Color Where There Is No Place to Put It

A couple of nights ago I stayed over at church as one of the hosts for an IHN week. If your community has an Interfaith Hospitality Network, then you know it's a program designed to offer a tiny bit of a homelike atmosphere to homeless families. Shelters are usually segregated by gender, which tends to split up spouses and divide parents from children. Through IHN, families stay overnight, in their own rooms as much as possible, in participating churches and synagogues for a week at a time. They spend their days at the IHN center, from which children are delivered to school and where parents find phone banks and other resources for housing and job searches.

Most religious communities host IHN families about four separate weeks each year. It's a high people-intensive committment: volunteers are needed to set up and take down, welcome and say good-bye, provide breakfasts and dinners, act as hosts during the early evening hours - mostly to supervise the younger children so the parents can have some privacy, and stay overnight. I figured I could about manage an overnight, with the minimal interaction it would require with either the families or my co-overnighter.

I didn't miss the irony that I was spending the evening with four families who have no homes at present at the same time that I was writing about extravagant home decorating ideas. An odd thing has happened recently in that several possibilities for serving the homeless have suddenly materialized in my life. A friend and former colleague is taking me with her next week to a huge men's shelter where she does poetry workshops. A man is my spiritual direction program is planning his internship around offering spiritual companionship to the homeless. This Saturday I'll be spending some time at the church where I'll be doing my internship this year, on a day when lunch is provided to the homeless. And if I get my act in gear and send an email today, there may be an opportunity for me involving spiritual direction and the homeless in the city in which I attend seminary.

In the very dark days of last winter, my own former spiritual director, working in another city these days, sent me without commentary a short article about Jean Vanier and L'Arche, the communities Vanier founded in which those who are developmentally disabled and those who are not share homes together. Why did you send me this? I asked. I don't know, he answered. I thought about writing something, but I decided to let it take its own course. I can't say that I felt suddenly inspired to anything beyond my own survival, but it did occur to me then in a vague kind of way that perhaps he was trying to tell me that my own life having crashed and burned did not mean that I was forever lost and precluded from helping others.

It's probably premature even to speculate about this turn of events, since all that has happened is that a few seeds have been scattered into my life. But it does make me wonder whether I am moving in a completely unexpected direction. I have a roof over my head and a loving family living in it with me, and yet in some ways as a consequence of the past year I feel completely adrift and homeless. New qualifications, perhaps.

Colors - Third Post, and Almost the Final One

It will probably be no surprise to long-time readers of this blog, although it was to me (isn't that always the way?), that when I began to look at the colors I like now, the words that popped up in the various descriptions were along the lines of retreat and reflective.

Some synonyms for retreat (as a noun), thanks to thesaurus.com:

haven, hermitage, hideaway, hiding place, port, privacy, refuge, retirement, safe house, safe place, sanctuary, seclusion, security, shelter, solitude . . .

and for reflective, via its synonym contemplative:

cogitative, introspective, lost, meditative, musing, pensive, pondering, ruminative, speculative, thoughtful.

The colors ~ all variants on blues and greens and purples, all the colors of the ocean which you may not fully realize, if you haven't stared at is as often as and long and in as many places as I have, offers an endless variation of hue. What I don't know (and as Ruth wisely pointed out in the comments below, I should take my time (even if finances did not mandate a leisurely pace!)) is: do I mean pale tones, colors reflecting the beginning and end of the day? Icier tones indicating a certain degree of reticence and withdrawal? Or do I mean the deeper jewel tones, the ones that work best for my wardrobe?

Wardrobes and homes are different venues for color, of course. Despite my (originally) dark hair and eyes, my skin is quite pale, and so deep colors rather than washed out tones look much better on me. (My daughter's skin is pale as well, but her blue eyes and blond hair practically mandate pastels.) I'm not in the least enamoured of today's multi-print styles; my idea of a great look is something more a la Kate Hepburn ~ tailored black trousers and a cobalt blue shirt. For my home, though ~ I'm not sure. As I was reading blogs the other day, this wonderful mix of colors on Mary Beth's blog caught my eye and I thought: the perfect interior. Then I thought: too much. Maybe the perfect interior would be a paler version of same, with the deeper colors for accents via glass and artwork and the occasional pillow or even chair.

