continuing thoughts about being back from sabbatical...

"The world for which you have been so carefully prepared is being taken away from

you," said Walter Brueggemann to Barbara Brown Taylor before wryly adding, 'by the grace of God." That is quite an insight from Taylor's spiritual autobiography, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith. Last week I shared lunch with a colleague who wondered aloud with me, "How do I maintain a sense of just 'being' in the world - a sense of living without a role or any artificial expectations - like I felt and experienced while on sabbatical?"  I wish I knew... 

One of the ambiguities of my sabbatical funded by a generous Lily Foundation grant has to do with what is called re-entry. How do we - clergy and congregation - incorporate the sacred wisdom we encountered into our new lives together? How do we create new forums for story-telling and renegotiation of tasks? How do we get on with the holy work of being the body of Christ in new ways? How do we accomplish the important work we've been called to do without being overwhelmed or burned out? How, indeed, do we maintain balance and our humanity while living beyond the narrow role of pastor?  Not only is there very little advice written about this stage of the event, but in retrospect, I see that we spent precious little time planning for it, too. Perhaps this is part of the hard and creative effort we must make together now? Curiously, at least for those of us attracted to nourishing a sense of equilibrium between the inward and outward journey of faith - the true essence of contemplation - differences in age, denomination, race and gender are relatively insignificant when it comes to figuring this out. Nobody seems to know very well how to strike this balance. Again, Dr. Taylor is instructive:

I have learned to prize holy ignorance more highly than religious certainty and to seek companions who have arrived at the same place. We are a motley crew, distinguished not only by our inability to explain ourselves to those who are more certain of their beliefs than we are but in many cases by our distance from the centers of our faith communities as well.

This does not mean that we have given up on Christianity - or ministry - or a particular congregation. It does mean, however.  that we acknowledge a tension that includes faith, personal integrity, changing social expectations, outdated roles and the near irrelevancy of the church to most people's lives. Chaplain Emeritus of McGill University, Douglas John Hall, observed that once the break between church and state took place in Montreal, that society became boldly and thoroughly secular in just two generations. It was a rapid casting off of religious language, habits and ideas. Much the same is true for New England and the Pacific Northwest in the United States. As another Canadian writer, Ralph Heintzman, has discussed in Rediscovering Reverence, this means that most of our culture no longer connects ethics with action, the common good with the economy or awe and beauty with every day life. There is a disconnect between real needs and social greed to paraphrase Pope Francis in his recent encyclical about climate change and income inequality. Consequently, clergy who are interested in both transcendence and ethics - awe, prayer and living a fully human life - often find themselves starving for understanding in their churches. Ours is a spiritually impoverished culture that labors under a paucity of metaphors for reverence. Barbara Brown Taylor summarized it like this: The call to serve God is first and last the call to be fully human.  

To be sure, there is an upside to my decidedly First World problem: Clergy like myself now

have a chance to reclaim the heart of the gospel in a simple, clear and exciting way for those burned out by the rat race. At the same time, the uncertainties that my colleagues and I are wrestling with are complex. No one seems to know how to do church in a new way that respects both our renewal of soul within a rapidly changing social context? Two clues are starting to take shape: honoring a tender and humble sense of "church" and embracing a very clearly defined set of professional boundaries.

+ First, a tender and humble understanding of the church. It should be small, simple, contemplative and profoundly aware that more than anything else, it is the broken body of Christ in the world. It is NOT a social service agency. It is NOT a sacred shopping mall. It is NOT the engine of social change. Nor is it a place of magic solutions for all of our problems. It IS a place to pause in the craziness of life and listen for the still, small voice of the Lord. It is a place of safety and forgiveness. And it is a place that can model the integration  of ethics and economics in a way that could empower social transformation - but probably won't.  It is a community of saints and sinners. It is a place where reality is accepted and even expected, rather than perfection. 

It is also a place that should be EMPTY most of the week. Christian people are not called to gather inside most of the time, but rather to go out and live Christ's love in the real world.  Older clergy - and established church members - often speak of wanting the church to be bustling 7 days a week. Not me. If we meet for worship and essential conversations, I have come to believe that the rest of the week should be the church embodied in mission and action.. The church at city council. The church in the factory and board room. The church in our schools and families and shops and parks. The church should be dark and quiet most of the week because it is living out the gospel in real ways rather than preaching to the choir in the safety of our gated community. 

