I know that I have friends who sit in both “camps” in the abortion debate. And I didn’t really want that fight happening on my feeds. (Although, I have to say this: I am pretty certain that all of my friends are people who are incredibly horrified by rape, and respectful of legitimate obstetrical and gynecological medicine.) Also, please note that I will delete any comments that are nasty, un-thoughtful, unfair, stereotyping, etc. Let’s keep it well within the realm of Christ’s peace here, people.

Really, I’m not unique in this: that I know people who range the spectrum on this issue. I am, though, acutely aware of it because of the unusual trajectory of my ministry career.

I went to a denominational seminary and was ordained in a denomination that could be called “conservative.” Whatever that means…the terms conservative and liberal in relation to the church bother me, and often it’s trickier than just labeling an individual/congregation/denomination with one of those terms. (However, to play into that whole set of stereotypes, Todd Akin holds an M.Div from a seminary whose denomination kicked my first denomination out of fellowship when it got too liberal for them…I’m sure the splintered state of the Church makes Jesus cry.)

And then I left that denomination for another one, not so much because I had policy issues with my “mother church” but because I needed a job, and they were few and far between for women in that denomination in that particular time and place.

I’ve since served in churches that could be called liberal.

Sometimes I don’t know where I belong. Usually I just figure that I belong wherever God calls me. So, I am where I am.

But what this means is that I have friends who are, to use those terms I don’t like, both liberal and conservative Christians.

And I’ve heard good and compassionate arguments from pro-choice and pro-life folks. I’ve heard arguments from pro-life folks that contain echoes of feminism. I’ve heard arguments from pro-choice folks that are filled with the compassion of Jesus. I’ve heard people on both sides talk about the agony they recognize their position could cause someone.

And I wish these friends could all come over to my place for dinner sometime, instead of meeting up in cyberspace. They all love Jesus. Most of them are hilarious, entertaining dinner guests. They are kind. They care about people. They are working hard to hear God’s call for their lives. They love Jesus. We could have a lovely time…

…even if the dinner table were evenly split over abortion.

I wish we all hung out with people who didn’t agree with us on everything. Have you ever noticed all the little tiny bickering matches the disciples were having even as they followed Jesus?

Being with people who are not exactly like us is good for our lives: as citizens of a country; as followers of Jesus; as human beings.

I’m glad that I hear from people on more than one side of this issue. I’m not always sure what to think myself. It’s complicated.

And, abortion is tricky. I did a funeral last week for a baby who died at 22 weeks, as in 22 weeks from gestation.

The procedure that ended this pregnancy probably could be classified as an abortion. There might also be a way to not classify it as an abortion. The whole thing was terribly, terribly complicated. I can’t go into the details, but just imagine a complicated moral dilemma on this one, and then add about three more complicating factors and you get the picture.

I played no part in counseling for or against this in my capacity as clergy. I don’t think I should have. I think the people who made this decision were guided by their faith. What they decided is between them and God, and while it’s none of my business, I think they made a good decision.

I am grateful to God for the physician who was skilled at her craft (because, from what I know, this was a tricky one not just morally, but medically as well) and was able to do this safely. I’m grateful that it could happen legally in a well-regarded hospital.

But everybody ached as we placed that baby in God’s arms.

And this is where I think we who have Masters in Divinity degrees should be encountering this issue: in the real world where everything is not black and white. And where you are daily encountering people for whom these policy questions are life questions.

I don’t doubt that there are people for and against abortion who live in that place, and who understand the gray areas.

I just wish there were better ways for them to talk to each other and encounter each other, rather than what seems our only option at this point: to start discussions when someone says something that is clearly not well-thought ought, nor compassionate, nor wise.

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