Sabbatical thoughts on a Berkshire sabbath.....

This has been a tough albeit clarifying week for me as I ponder

and explore options for continued ministry.  Seeking God's truth within my skin has never been simple for me - or probably anyone - so I agonize when I am in a discernment process.  Truth told, it probably started two years ago when, coming home from a few weeks in Montreal, I said to Dianne:  "I feel like I am ready for retirement." Now, we have a long-standing joke about both being BORN to retire. We like nothing more than to park ourselves in a new place and wander, watch and listen to what's going on.  We like to sit at open air cafes and sip tea or wine. We like to chat-up the locals and get their take on their home.  In a word, we were BORN for retirement.

Our finances, however, don't seem to agree with this assessment. So
we both continue to try to do creative and satisfying ministry until such a time comes when we can step back from the fray.  When I first raised the retirement issue in a deadly serious way two summers ago, and we both owned our financial realities as well as the continuing challenges and opportunities to grow deeper with the dear people of our current church, that started an exploration into what an extended Sabbatical might mean for heart and soul.  And after returning from Montreal this summer, I proposed we start the planning process in earnest.

Our church council endorsed the idea - this congregation has a long and satisfying history of pastoral sabbaticals - and it is built into my contract, too.  My suggestion, however, included bringing the church leadership into the planning process a la the Lilly Foundation grant process.  In a nutshell, this process involves deep rest and renewal for the clergy person AND a time of playful creativity and renewal for the congregation, too.  As one lay leader told me, while they celebrated the three sabbaticals my predecessor experienced - and they were ready for a little breather, too - they mostly hung on by their finger nails until he returned.  It was not a time of congregational joy - and this is one of the ways the Lilly grant is different. They grant funds for the church as well as the pastor to do the work of renewal.

So, we selected a small Sabbatical team and have been writing our shared proposal for the past two months.  Four weeks ago, we first met to review and critique my first draft - and it was tough going for me. Not because people were harsh, not at all; but rather because it soon became clear that some of my team doesn't really understand the level of my weariness. Part of that is just the nature of the beast, right?  As a rule I am not a whinger in public - it doesn't change anything and pisses people off - so why bother?  But it is also true that lay people are rarely welcomed into the deeper emotional life of their pastors - for good and bad reasons - so when they are, their reactions are often startling.

We've made two passes and rewrites on our application so far and each

time the final critique has made the document stronger.  But it has also caused me a few sleepless nights as I wrestle with what is at stake here for me.  You see, for me this Sabbatical is NOT simply another task in ministry.  It will make the difference between my continued vitality in ministry for the future, or, my decision to bite the bullet and opt for early retirement.  As I told one member: if an extended Sabbatical wasn't a real possibility, I would be preparing my resignation.  Not because I feel we're done with ministry together. But because I am worn out and need to step back for a time. This is a matter of the soul for me rather than just one more complicated task in the life of a local church. 

So my perspective on what matters is very different - in the actual time way and when I return - and this has made coming to common ground complicated. Again, it probably shouldn't be simple but there have been a few times when I've felt defeated and thoroughly misunderstood. Not by all, thankfully, but I sometimes sense that for some this application is one more task to be managed. I am grateful that my team members are wise, creative and dedicated professionals who know how to get things accomplished - and this grant will be no exception.  What I sometimes find excruciating, however, is how our very different reference points slows down our quest for common ground.

This is not a task for me - it is a life line - for while I love ministry - and THIS ministry in particular is very sweet to me - I know I am not a kid anymore.  I don't have the emotional, physical or spiritual reserves that once let me run on empty for months at a time. Now I carry the weight of my own wounds and the pain of others with me most of the time.  M. Craig Barnes, president of Princeton Theological Seminary, says that all of this creates an attractive "gravitas" for a pastor.  He is right - and the legacy of 30+ years clearly helps me be a better pastor than when I first began - but it is also a burden.  As I wrote in a recent correspondence to my sabbatical team:

I am risking being very vulnerable with you about my deepest needs and concerns.  As a rule, I don't do this with the people I serve in a church; but we won't be able to make this work without it.  Most lay people don't have any deep appreciation for the weariness born of carrying an other's pain. So if I sound like I am carping from time to time, please invite me to first unpack my concern so that you can grasp where I'm coming from, ok? I can handle criticism after sharing my perspective - even if it is of the harshest type - but I prefer to do this in an environment that honors deep listening.