+ Second, a very clearly defined sense of boundaries. The New Testament teaching about the role of the pastor is clear: we are to teach and train disciples to go into the world and share Christ's love. We are NOT to be professional and public Christians who show up at every demonstration, every social gathering and every meeting. Jesus trained the apostles and THEY went into the world two by two to love and heal and preach and teach. He usually went away to pray and study. St. Paul was explicit in Ephesians 4:.

The gifts God gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.  We must no longer be children, tossed to and fro and blown about by every wind of doctrine, by people’s trickery, by their craftiness in deceitful scheming. But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, 16 from whom the whole body, joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.

This is the same thing Paul taught and wrote in I Corinthians when he told us of one body and many gifts - not everyone does the same thing - nor is every person expected to do everything in the same way - pastors included. Pastors were given gifts to train and equip the saints - church members - for the work of ministry. They are NOT to do it all themselves. One old friend said: the church is NOT a place where only the minister ministers and the congregation congregates. We have clear tasks but unless we are vigorous about these boundaries they will become blurred and confused - and that is death for a pastor who wants to be fully alive and not confined to a role. Again, Dr. Taylor:

In a quip that makes the rounds, Jesus preached the coming of the kingdom, but it was the church that came. All these years later, the way many of us are doing church is broken and we know it, even if we do not know what to do about it. We proclaim the priesthood of all believers while we continue with hierarchical clergy, liturgy, and architecture. We follow a Lord who challenged the religious and political institutions of his time while we fund and defend our own. We speak and sing of divine transformation while we do everything in our power to maintain our equilibrium. If redeeming things continue to happen to us in spite of these deep contradictions in our life together, then I think that is because God is faithful even when we are not.

This is going to be a year of listening, discerning, questioning, renegotiating, praying, strengthening boundaries and even re imagining the church.

We join the world in praying for Pope Francis: Tuesday, September 22 @ 12:10 pm

On Tuesday, September 22, 2015 we will join Faithful America and hundreds of other congregations throughout the United States and hold a prayer vigil asking God's continued blessing upon Pope Francis as he addresses the United Nations and US Congress. His subject is income inequality and climate change. Already many of the conservative elements in the wider church are raging against his moral leadership. 

So, as the oldest congregation in Pittsfield - and a Protestant one at that - we will gather at 12:10 pm to sing, pray and then celebrate an ecumenical Eucharist - on behalf of God's radical hospitality and generous grace. We will share our concerns for healing Mother Earth together in quiet respect. And we will ally ourselves with the sacrifice necessary to make bold changes in our personal and social behavior.

If you are free - and anywhere in the Berkshires - please join us at First Church of Christ on Park Square: 27 East Street, Pittsfield, MA @ 12:10 pm - 12:50 pm on Tuesday, September 22nd.

Blackbird...

A small but loving group joined me today for midday Eucharist. It was another careful step back

into community after my season of relative isolation in Montreal. We used the Wednesday morning prayer liturgy written by Fr. Ed Hays in Prayers for the Domestic Church to reconnect. I noted that on and off I have found solace in these words for over 35 years - and they seemed to resonate today as well.

Two texts shaped our lectio:  Psalm 131 and John 15: 

 O LORD, I am not proud; 

I have no haughty looks.

I do not occupy myself with great matters,
or with things that are too hard for me.

But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother's breast;
my soul is quieted within me.

O Israel, wait upon the LORD,
from this time forth for evermore.

This was my sabbatical mantra and we talked about the chaos of our lives, the cruelty of so much in our politics, the complexity of so much dogma AND our call to return to the Lord's quiet and calm. It was a lively conversation that led naturally into the gospel.

This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you… As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

Another lively conversation took place that included an affirmation that the Hebrew scriptures are just as grounded in love as the Christian texts - and here the Johanine Jesus simply summarizes the essence of God's presence in history, time and space. Abide in my love that your joy may be full/complete. Then we gathered around the communion table to pray the Eucharistic Prayer, break and share bread and wine and embrace one another with the peace of Christ. I

There were other "tasks" to accomplish today - phone calls, follow up visits, prayers for the people - and it all felt fresh, grounded and real. Yesterday, while having a conversation with one of our young men committed to ministry, another dear brother (and one of this town's most incredible drummers who fills my soul with joy whenever we have the chance to play together) waved at me from the street on his way into the shop for morning coffee. We embraced, kissed, shared a few loving words - and then later in the day he sent me this stunning and reflective take on one of my favorite songs.

Now it is time to take Lucie for a walk and then make up some dinner.  I am so very blessed.

an antidote to the rush...