In the everything-is-connected department, the cooler, icier, paler colors are clearly reflective of my personal life and movement toward ministry. The former hostess of Christmas dinners for 40 is no more; these days, I struggle mightily in conversations involving more than a few people (and I say some of the most astonishingly inappropriate things when I get confused about the tenor of the group), but I do love to spend time with a (very few at a time) friends. The preacher and teacher and public speaker are still here, but I am told that I am very present to people one-on-one in a way that I think is not possible for me, at least not now, from the front of a sanctuary or meeting room, and so I feel a definite move toward a focus on chaplaincy and spiritual direction manifesting itself.

And so, I think that I am seeing our home more as a place of refuge and reflection, as a place for quiet conversation and small and simple gatherings, for others as well as our family, than as the place through which soccer players tromped and in which multiple chefs spread massive Christmas buffets. Those days were wonderful, but we have been quite changed, and perhaps what we have to share has as well.

(Illustrative colors courtesy of the Atlantic Ocean off Iona.)

Colors, Part the Second

I can see from the dearth of comments on the post below that no one is interested in my reflections on color. Unlike Portia, who received 14 comments (including mine) on the post that inspired me. Does that reflect something about the age and life experience difference ~ she and her friends are at the beginning, full of optimism, moving from the bridal shower to baby shower stages, while I and mine are in the middle, reeling from life's disappointments and trying to rebuild? There is not a single one of my close group of ten or so friends who has not faced a life-altering confrontation with loss and, in several cases, true disaster, in the past decade. Why would we care in the least about bedroom color or living room decor, you ask?

Well, after reading Portia's post, I spent several hours playing around on websites related to color choices. (Where did I find the time? As it happens, I accomplished a great deal earlier this week but, as I have related and has been repeatedly affirmed to me, grief is exhausting. I have spent the past four days in something of a stupor, recovering from the previous three. Online playtime was practically a necessity.) The information was fascinating and, indeed, therapeutic. Possibly also boring to others, since it's about me me me, so I'll shave it down to three quick observations, with some conclusions in another post.

When we bought our home 25 years ago, the decor consisted of then very-fashionable colors and wallpaper in muted country colors and patterns: rusts, beiges, and sage-type greens found in an endless sequence of tiny prints. (You might notice that none of these colors are featured in my previous post, except as rejects.) But during those early years, as we began to recreate the house in our own image, we deepened but did not steer far from those colors, going toward yellows and blues and some reds. Not being Portia, I gave no thought whatever to any of this, but it seems clear now that my subconscious was steering me toward the creation of a home that beckoned with warmth and welcome. My personal wardrobe, interestingly, was based upon navy (interestingly, attorney Portia's favorite ~ and yes, I know the origin of the name Portia). A website tells me that "Navy carries the blue symbolism of importance, confidence, power, and authority. Darker blue, like navy, is associated with intelligence, stability, unity, and conservatism." Leave out the conservatism and you've got it ~ my approach to life as a young lawyer and then stay-at-home mom and community volunteer.

A few years ago, having recognized that our home no longer reflected our lives, I did a previous set of those House Beautiful type quizzes, one that asked about favorite clothing, geography, art, etc. It became clear that the beach and its colors should be my decorating focus. I thought that perhaps my ideal would be something light and airy and colorful: think Carribean and the covers of Coastal Living. However, we live on the Great Lakes in a home closing in on 100 years old, a home which features dark mahogany and oak woodwork and brass fixtures. I decided we would be better off focusing on the blues and greens of the coasts and waters of the north, Maine and Oregon ~ and even on the interior woods and lakes of Algonquin. I was still thinking warm and welcoming, however, as I was beginning to imagine the utility of this far-too-large-for-us house in terms of adult children and their spouses and children.