Clearly even the application process is part of the spiritual quest for

common ground, yes? I sense that we are building a deeper trust between clergy and laity by doing this.  I believe we are unlocking a new level of creativity and even sacred playfulness, too. But damn is it hard work - and this week I've felt it in spades.  There has been hard work taking place between other colleagues, too as we try to find a way to unlock emergency housing for the homeless poor this winter.  There has been hard musical work accomplished as we practice and prepare for our Thanksgiving Eve show next week.  And there has been hard emotional work done as two more babies were born into our wider families just last night.

It is a cold and dark day in the Berkshires. It feels like winter is just around the corner. In a few hours we will head into hill country to share dinner at our daughter's farm.  Our puppy will have a chance to run through the woods and fields in total abandon. We will rest together for a time with our loved ones around the supper table.  I give thanks to God for this Sabbath rest because tomorrow the hard work resumes.

Writing and waiting and planning...

Today I had hoped to get a little extra rest after the hustle of

this week but for some reason I was awake by 6:30 - and working on various writing tasks by 7.  Sometime during the night my nephew Chris and his girlfriend delivered their first baby while our nephew Michael Anna and her husband Gerald are still in labor with their first child, too. About noon two friends from church stopped by to help repair our Subaru that has been on the fritz of late.  And as all of this was shaking out, I had to keep on writing: writing Advent resources for our families, writing sermon notes for Sunday, charting diagrams for our Thanksgiving Eve concert, writing plans for Christmas Eve and writing my weekly email note to the congregation. Don't get me wrong, I love this gig and it sure as hell beats heavy lifting, but I am about played and look forward to an early evening pastoral call to bring some balance to the day. 

Still, here's part of what I wrote to my folk: This Sunday marks the celebration of Christ the King Day - one of my favorite feast days in the Christian realm - and I look forward to honoring it in worship with you for three distinct reasons:

+ First, this holy day asks us to make a choice between cynicism and hope.  The scripture for the day is taken from Luke 23, the story of Christ's crucifixion between two thieves, and each criminal (or sinner) represents something in us all.  One complains and curses Jesus, he mocks and degrades him, because even in an ugly death he doesn't want to give up control.  Like so many people of hatred who try to feel better about themselves by spewing venom against others, this soul is miserable - and generates only more hatred.  The other man, no less guilty, simply asks Jesus:  "Remember me when you come into your kingdom."  Implied in his request, of course, is a confession and repentance; he has looked into his own heart and chosen to seek God even though his life is near the end and he is living through the worst kind of torture.  To which Jesus says, "You will be with me forever in paradise."  We have a choice - cynicism or hope - hatred or love.

+ Second, Christ the King Sunday is the last Sabbath in the church year.  Hard as it is to believe, we will enter Advent next Sunday: December 1.  So this week is an invitation to get ready for Advent.  At the core of this worship, besides the choice, is a challenge:  will you be ready to see the Lord when he comes?  Clearly one thief was either unwilling or unable.  Getting our hearts and minds ready for the mysteries of Advent is another reason this is an important Sunday.

+ And third, there will be such beautiful hymns and music - and readings from Scripture - that I don't want you to miss our review of the whole Christian year.  Worship will be formed in a slightly different mode this week (what's new, right?)  Mostly I will be sharing a comment about each of the major church seasons - Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter and Pentecost - coupled with readings from the Bible and sacred hymns that evoke these seasons. This Sunday will be a good refresher in the sacred wisdom of the Christian calendar.