Today was a stunning autumn day in the Berkshires: choir practice resumed tonight, I

made two pastoral visits - each vastly different from the other - I continued to search for my church keys that have gone AWOL and began reviewing my notes for this weekend's wedding. I am only working "half time" for the next two weeks of re-entry, but that is a squishy term when it comes to ministry. People can - and should - be in touch whenever they have a real need. In fact, they have and I have found myself grateful for the chance to reconnect. The rest of this so-called partial work week includes other pastoral connections, phone calls and more worship planning. I also continue to devote one hour each day to writing.

Returning to ministry after an extended absence dedicated to rest and renewal continues to be a challenge - but in totally unexpected ways. One is the resentment some people express. No shit. Resentment. Nobody has been so bold as to say: I don't get to go away for four months on a leisure cruise funded by a grant for prayer and play! But that's how they act. Not a lot, but a few. And given the world we live in and the way work is organized in the USA, I can't really blame them.

There are also some who don't know that the whole point of clergy renewal sabbaticals is to refresh the soul and return to a NEW way of doing ministry. I was once in a conversation with a conference staff person back in Arizona who told me that the only way most ministers stay in a church after ten years is to: 1) go on sabbatical; 2) re-imagine their ministry; and 3) return to the parish with a very new emphasis.That is what is going on with me, but some (I guess it is to be expected) resist being open to the Spirit. Currently, my post-sabbatical suggestion - and commitment - is that we spend as much time as necessary listening to one an other's stories. We each have experienced this sabbatical in different ways. I want to hear what has been a blessing (and a curse) to our leaders as well as the wider congregation. And God knows I have some stories to tell, too. 

I sense that we would be well served taking some time to hold these stories in prayer, too. There are deeper truths to be discerned after the first round of stories are shared. I know this from the development of fairy tales, myths and archetypal poetry. My conviction - especially after the privilege of this sabbatical - is to insist that our invitation is first and foremost: Wait upon the Lord and do not fret. Small wonder that I found myself turning again to a small volume by M. Craig Barnes, now President of Princeton Theological Seminary, who wrote THE essential book for 21st century ministers: The Pastor as Minor Poet. In a sub-section entitled, "human life is limited," he wrote::

The first two chapters of the Bible provide our only picture of the life that God desired for us as creatures. It was paradise. But we were not created to enjoy all of it. Planted in the middle of the garden was a tree whose fruit was forbidden. It is significant that this tree was not located off on the margins of Eden, where it could be ignored. Every day Adam and Eve had to walk past this reminder that they were not created to have it all. That is God's idea of paradise for us...

Whatever the forbidden tree represents in a person's life is not as important as the realization that we humans were not created with the capacity to take whatever we desire. There can be 999 trees in our garden to which we can freely go and enjoy their fruit, but where do we pitch our tent? Under the one tree we cannot have... and so it goes... as every pastor knows, the greatest regrets people have are not over their
victimization but over the things they've done to themselves.

From the beginning we have been created to be receivers, not achievers. Nothing is

more counter-cultural to contemporary Americans. We have been raised to set our goals high, work hard and achieve our dreams. Clearly there is merit to this work ethic, but it has limits, and the greatest one is that it seduces us into thinking that we are the creators of our own destinies. The only destiny that comes from reaching for whatever we want is finding ourselves east of Eden. Every page of the Bible presents God as the achiever and us as the receivers of this sacred, good work. 

Everywhere I look in our society there is a frenetic rush to fix things: it could be the wild-ass and cruel extemporizing of Donald Trump or the pedagogical verbal overload of Bernie Sanders. We are all certain that things are broken and need somebody to DO something. But without careful and patient spiritual discernment, we humans tend to make bad situations worse. That's why I told my church council: for almost all of my 33+ years of ministry I have always had a plan. But now I don't. I trust that God has a plan, but I don't.  And while I trust that God will reveal this plan to us if we are willing to listen to the still, small and quiet voice of the Lord, this is hard work. It is counter-cultural work. It is the work of the true contemplative who yearns for the healing of our culture.

So my prayer this season - and this year - is that we do exactly this: listen to one another and wait upon the Lord.. As the body of Christ we have been invited to be a gentle, clear alternative to the busy cruelty all around us. Not as a private prayer club dedicated to just our own spiritual peace, but as a community offering hope and compassion in the flesh to real people. After sharing a few stories about my sabbatical - and listening to a few of theirs, too - my council lovingly affirmed this "inchoate" plan, trusting that God is just and tender and then approved holding a community prayer vigil next week in support of Pope Francis' call to action on behalf of healing climate change and income inequality. At choir tonight, we practiced "The Prayer of St. Francis" and I realized: this is going to be a great year!

another challenge of re-entry...