The past year has been an excursion into another realm entirely. I wrote a post last winter, I think, about my difficulties in choosing clothing, a dilemma echoed by one of my newly-widowed best friends. Who are we now, we wondered, a son and a husband missing from our lives? The houses raise the same questions as our wardrobes do. Our living room is the one room in our house that has undergone no changes at all in the time we have lived here, and I've been gazing at the walls in increasing desperation. That tiny rust print has no place in my current identity, and it's out of date and dark and not clean. This past week, unable either to stand it or to trade it in for a beach cottage, or even to afford to paint it (maybe soon), I went off to Pier One and purchased some dried plants to add some height and interest to the mantle arrangements. It now looks like someone gives a damn, but the colors are still all wrong. What am I to do? I don't think I'm a warm and welcoming person anymore. What kind of person am I? What kind of home should I keep?

Enter Portia's post, House Beautiful, and this week-end's obsession with color. More to come later, but let me add one thing: if it seems as though I am channeling QG's daughter, I want to say that that girl, without a word about church or prayer or God, has performed a serious ministry to me this week. In writing about something that at her age I would have found baffling and somewhat frivolous, she has opened the door to some serious reflections about identity, loss, and self-expression. Who knew?

Ignatius the Pilgrim Statue Explained

I've been asked why I'm so taken with the statue of Ignatius which stands in the garden at the Guelph Retreat Center (photographs in the two posts below).

Ignatius often referred to himself as a pilgrim. A soldier who experienced a profound conversion during his recuperation from a battle injury, he traveled a great deal in the next several years as he sought to discern God's direction for his life. No doubt he would have preferred the great mission adventures for which his colleague Francis Xavier is famed, but he spent the final portion of his life in Rome, writing the constitutions and letters which formed the documentary backbone of the Society of Jesus. Thus the word "pilgrim" ultimately had for Ignatius the same metaphorical connotation of journey that it does for all Christians.

Replicas of this particular statue are scattered around the world. Here's a description from the plaque at Creighton University (which might be identical to the description of the almost identical statue at Guelph, but I'm not sure), with a good explanation of why I like it so much:

“St. Ignatius Loyola, the first Jesuit, leans into the winds blowing from the ends of the earth, manifestations of God’s power and the wonder of the Incarnation. The letter in his hand symbolizes the need that all humans need to communicate with one another and to discover Christ in each other. Adventurous, yet reflective, St. Ignatius meets God’s challenges as the contemplative in action finding God in all creation.”

Another View

Ignatius the Pilgrim

I'm very fond of this statue at Guelph.

Back

So . . . I didn't last long on retreat. What can I say? ~ It's a harrowing time of life. Disguised in the ordinary.

On Retreat in Canada

Qals and Piels and Hifils, Oh My!

I am sitting in my own living room with Gregarious Son and Lovely Daughter and Quiet Husband, totally vegging out while they watch TV.

For the past 50-some nights, I have not been able to relax for one second without thinking that I should be going through my Hebrew flashcards.

What a bizarre sensation it is, not to have to give a thought to a stack of flashcards or pile of charts or other unintelligible material.

Exam over. Retreat and then month off. Phew.

I Think These Would Have Been Good Questions

(See the previous two posts for an explanation).

How have your family, childhood, and adolescent experiences influenced your life of faith and call to ministry?

You've worked in two other fields. How do your previous experiences affect your understanding and practice of ministry? Is there anything you would like to share about work in the "secular world" which might be helpful to those of us who have spent our entire adult lives in ministry?

What's it been like to go to seminary as a second (OK, third) career student? What have been your favorite courses? Where have you learned the most? Have you had any internship or volunteer experiences you'd like to tell us about?