And then on Sunday afternoon, we'll redress the Sanctuary for our annual Thanksgiving Eve concert.  We'll set up the various microphones for the 15 performers and 10 additional singers in the gospel choir - my guitar army with drums and keyboards, to boot - and be ready for a practice and sound check by 3 pm. Before that we'll head out to the Plainfield farm for dinner tomorrow night and then do a music and practice evening with the core band members on Saturday.  Ok, now it is time for a break as the sun begins to set behind the Berkshires at 3:44 pm! 

Op ed in the Berkshire Eagle

Kinda groovy... my op-ed in the local Berkshire Eagle. Check it out @ http://www.berkshireeagle.com/opinion/ci_24559830/james-lumsden-music-and-community-thanksgiving-eve

Unexpected tears...

Last week I came across the Buechner quote about paying attention to unexpected tears, right?  Well, after a tough and demanding week, I saw this on Facebook from an old high school friend - a powerful actor as an adult and a long time great musician - and it just made my heart sing.  And my eyes weep... with joy and gratitude.

Not many people get what it means to give yourself 110% to beauty - or to carry an other's pain - or to be open to the ache of an other's soul. A mentor in ministry once said to me: Remember, you are NOT in this for the strokes. Jesus healed 10 lepers but only one returned to give thanks. So understand that you are NOT in ministry to be thanked.  And that is still true.  At the same time, it is also true that one small act that honors truth, goodness and beauty can unlock an avalanche of gratitude as this film expresses so wonderfully.

Getting ready for Christ the King...

Seated in silence in anticipation of today's midday Eucharist, I heard an "audible prayer" as my friends and colleagues in ministry entered the Chancel and took up their seats.  Quietly they picked up their Psalters and liturgies.  In shared silence we listened to hymns offered to Salve Regina.  And at 12:15 pm, I invited them to open their hearts to the Lord.

There is a sweet sense of calm in our Wednesday Eucharists that I secretly look forward to entering.  Often I am not aware that I am longing for our common prayers, but no sooner do I take up my place in the choir loft then I experience the blessing promised in Psalm 46: Be still and know that I am God.  We prayed this psalm in anticipation of Christ the King Sunday (the close of the church year on November 24th) and also shared lectio divina on Sunday's gospel. Luke 23 is the story of Christ's crucifixion - and we read about the paradox offered as the thieves on either side of Jesus speak of cynicism and faith - clearly and invitation for us to decide.  As one person said, "Quite a challenge, yes?  Do I have eyes to see and ears to hear when the Lord is present?  Or am I caught up in just what I know even while Jesus is coming close in the most horrible situation?"  As a prompt for the start of Advent on December 1st it is the right challenge:  Advent is coming, will we have eyes to see and ears to hear?

Both the Psalm and the Gospel use paradoxical language to push us beyond the obvious.  Fr. Richard Rohr put it like this in this morning's reading:

And I chose to have Wisdom rather than the light, because the splendor of her never yields to sleep.  Wisdom 7:10

The beauty of the unconscious is that it knows a great deal, whether personal or collective, but it always knows that it does not know, cannot say, dares not try to prove or assert too strongly, because what it does know is that there is always more—and all words will fall short. The contemplative is precisely the person who agrees to live in that unique kind of brightness (a combination of light and dark that is brighter still!). The paradox, of course, is that it does not feel like brightness at all, but what John of the Cross calls a “luminous darkness,” or others call “learned ignorance.”In summary, you cannot grow in the great art form, the integration of action and contemplation, without (1) a strong tolerance for ambiguity, (2) an ability to allow, forgive, and contain a certain degree of anxiety, and (3) a willingness to not know and not even need to know. This is how you allow and encounter mystery. All else is mere religion.

Tonight we meet again to work on our Sabbatical application to the Lilly Foundation.  We will review my hopes and plans and then spend serious time playfully imagination how the congregation might embrace a project, too.  One of my friends and band mates earlier sent me a tune from the Police that evokes this dance in the luminous darkness.