One of the many insights I am encountering upon re-entry to the day-to-day reality of pastoral ministry is that I am so done with doing church administration, planning, visioning and church politics in the way I was taught back in the day. Those days are over for me professionally and for the wider culture. Our world has changed. Our people are hyper-stressed and overly busy. And almost no one under the age of 40 cares about serving on boards and committees and all the rest. 

Don't misunderstand - a lot of beautiful relationships were born of that type of church work in the

past with a deep sense of community and compassion created and shared - and I have been blessed by that experience. But that model worked best only when many middle class women didn't work full time outside of the home, children played for hours outside in unstructured ways, family systems were rigid and the economic pressures of making ends meet were significantly less oppressive. 

In other words, the way I learned to "do" church - and think about, plan for and administer a church - are gone. It doesn't matter whether we rejoice or feel nostalgic for the old days. Like Lou Reed sang in "Great American Whale:"  "Stick a fork in it... it's done!" I came to terms with this in myself in a surprising way during our sabbatical. Not only was I free for a season from doing church administration, but I had the chance to quietly observe what contemporary life looks and feels like from the perspective of those on the outside of the traditional church. And what I discovered is that most of what takes place in maintaining a traditional church is irrelevant and sometimes soul-sucking for those not invested in the institution.Further, I noticed in a fresh way that what drew people into the building looked something like this: 

1) Worship with spiritual, emotional, ethical and aesthetic integrity

2) Sharing compassion in clear and simple ways

3) And a vibrant counter-cultural vibe - that is, an alternative to the rat race - that was palpable

This makes sense to me. It seems to make sense to others who are on a truly contemplative journey, too. They aren't interested in shame or liberal guilt. They have no time to serve on committees and boards that carp more than make a difference. And they have precious little time for activities that don't have value. It can be sacrificial value, to be sure, but the ironic blessing of our burned-out culture is that people are no longer willing or able to participate in ways that no longer matter. As the former Mayor of Cleveland, Michael White, used to tell me: Make poverty your friend. That is, let the hard times and challenging demands of reality help you do what is right. Let it push you into clearing away the bullshit.

During the four months I was away from church culture - even a church I love - I found myself filled with joy and energy. It was more than a mere vacation (although at first there was some of that, too.) Rather, I now had time to live an integrated life. Parker Palmer speaks of living "an undivided life...one where we can (un-learn what we were taught) early on... that it's not safe to be in the world as who we really are with what we truly value and believe."

Everyone pays a price when we live behind a mask... there's no way to connect and establish trust with such a person - and the quality of what might happen between us suffers as a result. Further, the person who lives a divided life also suffers. I can't imagine a sadder way to die than knowing I never showed up on Earth as who I really am... every time we show up as our true selves, we reclaim identity and integrity and new life can grow within, between and around us.

One of the mysteries of re-entry for me is this: can we find a new way of being together in our organizational lives in church that encourage joy and tenderness? Can we find new/old ways to let go of what no longer matters? Can we live and integrated, undivided life? Can we actively banish shame and blame as an administrative tool? Can we even move towards greater trust and less worry? Poet Mary Oliver got it right:

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, with the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall  
I correct it?

Was I right? Was I wrong? Will I be forgiven?
Can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do that and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it.
Am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia.

Finally I saw that worrying came to nothing.
And I gave it up. And I took my old body
and went out into the morning, 
and sang.

We shall see...

a (mostly) satisfying morning...

It was (mostly) satisfying and gratifying to be back in worship this morning. I (mostly) felt loved

and affirmed and my heart was (mostly) warmed by the renewal of my connection with most people. As one wise old salt told me, "There will always be soul vampires, James, but remember they aren't' the heart and soul of this place." And that is true: this small congregation is about joy and trust, compassion and contemplation, practicing tenderness and asking forgiveness with a creative spirit and a sacred openness. Mostly, not everyone, of course, but most everyone - and I am grateful.

I found that I was full to overflowing playing music again with Carlton and Dave. I was thrilled to see how some of the lay leadership had flourished during my absence. I was encouraged to hear how my lay leaders all agreed that this sabbatical was well planned, well executed and well received.  And I was blessed to shed a few tears with a few loved ones after worship. At a few points as the morning evolved I was reminded of this ancient joke circulated among pastors about a pastoral search committee reviewing the credentials of various characters from the Bible. I offer it to you as another part of my returning to the groove..