Could you explain what the term "spiritual direction" means and what your training as a spiritual director has involved?

What did you find enriching about CPE? Do you think it's a worthwhile training ground for future pastors?

What can you share with us about pastoral care in light of your experience since the death of your son? What have you learned about suicide? About parental loss?

What passages of Scripture have been especially meaningful in your life?

What interests you so much about interfaith dialogue? How do you imagine incorporating that priority into your ministry in the church?

I kind of like my questions . . . . If I were questioning me at this stage in the process, these are the sorts of things I'd like to know something about if I were limited to questions about call, life, experience, etc. and precluded from asking about theological matters.

Note to self for any similar future scenarios: Organize what you'd like to communicate about yourself very carefully in your mind so that you have access to it and can speak about it regardless of how the questions are framed.

A learning experience . . . .

Humor and Seriousness

Got back to seminary late last night and reviewed the meeting at some length with Dramatic Friend, a wonderful woman from my Presbytery whom I met last summer during CPE, who showed up here this summer for Hebrew, and who went to the meeting last night to support me.

She goes before Presbytery this fall and, after we rehashed the questions I was asked, she said she thought she'd go to her meeting and say, "Would you please ask me Gannet's questions? We've discussed them thoroughly and so I can answer them, plus ~ I can give you her answers!"

In all seriousness, and it took me awhile, but I realized something that we all should know by this time in life: it's hard to ask good questions in a situation like that. Questions that are conceptual and vast and seem tinged with a bit of an ideological bent are almost impossible to address off the cuff. (Unless, of course, you are a politican, which a couple of my FB friends thought candidacy meant!) The questions that work are those which address the specific and call for a narative answer.

It's the difference between a job interview question such as What's your greatest weakness? and one one along the lines of Could you describe a situation in the last few years in which you've made a big mistake, and how you handled it?

There I was, all prepared to talk about my life (which, yes, is a scary subject these days) and I got huge Scriptural and theological questions, the kinds that fill libraries. Do you suppose, I said to Dramatic Friend, that people thought that, under the circumstances, those would be easier?

The other reality, of course, is that some of what I was asked does not fall within my usual range of contemplation and action, which might explain why I could not translate the questions into stories upon which I might reflect. The upside is that I was reminded that there are things barely on my radar screen which are of great importance to others, just as there are matters of critical concern to me to which other people are oblivious.

Now: I really have to focus on nifal and piel!

Adventures in Ordination

I went to the Presbytery meeting.

No theological questions are permitted at this point -- not until next year. At this point, the questions are supposed to be about your call, spiritual experience, seminary, things like that. I had spent considerable time mulling over the statement I had submitted, trying to see it through different eyes and imagine what questions people might have.

I was asked four questions. One on call and three theological. None on anything I had written.

After the third question, someone in the congregation finally objected. But the fourth one was also theological, albeit better disguised as something personal.

I'm now a candidate in the ordination process.

But I can't say that I'm feeling too terrific.

And I have a Hebrew final in 59 hours.

Week Ahead

Guelph Labyrinth

Big week ahead.

Tomorrow night I go before my Presbytery for the next step in the ordination process. Usually these meetings are upbeat and joyful; mine will most likely edge far to the sober side of the spectrum. I have written candidly about Chicago Son in the statement I have to present, partly because his life and death are now so germane to my call to ministry and partly because I don't want people to feel that they must tiptoe around the edge of whatever real questions they have. I am hoping for some joyful moments at the end!

Thursday morning: our Hebrew final. I have a good grasp on what all the possible issues are (and believe me, that's a huge step forward). The question remains: can I remember how any of them work out? Four more days to cram it all into my brain, a few hours of writing, and then -- over!!!

Saturday I drive to Guelph for my retreat. For eight days the forty or so of us there will spend all of our time in total silence, excepting Mass if we are inclined to attend and a daily meeting with a spiritual director. I have written them about the circumstances of my life, telling them I need a retreat director who is experienced, resilient, and fearless. I have had my moments of trepidation, and long periods of wondering whether attempting to make another retreat, ever, after last year is an indication that I have finally and completely lost my mind ~ but mostly, I can hardly wait.