You will see light in the darkness
You will make some sense of this
And when you’ve made your secret journey
You will find the love you miss

Burning down the house: music, healing and the prayer of my heart...

Sometimes you're the windshield, sometimes you're the bug... right? Today mostly felt like I was a bug:  I was bone tired, didn't sleep well last night, had meetings all day long and then band practice.  The issues at our meetings are important: how do we care for the most vulnerable and hardcore homeless among us?  And let's just say, our conversations today didn't go well - although they advanced the issue.

So when I got to church to record a song for TV I had no juice left and no patience.  My honey had called and asked if we might have Mexican before practice - and that sounded great - but the good people messed up my order and I eventually had to get chile rellenoes to go.  So when I sat down to do Yussuf Islam's "The Wind" let's say I didn't think it would work - but we nailed it in just one take.  And all the bullshit of the day seemed to vanish in that one, sweet little song.

And then practice for Thanksgiving Eve ROCKED!  What a gas!  My singers and instrumentalists were cooking!  We're going to have 30 people on stage at one point doing gospel and it is going to be killer. I am getting so pumped for this show. We'll gather as a core band for refreshments and songs later this Saturday night in a chill setting and that will deepen the groove, too.  So I thought I would book out of there before choir practice but found I couldn't stop singing.  It was all so healing and real and beautiful.  And then, as if an answer to prayer, one of our singers sent me a note asking if she could do "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" at this gig?  I started to cry... the perfect close to a rough day. Thanks be to God.  Made me think of St. Bonnie...

The local church is NOT the Catholic Worker...

So here's an on-going tension I've wrestled with for most of my

30+ years of ministry:  balancing the needs of the congregation/ parish with the equally real social issues of the wider community. Over the years I have seen some clergy largely ignore the wider community while others have devoted most of their time to work that only touches their faith communities.  That is, I've seen lots of either/or ministry but precious little social action/compassion work that is well integrated into the life and spirit of the local congregation. And it is my hunch that this imbalance happens for a few reasons:

1)  Some clergy are genuinely frustrated with being a parish minister and would rather be social workers or social activists.  This desire may be organic but is also often the result of sluggish lay leadership that would rather complain and drag their heels than do something life giving.  So, over time, these clergy find themselves taking up duties on more and more community boards and service agencies.  Or else they become participants in hands-on direct services.  Let's face it, we want to feel useful, right?  So if affirmation isn't going to happen in our church, then we'll do what we have to do in order to get the strokes we need.

2) Other clergy are either so competitive with their peers - or else insecure with their own authority - that they give their time and gifts only to the concerns within their own congregations.  In essence, they become chaplains to those who pay their salaries and generally divorce themselves from the social problems surrounding their churches. There are always problems to solve in every church so they become in the words of Stanley Hauerwas "a quivering mass of availability" and run themselves ragged until burn-out devours them.

3) And some clergy get caught in guilt trips that they don't know how to get out of and wind up doing community work as a frustrating obligation.  These souls often end up with a passive-aggressive attitude about their community service that serves no one.  Would that they learn to say 'no" because everyone would be happier.

I note these reactions both because I've been there and done them and because so many friends and colleagues seem to be locked into one or the other approach - with no one being satisfied with any.  About five years ago a seminary professor asked me if I might offer his seniors who were about to graduate some advice about serving God in a local church. I don't think I was very helpful - and would certainly rework my insights if such a request ever came again - but one thing I noted was that we can't do everything.  We may WANT to do everything, but not everything is ours to do.

Most of our time and energy needs to go into caring for the people in our churches.  That is the charism we have been given - equipping the saints for the work of ministry as Ephesians 4 puts it - so the majority of our time needs to go to the faith community.  They, in turn, are the ones who should be on the community boards - or doing direct services - or engaged in social action. We are not the professionals doing Christianity - we are the organizers helping them learn and live the way of Jesus - so don't fall into the trap of guilt or frustration.  If your church is NOT sending leaders into the world to transform our culture, something isn't right.  