In our search for a suitable pastor, the following scratch sheet was developed for your perusal. Of the candidates investigated by the committee, only one was found to have the necessary qualities. The list contains the names of the candidates and comments on each, should you be interested in investigating them further for future pastoral placements.

NOAH: He has 120 years of preaching experience, but no converts.
MOSES: He stutters and his former congregation says he loses his temper over trivial things.
ABRAHAM: He took off to Egypt during hard times. We heard that he got into trouble with the authorities and then tried to lie his way out.
DAVID: He is an unacceptable moral character. He might have been considered for minister of music had he not 'fallen.'
SOLOMON: He has a reputation for wisdom but fails to practice what he preaches.
ELIJAH: He proved to be inconsistent and is known to fold under pressure.
HOSEA: His family life is in a shambles. Divorced, and remarried to a prostitute.
JEREMIAH: He is too emotional, alarmist; some say a real 'pain in the neck.'
AMOS: Comes from a farming background. Better off picking figs.
JOHN: He says he is a Baptist but lacks tact and dresses like a hippie. Would not feel comfortable at a church potluck supper.
PETER: Has a bad temper and was heard to have even denied Christ publicly.
PAUL: We found him to lack tact. He is too harsh, his appearance is contemptible and he preaches far too long.
TIMOTHY: He has potential, but is much too young for the position.
JESUS: He tends to offend church members with his preaching, especially Bible scholars. He is also too controversial. He even offended the search committee with his pointed questions.
JUDAS: He seemed to be very practical, co-operative, good with money, cares for the poor, and dresses well. We all agreed that he is just the man we are looking for to fill the vacancy as our Senior Pastor.

Thank you for all you have done in assisting us with our pastoral search.

Pastoral Search Committee chairman

riding sadness into wisdom...

We are home. The mystery of the sabbatical adventure is over - at least for the time being. To say that we are both perplexed about how to return to our former outward lives after the inner shifts and changes that took place in Montreal would be an understatement. This challenge, too will be an unfolding mystery although right now it doesn't feel nearly as fun as the one born of sabbatical. And although Di and I are at different stages of our exploration of next steps, we have thankfully learned how to "ride sadness into wisdom" (William O. Roberts.) This takes place mostly by waiting, listening, watching, discerning, discussing and then carefully testing out our hunches rather than jumping wildly into some new opportunity or action.

To date we know that we have made some important shifts in our priorities and habits as a result of our sabbatical:  the importance of unplugging from busyness is paramount. By busyness I mean both the frantic hyper-scheduling that is so common place, and, the urge to be productive and useful. Jean Vanier of L'Arche notes that he learned how to be fully free and truly human by nourishing tenderness in himself, in his relationships and in his intimacy with God. He writes in Becoming Human:

Tenderness is the language of the body as a mother holds her child, as a nurse touches the patient's wound, or as an assistant bathes someone with severe disabilities... Tenderness is the language of the body speaking of respect; thus, the body honors whatever it touches; it honors reality. It does not as as if reality itself must be changed or possessed; reality belongs to humanity and to God... There is no fear in tenderness. Tenderness is not weakness, lack of strength or sloppiness; tenderness is filled with strength, respect and wisdom. In tenderness, we know how and when to touch someone to help me to be and be well.

"Through tenderness," he concludes, "I have learned in some small way to inhabit my body and to see it not just as a channel for therapy, but as a way of revealing my heart and of being in communion with others... it has led me to a new inner wholeness, a unity between my affectivity and my intelligence."  This speaks to what I discovered and joyfully embraced while we were in Montreal. It is what I seek to nourish now that we are back.

So we are playfully entertaining three clues about how to live into the blessings of the sabbatical in our new/old lives in the hope that as autumn and winter embrace us we might continue to ripen as tender souls. I believe it was Albert Eisenstein who said, "No problem can be solved by the same consciousness that created it." To that end:

+ First, we have started discarding and stream-lining:  While living in another's home in NYC, Pittsburgh, Montreal and Potton this summer, we discovered how little we really need in order to live well. Each Air BnB was beautiful but very simple. When we returned home we saw our house through new eyes. Further, our friends who had stayed here had made some changes - dealt with some of our clutter - and that gave us some new perspective, too. The abundance of clutter all around us is troubling: not only because there is just too much stuff, but it speaks of how our lives have been weighted down by the past, by the expectations of others, by our own histories, by shame and fear and so much more. Consequently, we have initiated a radical discarding that will take place until we are down to the possessions that bring us joy and are useful for our creative endeavors.  We will start painting the living room next week. Adding long buried art treasures to the walls and giving away - or throwing away - tons of clutter, too. 