All of which means that a week from right now I will be surrounded by ~ SILENCE.

Across Pretend Borders

I had an unexpected and wonderful exchange last night which caused me to take a look at my email inbox this morning.

I read a lot of religious blogs ~ no surprise there ~ a few of which are listed in my links. Many of them reflect occasional or, sometimes a lot of, defensiveness, hostility, and anger. Sometimes you know it's coming, because that's just who the writer is. Nothing he or she says could possibly induce you to view the faith reflected in his or her writing as something desirable or even worth exploring. Sometimes it's a surprise. There's a blog written by a woman of a somewhat different persuasion than mine whose writing I've enjoyed tremendously, but twice in the last week she's revealed another side in the form of biting remarks pertaining to my own perspective. (No, I've never linked to her blog.) I'll still read her, because I'm curious about her journey and hope it goes well, but the pleasure is gone.

As for myself, I'm thinking about abandoning my pseudonomynimity (too many syllables?), which has caused me to realize that sometimes I am a bit too uninhibited. Perhaps the name Gannet Girl enables me to believe that I can hide behind a multitude of sins. I do think that I may have written things that might on occasion hurt one or more of the individuals whose name pops up in my mailbox, so some culling is in order.

My inbox for the last day or so? (And this is only one of the four. An older ones contains most of the ads and the emails from my long-lived moms' group, my seminary mail contains most things school-related, and a Gannet Girl account contains blog stuff.) In this one: A few inward/outward and Sojourners daily mailings, some of which I'll get to and some of which I won't. Several digests from Parents of Suicides, most of which I will delete because ~ too much. A Benedictine monk. Two Jesuit priests. Two Presbyterian pastors. A friend from church seeking to confirm a presentation. Two people connected to my spiritual direction program. A good friend about a book club selection. Several church friends about the upcoming year's adult education program. Dell, McAfee, and Borders. (The latter three always show up eventually.)

What does your inbox say about your life? I hope that mine reflects openness and curiosity on my part. It for sure reflects a host of different people with whom I am connected in all kinds of ways and who all represent the generosity and care extended to me over the past year. (OK, maybe not Dell and McAfee. But even they make it all possible.)

Loyola House - Meals Magnifique!

Since I've imposed a moratorium on myself with respect to my daily 24/7 obsession with muddling through Hebrew, I thought I'd add some more about my upcoming retreat which is becoming, amazingly, something to which I am looking forward. Amazing in the sense that I can't think of anything else in the past eleven months, other than The Lovely Daughter's college graduation.

Probably many of you have been to various retreat house and conference center meals where the menu resembled something akin to that found in your local high school cafeteria. And I get it -- time is short, budgets are limited, and not too many people working for cafeteria level wages have the interest, knowledge, and skills to develop a menu based on fresh local offerings, Not being a cook of any sort myself, I can hardly complain. When I went to Guelph two years ago, I expected the usual overcooked chicken, scalloped potatoes, and green beans dumped out of cans, and I would not have been disappointed by same.

Did I ever underestimate the creativity and hospitality of the Jesuits ??? (One might mistake them for Benedictines!)

Herewith, from the new brochure (linked in my previous post):

Our continental breakfast includes fresh fruit, yogurt, muffins, citrus marinated prunes, fresh baked breads, hot oats, cereal, and Guelph’s own Planet Bean fair trade organic coffee. Hot breakfasts can include poached, fried, or scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, French toast, or pancakes.

Every lunch we offer a house soup such as ginger carrot, fresh tomato fennel, chowder, sweet potato, or roasted vegetable. Our entrées range from spanakopita to pasta primavera. Salads might include Greek, roasted sweet potato, fresh greens, tomato basil, or coleslaw.