After all, the local church is NOT the Catholic Worker nor is the Catholic

Worker a model or replacement for the local congregation.  Both have unique charisms - both are necessary - and both can support one another, but never confuse what ministry you have been called to strengthen.  In the local church, you are NOT a soup kitchen or the Salvation Army or the spiritual wing of one or the other political party.  You are the body of Christ called to bring leaven to society by transformed lives.

There are a lot of reasons why most ordained Protestant clergy get OUT of ministry after the first five years.  Some, it should be stated, should get out.  But many get so tied up in frustrations with sluggish and foolish lay leadership - or else burned out by their own expectations of what ministry really means - that they bolt.  Like one of my therapists told me years ago when I was facing burn out:  Ok, we've identified all the wrong reasons why you went into ministry; let's try to find the right ones now so that you can keep on!  Knowing which charism has touched your heart is an important ingredient in this mix.

Listening to the spirit...

Funny things happen when you are open to the Spirit, yes?  I find that when I listen for the Spirit's prompting in my life, I often find a host of connections between the assigned Scriptures for the week, my life and the lives of those in our faith community.  This week, for example, the words of Isaiah speak of harmony, forgiveness and sharing signs of hope.  And last night the community gathered for our annual Harvest Dinner - about 70+ people came - along with this group of incredible youth.

We ate and laughed, shared stories and checked-in with one another in ways that were healing and holy. Together we were young and old and in-between, wise and foolish, healthy and sick, gay and straight, male and female, rich and poor together sharing a common table.  Like the poetic prophet of Israel said:  They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord— and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord.

Today it was announced that we are close to our goal of baking 400 pies for the community Thanksgiving Food distribution - with 92 pies coming in this morning.  When this challenge was first given to us, we laughed in mock horror saying, "That is too huge a goal for our small congregation."  And truth be told, it probably is - but then people's imaginations were kindled and the Spirit took charge - and now we are laughing and rejoicing together in our quest to feed and love our neighbors in need.

After worship, our children practiced for the Thanksgiving Eve show

while I met with our Christian Ed team.  We're putting together family resources of Advent/Christmas.  And when we got hung-up on finding a date for an Advent gathering, the Spirit led us to a much better solution: Let's do an Epiphany party instead.  Life is FAR too busy for our kids in the Nutcracker and Christmas Carol productions and families don't need one thing MORE to do.  So why not do our Christmas pageant during worship on January 5th and hold a part afterwards? So we shall... Today I am truly grateful to be a part of this collection of sinners and saints who are faithful and funny and willing to listen carefully for the prompting of the Holy Spirit.

Worship notes for sunday redux...(again)

It seems that I am stumbling upon a new/old method for sermon writing these days:  take one part advanced preparation, one part simmering or incubation and one part wandering around with a text for the better part of a week.  For nearly 20 years my preferred method took me to my study on a Tuesday or Wednesday morning for serious Bible study.  By about 12 noon I had worked up an outline that led to writing a reasonable manuscript for Sunday. To be sure, I often tweaked my worship notes throughout the week, but the heart of things was well established by the middle of the week.

But for the past month although I have still set aside most of Tuesday for study and writing, I have come to sense that my real message hasn't bubbled up from below yet.  Something deeper is to be revealed if I listen, watch and wait throughout the week.  And once again that seems to be happening again today.

So here's my emerging outline for what I suspect will take place during worship tomorrow:

Introduction
The bard of Vermont, St. Frederick Buechner, once said that "Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay close attention."  All week long I've been walking around with that truth held close to the scriptures for today - the poetry of the prophet Isaiah and the warnings and comforts of Jesus - pay close attention to your tears, especially the unexpected ones.

+ Now I don't know about you, but sometimes I find that because my week has been so busy I haven't given myself time to notice my tears. Last week was one of those for me and it wasn't until Friday while doing some yard work that I had slowed down enough to pay attention to what I was feeling and sensing.