+ Second, we have renewed our intentional fast from TV and most news coverage: I have been a TV addict all my life. I used to be able to tell you what time it was given what program was on the screen. Over the past five years - as we wrestled and avoided our various stages of grief - we have both come to rely too much on the television as an easy distraction. Thankfully, in the East Village there was no TV - and the same was true in Nashville and Pittsburgh. By the time we hit Montreal we were moving towards liberation but found ourselves falling back into old habits. So, we covered the screen with a beautiful tapestry and never turned it on again. One of the first things I did when we hit Pittsfield was to cover our TV so that we continue to make time to read to one another. And have giggle fits together. And talk over dinner (and breakfast) rather than take in the news or some cop show. We will be disconnecting from the cable service as the month unfolds.

+ Third, we have learned how to care for our aging bodies more intentionally:  Slowly but surely over the last 10 years I've added too many pounds. I've gotten out of the habit of daily exercise and quiet meditation. Our sabbatical time - and sabbatical re-entry plan - was created to help me make a change. Most days we walked 3-6 miles through Montreal - sometimes much more. Nearly every day I had quiet time to think, pray, write and practice the upright bass. And so, as we discard the clutter and old habits and expectations, we are building in time for both exercise and prayer. Included in this caring is spending more time with our children and grand son as this is just as enriching as any other sacred practice. My colleague at church and I have set aside weekly time to explore new music, too. And I continue to claim time each day for quiet reflection and writing.

It will likely take a full year of quiet reflection to figure out more fully what this sabbatical will mean to ourselves and to the congregation we serve. I want to be open to the possibilities. At the same time, we are both clear about some of the personal changes we must continue to live into so that we don't lose the tenderness that has been encouraged by the Spirit during this sacred time. Ok, now it is off to do some work in our bedroom, take Lucie for a walk, practice the bass and then join our children and loved ones for a country dinner in Plainfield.

the state of my soul: september 11, 2015

Today - so mixed with sorrow and gratitude - to say nothing of a renewal to peace-making and compassion - I find my soul literally bouncing between Bill Frissell/Ron Carter and Amad Jamal. With a BIG dose of Peter Cooley's poetry, too. This, indeed, may most clearly define my sense of spirituality at this moment in time... Listen to them both, take in the poem, and see where it all leads you.

It’s not that we’re not dying.
Everything is dying.
We hear these rumors of the planet’s end
none of us will be around to watch.

It’s not that we’re not ugly.
We’re ugly.
Look at your feet, now that your shoes are off.

You could be a duck,

no, duck-billed platypus,
your feet distraction from your ugly nose.
It’s not that we’re not traveling,
we’re traveling.

But it’s not the broadback Mediterranean
carrying us against the world’s current.
It’s the imagined sea, imagined street,
the winged breakers, the waters we confuse with sky

willingly, so someone out there asks
are you flying or swimming?
That someone envies mortal happiness
like everyone on the other side, the dead

who stand in watch, who would give up their bliss,
their low tide eternity rippleless
for one day back here, alive again with us.
They know the sea and sky I’m walking on

or swimming, flying, they know it’s none of these,
this dancing-standing-still, this turning, turning,
these constant transformations of the wind
I can bring down by singing to myself,

the newborn mornings, these continuals—

writing for a grand child...

I have discerned that one of my spiritual practices for the coming months - I don't really know how long that is going to be - is to write a book for my grandson based on what I am calling "a spirituality of tenderness.". Back in 1988, the late Henri Nouwen published a small volume he called Letters to Marc About Jesus. Nouwen shares with his nephew some of the riches - and challenges - he will encounter if he chooses to live a life of Christian faith. In 1998, Douglas John Hall, chaplain emeritus at McGill University in Montreal, wrote a postmodern apologia to a "composite (character comprised of) undergraduates, graduates, clergy, working people and his own children on the edges of Christian faith" called Why Christian? And, of course, the incomparable Marilynne Robinson created a Pulitzer Prize winning work of art with her 2004 Gilead.

