taking stock in unexplained ways...

About three weeks ago, after I was quietly informed by two ecclesiastical leaders that our request for a change in my ministerial standing had been affirmed, I did something extravagant: I purchased a new set of handmade embroidered clerical stoles crafted by women artisans in Surif, Palestine and marketed through the Star Bazaar of Bethlehem Bible College. (https://starbazaar.bethbc.edu/product/clerical-stoles-embroidered/) They are stunning. They not only give shape and form to my sense of call at this moment in time but also represent a shared spirituality grounded in small acts of tenderness in pursuit of solidarity. Like these women artisans, I, too trust that the creation of beauty can bring a measure of healing to our brokenness.

As a rule, in this later half of life, I tend towards simplicity in most things: my ministry and engagement with the world was summarized best by the late Wendell Berry when he wrote: My formula for a good life and a good community is simple and pleasingly unoriginal. Slow down. Pay attention. Do good work. Love your neighbors. Love your place. Stay in your place. Settle for less, enjoy it more. 

My idea of a good day begins by brewing a fresh pot of Scottish Breakfast tea in the morning. It continues with a few hours of prayer, study, and writing followed by either tending our garden, visiting those in my new congregation who are in need, or making music with my dear mates in Wednesday's Child and/or All of Us. A good day closes with a home cooked meal shared with Di and wrapped up with a well-made European TV mystery.  My worship attire has become equally simplified: a white alb, a hand-crafted cross along with a colorful symbol of the Lord's towel used on Holy Thursday to wash the feet of his disciples is sufficient to mark the liturgical calendar. 

When I retired the first time, I gave away most of my decorative liturgical garments. Yes, I held back my black Doctoral pulpit gown and D. Min hood from San Francisco Theological Seminary. For purely sentimental reasons, I also kept my first black teaching robe and the "ordinary time" green stole my parents gave me upon my ordination along with a few gifts my daughters have shared with me from their travels in Europe and Mexico. All the rest was passed on to other younger clergy along with hundreds of my cherished books. As St. Lou Reed smirks in "Last Great American Whale" from his New York album: it was time to stick a fork in me because I was done!

But, apparently, the God of resurrection, didn't agree. To be sure, at first there were a few quiet years of solitude. I needed to debrief, grieve, and recharge. And then something new began to take root within. Something simple, something creative, something guided by compassion. What I am experiencing now warrants taking stock for in ways I cannot yet explain, these elegant stoles from Palestine look like what I am feeling and encountering these days.