+ Raking leaves, feeling the gentle warmth of the late autumn sun on my face, listening to the soft wind gave me permission to reconnect my head with my heart.  And as odd as that sounds, it was in the quiet rhythm of my yard work that I began to feel my tears - tears that had been building up inside all week long - but I was to busy to give them expression.

+ I found myself weeping for some of my clergy friends in the area who are so exhausted and discouraged...

+ I found myself overwhelmed with grief for our sisters and brothers who survived the catastrophic typhoon in the Philippines...

+ I found myself brokenhearted about my father's decline...

So before I say anything more about the promises and hopes that our readings for today have to offer, let me invite you to take a moment to slow down long enough to feel what is really going on inside you.  I'm going to play a little tune I used to use all the time as a centering prayer - Yusuf Islam's "The Wind" - and as I do take some deep breaths and wind down so that you might be open to the promises of God in an unstressed way.

play "The Wind"

Insights

I have come to believe and trust that the prophet and poet of ancient Israel, Isaiah, offers us three clues for listening to the wisdom of our unexpected tears.  These tears can be a prayer, you know, a cry for real intimacy with the Lord if we treat them with respect and don't try to medicate them away or distract ourselves.  So let me tell you a little bit about the ancient Isaiah and then let's talk together about how his wisdom could make a difference for our lives, ok?

+ Context of Isaiah after the exile in Babylon...Do you recall why the exile happened?  Hubris and loss of compassion - Israel started acting too big for its britches - playing power politics with Egypt and Babylon - trying to live in a way that was fundamentally about greed rather than compassion.

+ So, in essence, God said:  you want to live like you are in control of creation?  Ok, try it out and see how that goes for you.  (St. Paul in Romans 1)  70 years later, after weeping and worrying by the waters of Babylon, the children of God in Israel returned home only to find the whole city of Jerusalem in ruins and their beloved Temple destroyed.

It was into this reality, filled with unexpected tears, that the poet shared three insights:

1)  It is God's desire and hope to bring forgiveness and grace to the people - not judgment and suffering - forgiveness and grace... 

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress.

2) Our tears point to where God's grace is often closest to us.

No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord— and their descendants as well.

3) God's grace is always greater than our comprehension.

All these sufferings will give you an opportunity to testify… that is to make my love and grace flesh… I will give you words and wisdom that none can oppose… and by your endurance you will strengthen your souls.

Conclusion

·    The poet Isaiah was talking to frightened, hurting and confused people.  He was assuring them that God’s nature is grounded in grace not punishment.  And he was inviting them to rebuild the temple from the ashes so that all people – Jews and Gentiles, clean and unclean – would have a place to practice and celebrate their commitment to the way of the Lord.

·     +  This rebuilding of the Temple was a public work – a visible and tangible sign and symbol of the people’s devotion to the way of the Lord – it was a work of liturgy.  Some of us know that the word liturgy comes from the Greek leitourgia and means the work of the people.  Well, some scholars suggest that in addition to liturgy being the work OF the people, liturgy ALSO means the work FOR the people – a way of making their commitments flesh in public.

·    +  I think of the challenge to bake 400 pies as liturgy – a work FOR the people – or the CROP Walk or our upcoming Thanksgiving Eve concert.  It is a public work done by and for the people of the Lord.  Are you with me?  Do you see where this is going?

Well, earlier this week I read an article by preacher David Lohse who described an art project by Candy Chang that holds some promise for us.  It seems that after the death of one of Chang’s beloved friends, she used her skills as an artist and designed to transform a broken down house in that neighborhood into a “public chalk board where she invited people to respond to the question:  before I die I want to…”  Isn’t that fascinating?  She transformed a disserted and ugly building into a public work of hope and beauty.  Lohse continues saying: “The answers the people wrote were poignant, honest, tender, funny and insightful.”

So he wondered what it would be like if during the Advent and Christmas season, when so many people feel beaten down and depressed, we shared a public work of liturgy with the wider community by installing a chalk board outside our Sanctuary where people could write their prayers. Our question could be something like:  Today I need someone to pray for… or Today I weep for....