These mentors sensed the value of speaking clearly about their own experience of faith both in

the hope of answering questions raised but not addressed by contemporary culture, and, as a way of being vulnerable with their loved ones. At this stage of my journey, I don't pretend to be in the same league as these writers. Such hubris would be untrue and thoroughly unattractive. Rather, during my years of ministry I have incrementally discovered myself moving towards a set of practices intended to enrich personal and corporate tenderness. I want to distill my understanding of this discipline and then summarize it in a way for Louie that, should he some day want to know more about his grandfather (and my take on the Christian faith), he would have a resource to consult.  When I am ready, I will simply self-publish it for him with a few other copies (mostly for my own vanity but perhaps to share with my daughters.)

Over the course of my sabbatical not only was I drawn to such writing, but I regularly found hints of other respected writers referencing tenderness.  Jean Vanier and Henri Nouwen in particular resonate with my awareness that the spiritual life of compassionate Christianity is nourished by: 1) acknowledging the truth about our lives - their joy, despair, wisdom, confusion and all the rest; 2) learning where our lives fit within "the inner polarities of the human psyche" - the heart and soul in Nouwen's parlance - "the personal center where our physical, mental and emotional lives come together" (Spiritual Formation, eds. Michael J. Christensen and Rebecca J. Laird); 3) consciously practicing ways of living that gently heal and transform our broken or rough places; and 4) sharing tenderness with those closest to us incrementally but authentically.

In his work at the Menninger Clinic in the 1960s, Nouwen learned that "actively reflecting oun our lives as a living document... clarifies the inner polarities of our human condition and points us toward a greater wholeness. In gaining knowledge of the heart, we find that what is most personal is also most universal."

This spring and summer while on sabbatical I wasn't a pastor. Few people knew I was a pastor, I never identified myself at any initial introduction as a pastor and almost no one ever spoke to me of an interest or need in what I would call the expertise of pastoring. It was liberating - and revealing. What I saw and heard was simple: in our thoroughly secular world the old words and many of the old ways of addressing the human condition are not even on the table for discussion. Yes, many are searching for a way to live authentic and loving lives - that has not changed - but they no longer need (or even know) the language of faith. It is, to paraphrase Bonhoeffer, the arrival of his prophetic "religionless religion." A time to embrace what is truest in the Christian faith - compassion grounded in the inward/outward journey of grace - and let everything else slip away.

Now, I knew this was true intellectually both in Tucson and Pittsfield, but until we traveled to NYC, Nashville and Pittsburgh - and then took up a three month residency in Montreal - this truth remained an idea. Now I get it in my heart and even in my own soul. This is a time when all our metaphors born of the market place have shown themselves to be incomplete and often vacuous. This is a time when the quest for awe, reverence and tenderness is urgent albeit quiet. This is a time for embodied faith born of Christ's compassion. 

So, I want to write, clarify, revise and then share what I have discovered so far on this journey with the one who is the essence of tenderness in my life: my grandson. As I have noted at other times, Psalm 131 is my guide:

Lord, my heart has not been haughty,
     nor have my eyes looked too high,
     nor have I striven for great things,
     nor for things too wondrous for me.
But I have calmed and contented myself
     like a weaned babe on its mother -
     like a weaned babe I am with myself.
Wait, O Israel, wait for the Lord,
     now and forevermore.

Robert Alter writes about this lovely, little Hebrew prayer/poem: "The evident image of a newly weaned baby embraced and comforted by its mother is therefore calm...the Hebrew is cryptic, it literally says 'like a weaned babe I am on myself.'  The idea that emerges is quite touching: the person content with his lot, who does not aspire to grand things, is able to give himself the kind of reassuring calm that a loving mother gives the weaned child whom she comforts. .. the speaker evokes a sense of beautiful self-containment, an embracing of one's self like a child."

And it is all grounded in tender and trusting waiting...

the end is where we start from...

We are home in Pittssfield after a 4+ month sabbatical of joy, discovery, rest, renewal, love,

music and celebration. There is much to say - and live into - because of this sabbatical. I discovered that for the first time in over 35 years I did not have to live into any one's expectation of me as "pastor." That is to say, I was just me - James - fully alive to live, love, make music, pray, fuck up and all the rest. It was liberating. 

Last night, after we had packed the car and eaten tourtière (Quebecois meat pie) for dinner, I read two quotes that spoke to this moment in my life.  The first is from Jean Vanier, the founder of L'Arche, who in his insightful book, Becoming Human, wrote: "I realize more deeply how spirituality flows from being human, or rather, how spirituality is being fully human and so shapes our lives and our humanity." That rings so true - and so liberating - to me. For 35 years I have been defined - and let myself be shaped - by my public role as pastor. Don't get me wrong, there is a place for this role. But it is not the totality of me. Stepping away from church and ALL roles and expectations gave me a chance to breath and live and James. 