Our dinner entrées can include roasted lemon chicken, fish in a caper tomato broth, beef and vegetable stew, Moroccan tagine, or roast pork with rosemary. Dinner accompaniments range from herb roasted sweet potatoes, fresh vegetables, or roasted Yukon golds to a mixed rice pilaf.

Desserts are our specialty! From fresh apple crumble pie and butter tarts to orange pecan cake to a simple fresh fruit bowl.

We take great care to bring you the freshest ingredients in all of our preparations. Whenever possible we use as much locally grown food as we can, especially from our farm right here on the property. Everything is made in house from the beginning without the use of pre-made ingredients.

I might add that everything is prepared in silence, to accomodate the retreatants, and presented enticingly in a vast and light, airy dining room, one wall of which consists of windows overlooking gardens and pastures. (And the brochure doesn't mention the brownies, one of which I spirited up to my room every night for a post-labyrinth midnight snack.)

Obviously the expectation is that a week of silent prayer requires a lot of nourishment, and not just of the spiritual direction variety.

Two More Weeks . . .

Retreat

Confusion and Affirmation

Earlier this week I spent an hour or so with the committee which oversees my movement, such as it is, toward ordination in the Presbyterian church. In another three weeks they will recommend to the Presbytery, which is our regional governing body and oversees such things, that I move on to the next step.

I don't know what other such meetings for other inquirers (that's what I'm called at this stage) are like. My last two have been mostly about my son's death and its aftermath. The members of the committee are extremely supportive and I am extremely honest. I think it has helped to keep up with my Desert Year blog, as I am not disturbed by questions about how I manage my work, what kinds of accommodations professors have offered me, how we are planning to mark the one-year anniversary, how I take care of myself.

Someone asked me at one point what I thought they should be asking me. That was a good question, and one I had not anticipated. Later, I thought of two things.

What is it like, to survive this kind of loss?

You learn to to live with constant pain. There is nothing that happens, nothing that anyone says, that doesn't remind you of something. When your Hebrew professor says in the middle of class that you can remember how to pronounce the word for "tent" (oh-hell) if you have ever spent the night in a tent during a rainstorm, your mind immediately moves to a night on a canoe trip in Algonquin Park which you have not thought about for years, and the drying-out routine the morning after, and your son's good-humored laughter. The laughter you had been foolish enough to count on hearing for the rest of your life.

As pastors, what should we know, what should we say, when we go to the home of a family where the sudden death of a child has occurred?

You shouldn't say anything, really. You should begin with, "Tell me about your child," and then you should listen. And you should keep listening, for months and years. You won't have the time, and if you have children of your own it will be too hard, but you should do it anyway.

I don't know why I didn't think to say those things. Maybe because I didn't think they were being asked. It's often hard to guess where people are in their curiosity. Most of the time, they seem to be nowhere close to the reality and, regardless of their genuine concern and interest, or perhaps because of it, it feels as if it would be cruel to fill them in. Better to live without this knowledge for as long as you can.

As we talked, I thought about my best friend at seminary. A vibrant, energetic woman, bursting with gifts for ministry. I thought, Her enthusiasm would fill this room. I should be her.

And then one of the gentlemen, a retired minister, said, We are hearing a lot of good things here, and I just want to say, I would love for you to be my pastor.

Go figure.



(Cross posted at Desert Year.)

Milestone

I just noted on Facebook that I've just finished the last of the 25 short papers assigned over the course of the past two years for my spiritual direction certificate program. So I thought I'd look back at what we've read and written about:

six Rahner papers,
five sets of case studies,
one Raymond Brown and one historical Jesus paper,
eight papers on the Ignatian Exercises,
two on ethics and spiritual direction,
two on spiritual psychology and life patterns,
and one that I can't seem to find.

For obvious reasons, I got a late start on other work for the second year of the program, but the academic portion is now complete and the rest is moving forward.