We don’t need to know the answers – Jesus asked us to trust him to that – all we need to do is be open, creative and present to the suffering of those all around us.  So what would happen if we did that – if we put up a chalk board with the question, “I need someone to pray for… (OR) Today I weep for..." – and then promised that each week those prayers or names would be lifted up and addressed during our Sunday worship?

When I listen to what is going on just below the surface in my own heart or the lives of my family – I hear the sounds of anxiety and busyness.  I hear a people burdened and confused.  I hear parents doing the best they can but afraid for the well-being of their children.  I hear the elderly fretting about the days to come.  And the sandwich generation wondering how in God’s name they are going to hold it all together.  And, at the same time, even in the midst of those words, I hear the promise of God:

Behold I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight…and even in the midst of trial and fears… I will give you an opportunity to testify to my grace.

My tears are telling me that maybe now is the time for us to share some liturgy with Pittsfield – some public work grounded in hope and grace – and wouldn’t that be incredible?  Think about beloved and we’ll talk more soon…

Embracing the late days of autumn...

Today and tomorrow have been set aside for "yard work." This is a generic label that in our neck of the woods really means "getting ready for winter" - and it can be a hassle or soul food.  It is a lot of work - a ton of leaves to rake, assorted twigs and branches to gather, a deck to clear and a doggie area to clean.  On Wednesday, when our first dusting of snow caught us unawares, today's tasks felt like a hassle.  But it is now almost 50 F and all the snow is gone, so what was once a grind has the potential for becoming a soul satisfying outdoor prayer.

There is something cleansing about clearing away the debris of one season in anticipation of the next, yes?  It not only gets the earth ready for a long rest, but helps me ease into the changes, too. When we moved back to North Country, I dreaded winter. After 10 years in the desert Southwest I thought I was too mellow for the stark severity of this season.  But as our seventh season takes root, I find that I am both excited by the clarity of winter's night sky and eager to hear the silence of our first snow. 

Don't get me wrong:  I'll be carping and complaining about it all by January - and be ready to head South for a spell by February - but for now all is anticipation.  And preparation.  A prelude to Advent for certain. The poet, Annie Finch, put it like this in "Samhain (A Celtic Halloween.)"

In the season leaves should love,

since it gives them leave to move

through the wind, towards the ground

they were watching while they hung,

legend says there is a seam

stitching darkness like a name.

Now when dying grasses veil

earth from the sky in one last pale

wave, as autumn dies to bring

winter back, and then the spring,

we who die ourselves can peel

back another kind of veil

that hangs among us like thick smoke.

Tonight at last I feel it shake.

I feel the nights stretching away

thousands long behind the days

till they reach the darkness where

all of me is ancestor.

I move my hand and feel a touch

move with me, and when I brush

my own mind across another,

I am with my mother's mother.

Sure as footsteps in my waiting

self, I find her, and she brings

arms that carry answers for me,

intimate, a waiting bounty.

"Carry me." She leaves this trail

through a shudder of the veil,

and leaves, like amber where she stays,

a gift for her perpetual gaze.

The next few weeks will be full - practice for our Thanksgiving Eve

concert, pastoral and family visits and suppers, house cleaning and all

the rest - so today is about solitude. And silence. And becoming a part

of the soil and natural rhythm of things. Everything now is a sweet

amber that will soon fade to grey.  I like Rilke's words today, too:

After the summer's yield, Lord, it is time

to let your shadow lengthen on the sundials

and in the pastures let the rough winds fly.

As for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.

Direct on them two days of warmer light

to hale them golden toward their term, and harry

the last few drops of sweetness through the wine.

Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter;

who lives alone will live indefinitely so,

waking up to read a little, draft long letters,   

and, along the city's avenues,

fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.

Do NOT fret...