The other quote comes from T.S. Eliot's poem, Little Gidding, wherein he writes: "What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." I had two days of intense grief at the close of this sabbatical - and I suspect there is more to come - because it has been so holy and free for both Dianne and myself. To consider an end to this joy literally caused me to weep and gasp as if I were suffocating. But all throughout our drive home I came to realize that one adventure has ended - as all adventures must - and another has begun. And this one is even more mysterious that the sabbatical adventure because not only does it involve me being fully me as musician, writer, friend, lover, father, grandfather, person of faith and sinner who also just happens to be pastor, but it is open ended. The sabbatical had a clear start and finish. Not so this chapter of life's adventure. Eliot got it rite: the end IS where we start from."

Tomorrow we are going to sort through ALL our clothes (we did this before the sabbatical but now we'll add everything) and begin a thorough shedding of everything that does not have value. Over the next few months we'll do the same thing with our belongings. We'll be painting and repairing parts of the house, adding new art and making this place work for us so that we can create art and music and spiritual reflections that make our souls sing. Not only was it essential for me to leave, but also to return. For the next few weeks I will only be working part of each day as I transition back into the groove. 

To paraphrase Vanier, this sabbatical has helped me "regain trust in myself" again - to know the reason why I was born - and for this I give thanks to the Lord. I  have started to write a book - perhaps destined only for my grandson (and maybe my daughters, we shall see) - that I am calling a "spirituality of tenderness." I started to include my insights in this blog, but am going to retreat from any more public sharing until the book is completed. I suspect that will take me into November if I work at it every day.  The words of the prophet Isaiah resonate so deeply within: "he will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard on the street; a bruised reed he will not break or a flickering wick he will not quench." (Isaiah 42:2-3) This is my season for quiet and contemplative compassion and I intend to honor it as fully as I can.

I will also be doing more and more reflective music making - practicing, improvising, creating - and I need to give time and space to this art, too. It was just one year ago this week that my father began his rapid descent into death: he entered the hospital in early September and by mid October was gone. Life is too short and my time too precious to waste. As Ralph Heintzman writes in Rediscovering Reverence: 

In our modern world, the hunger for reverence sometimes expresses itself in

surprising ways. Starved for other ways to express itself, reverence re-emerges in the new forms... the rock concert, the most pit, the rave are all expressions of a hungry search for connectedness and ritual that are not satisfied in other ways. ... as the American classical scholar, Paul Woodruff, remarks, what modern societies have lost is not reverence itself, but rather the very idea of reverence."

It is to a small  and tender recovery of reverence, awe that I sense a renewed calling beginning as this sabbatical ends..I like the prayer John Philip Newell for this evening:.

At the ending of the day
in the quiet of the hours
at the interplay of light and dark
we wait with the earth as it rest's
that we may give thanks for darkness
that we may open to night's senses
that we may remember 
the ground from which we come
and from which we know You
as presence in the mystery
as Evening Breeze in our soul
as Everlasting Strength in earth's body
At the ending of the day we wait
that we may know You
as Lover of the night
As Lover of the night.

Love has pitched his mansion...

Tonight is our last evening in Montreal (until at least December) and it is filled with sorrow. Please don't misunderstand: Montreal has been a taste of heaven for both Dianne and myself. But now this extended time of quiet reflection, play, practice and solitude must end. As we walked Lucie in Parc Baldwin for the last night in a long time I was overwhelmed with tears...

Two quick thoughts before I get back to other packing and cleaning - and then a treat of Bailey's with Fair Trade chocolate:

+ First, as Di said to me while we were sipping red wine and sharing bread and cheese: "It is ok to feel so sad... this is the first time in your whole life - and your whole ministry - that was a time just set aside for... you! Think about about that: in 63 years, you were able to claim four months." Let's just say more tears erupted, yes?

+ Second, this sabbatical has been very earthy and grounding in ways that are honest and humbling. Tonight, as we took Lucie on a farewell tour of duty and I found myself surprised by grief, she proceeded to poop. Now it was my job to pick up said offering but I couldn't find the damn shit both because it was dark and because my eyes were filled with tears!  It made me think of this poem by Yeats:

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'

'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.

'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.' 

Tomorrow we pack and head off to the Eastern Townships of Quebec for a week of solitude in the country and then back to our home on September 8th.