Spiritual direction has been such a profound gift in my life; it seems an extraordinary privilege to me to be able to offer it in return. And it seems impossible that the little group that began our studies together nearly two years ago is almost ready to conclude that portion of the journey!

Employment

So . . . I think that Lovely Girl of mine has applied for about 50 jobs, last count, and ended up with the one she most wanted. She'll be spending a year with an Americorps project here in City on the Lake, working with high school students on The College Process -- helping them with finding colleges and scholarships, writing essays, interviewing, test prep, confidence building, etc.

Her own formal educational experience has been in environments much different from those into which she will venture in August; this should be an exceptionally good experience for her. From her own high school whose graduates without exception go to college to schools where higher education is barely on the radar screen ~ she will learn a great deal about how expectations and environment affect what we take for granted and what we don't. Her sociology honors thesis was on a related topic with similarly challenged students; this opportunity should meld well with the work she's begun.

She's probably reading this, so let me just add how proud I am -- I know that sending out dozens of applications and revving up for interviews that don't pan out and trudging from restaurant to retail shop in the constant hope that someone else will have just quit is NOT FUN. She mentioned the other day that she kind of wished she'd gone back to camp for one more counseling gig, but she knew that that would have only delayed the job search. Now she may be able to go back next summer for a session or two of the 75th anniversary celebration with a productive year behind her!

YES!

Exam and one term of Hebrew behind me, and The Lovely Daughter called last night to say she's been offered an Americorps job (!) that she was really interested in, and had given up on after hearing nothing since the phone interview six weeks ago.

More news when I know.

A long walk and a little mental break ahead today!

Middle of the Night Miscellaneous

~ One more quiz (tomorrow) and a final on Thursday and a full quarter of Hebrew will be behind me. I am SO grateful that one of my last summer CPE buddies who goes to a different seminary has shown up for this summer Hebrew here. We make an excellent study team.

~ The Lovely Daughter has a job interview tomorrow. Let's hope. As far as I can tell, approximately half of her friends are employed and half are not. Movement from the latter group into the former would be a good thing.

~ I have become addicted to The Secret Life of the American Teenager, which I can watch here but probably not at home. The tv switch from whatever to whatever has left us a one-tv family. No one seems interested enough in tv to do whatever needs to be done to change that situation. I suppose that if it interfered with my other addiction ~ early morning re-runs of The West Wing ~ I might drum up some motivation.

~ Michael Jackson's death has demonstrated to me that I am a complete moron when it comes to contemporary pop culture. What can I say? I think I just always thought that all his songs sound the same (which the Lovely Daughter says is true), so I never learned any of them. I was quite surprised when the Lovely Daughter filled me in on the Billie Jean lyrics. I did hear an interview on NPR to the effect that he was a dazzlingly innovative musician and performer. What do I know? Very little, apparently. Well, that's nothing new.

~ I can't think of a single interesting thing to convey. Silence is such a useful option sometimes!

Music of Our Lives (Friday Five)

A very ! fun Friday Five from Mary Beth at Rev Gals!

The sad news of Michael Jackson's untimely death has me thinking about music and its effects on us - individually, as cultures, as generations. Let's think about the soundtracks of our lives...

1) What sort of music did you listen to as a child - this would likely have been determined or influenced by your parents? Or perhaps your family wasn't musical...was the news the background? the radio? Singing around the piano?

Perry Como, Lawrence Welk . . . my plan was to become a beautiful singer named Peggy with short curly hair and full skirts on the Lawrence Welk show.

2) Going ahead to teenage years, is there a song that says "high school" (or whatever it might've been called where you lived") to you?

Junior high: Yesterday, Satisfaction, California Girls, California Dreamin'.

High School: Revolution, Fire and Rain, It's Too Late, Both Sides Now, the entire Crosby, Stills and Nash Album, anything by Laura Nyro.

College: Layla, Maggie.

Law School: Hotel California.