This morning I woke up earlier than usual and spent time getting church emails sent and sipping hot tea. Two things are gnawing at me - both are beyond my control - and both require surrender.  And, as I have noted often in the past, that comes neither easily nor clearly to me (or most people, I suspect.)  Curiously, both concerns have to do with elderly folk - a failing older person within the church and my father - who are stubborn and often beyond help.

My dad, at 82, continues to get weaker and can't live by himself much longer.  To say that historically he has NOT taken care of himself would be a gross understatement.  And that neglect continues to bear fruit as he ages.  For years, since my mother's death, he has avoided and deflected any conversation (let alone planning) about the time when he could no longer live alone in his home.  But now with increased falling and other health problems, that hour is upon us.  My two wise and generous sisters have started the conversation and now a family-wide confab is being arranged to move things into an action phase.  Like many American families, there are no good solutions and precious few resources, so we will make do knowing that his stubbornness (and rights) may take it our best laid plans South.

The elderly soul at church is moving towards death: slowly. For years this person has been incrementally fading away.  A few years back, on my way to make a pastoral visit, I got delayed and called to say I would be late.  I asked my secretary to phone ahead to let my friend know and to offer the possibility of rescheduling.  We were, however, rebuffed and told that they didn't want any more visits.  My lateness, it seems, evoked anger - so the pastoral call was cancelled en route.  I hate to upset folk in my church for no good reason (truth be told, there ARE good reasons to cause a fuss, but this wasn't one.)  So, I ate it that day and waited for a few weeks to check back.

When we called back from time to time over the next few months, we were always told not to visit any more.  Other lay folk from the congregation still periodically visited so I've been able to keep up to date with changes, so I chose to honor this person's decision.  Mostly, when people become angry, I treat them like adults and don't try to fix things beyond my control.  There are, you see, consequences to our actions and words.  And to the best of my knowledge, that's what we tried to live into here, too.  Does it make me sad? Of course.  In times past we'd had a rich relationship and I had visited and helped out regularly.  But as my old friend changed - and now drifts closer to death - so did our connection and it became increasingly sad. 

What troubles me today is that there are some who suggest that I should have done more to be attentive and compassionate to this person. They don't know the whole story (how often is THAT the case) but ultimately in ministry that doesn't matter, right? For some, perception is reality and it is easier to blame another than grieve ourselves. And when that happens, I always second guess myself:  there is no point in it and nothing gets better, but I still go to doubt as my default position.  Ugh! And while I know intellectually and professionally this is an ugly dead-end, I still find myself heading there from time to time.

That is why my AA friends say that you have to WORK the steps. They don't help automatically, they have to be practiced and refined. They have to become a living and breathing part of my daily spirituality. What's more, my intimacy with God's grace requires spending time with the Lord in quiet.  And at this time of year it is all too easy for me to get out of balance given holiday preparations, family problems and stewardship campaigns.

Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote that one of the reasons we have pain - and by implication anxiety and doubt - is to help us pay attention. The wound is communicating with us - albeit in an upside down way - and aches to bring us to peace.  He speaks of this as "falling upwards" or letting our failures ground us more deeply in grace.  So over and again, like Siddhartha, I find myself back at the same place before the same river praying:  God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.

Like many, part of me HATES not being in control.  I want to fix everything and want it all to work out the best for me. Better to turn, however, to my old friend in Psalm 37:

 Do not fret because of the wicked;
   do not be envious of wrongdoers, 
for they will soon fade like the grass,
   and wither like the green herb. 

Trust in the Lord, and do good;
   so you will live in the land, and enjoy security. 
Take delight in the Lord,
   and he will give you the desires of your heart. 

Commit your way to the Lord;
   trust in him, and he will act. 
He will make your vindication shine like the light,
   and the justice of your cause like the noonday. 

Be still before the Lord, and wait patiently for him;
   do not fret over those who prosper in their way,
   over those who carry out evil devices. 

Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath.
   Do not fret—it leads only to evil...

Wait for the Lord, and keep to his way,

   and he will exalt you to inherit the land.

And so it goes...