3) What is your favorite music for a lift on a down day? (hint: go to www.pandora.com and type in a performer/composer...see what you come up with!)

Vivaldi.

4) Who is your favorite performer of all time?

The Beatles, the Stones, James Taylor, Joni Michell, Paul McCartney.

5) What is your favorite style of music for worship?

Traditional choral music, preferably as arranged (and sung, if I could get there) by the choirs of places like Kings' College or St. Paul's Cathedral.

Sarah's List

This post is not exactly about Hebrew.

As a small group of us were winding up our tutoring session with our professor in the library this afternoon, I flipped idly through the new issue of America magazine and found this poem by Benedictine Kilian MacDonnell.

As it happens, I am also finishing up a paper on a book on the Ignatian Spiritual Exercises as experienced by women, and so I am giving some thought to feminist critique of Scripture, of the Exercises, of the Christian tradition in general.

I have read Scripture and church history and tradition through a feminist lens for as much of my adult life as I have read such things, and so I am always translating, in my head at least, narratives and essays and such into perspectives other than those which appear explicitly on the page. However, I am no poet, and this man's (!) interpretation of Sarah's experience, at least as it is presented in Genesis, is far more evocative than anything I could write:

. . . And who consulted me

when you bid him burn my son

on Mount Moriah? Still I exaggerate?

. . .

Why did I not see light in your light?

Why did your truth not set me free?

As a mother who has recently lost a son and is now studying Hebrew via the story of the binding of Issac, I have had much occasion over the past two-plus weeks to consider Sarah and her plight.

Of course, we do not know, really, do we? The writers of Genesis 22 did not elect to present the story from her vantage point. Perhaps she did see light and truth, albeit differently from their presentation in the narrative of the journey to Mount Moriah.

Did her husband's decision to follow God's instructions kill her? Silence her? Or did she have some things to say? My experience of the last ten months leads me to believe that she had a great deal to say.

We will never know.

Sigh

I guess I will stop talking about Hebrew until it and the next six weeks are over. I'm sure that my whining is intolerable, especially to those who have found a deeply spiritual experience in their study of such a beautiful language of God's, a language of such cadence and elegance.

Here's my final (until after July 30, if ever) comment:

I just took a look at the first word of Genesis 22. ("And it happened . . .".) I've probably looked at, dissected, tried to absorb it and all of its three parts maybe 200 times in the last couple of weeks.

I looked at it for maybe the 201st time, and I didn't have the faintest idea what it was.

Moments at the Hairdresser's

I pretty much hate going to salons. If I get my hair trimmed twice a year, I've really made an effort, and the thought of a manicure or pedicure makes my skin crawl. So when I say that I just went to a new place and had several inches of hair cut off, that represents a big deal for me.

The stylist asked me if I were going out tonight. I chuckled and said "No," going out not being something I do these days. But then, thinking that he might have plans, I said that I hoped that the dreary weather would clear up and asked if he were going anywhere.

He's going to the Gay Pride Parade, so he, too, hopes it clears up.

For the first time in the past two years, I found myself hoping I wouldn't be asked what I do. For the first time ever, I felt a strong desire to distance myself from a public role in connection with my faith, because I did not want the young man cutting my hair to associate me with anti-gay rhetoric or views.

As it turned out he did ask me, and then told me a little about his religious upbringing by his Catholic and Baptist parents, and so we had a bit of an interesting conversation.

I did discover, however, that there is one area of unbridgeable distance between us.

I asked him whether he had always wanted to do hair. "Oh, yes," he said. "My mother used to take me to the salon with her all the time, and I thought it was so wonderful and glittery and glamorous!"

Postlude:

The Lovely Daughter and a friend are headed out for the evening and tell us that they're going to Pride. I mention my morning conversation. "Half the groups in the Pride Parade are church groups," offers her friend.

I Stand Corrected

2:15 Arrived

2:20 Appointment

2:30 Changing

2:45 Outta There

Momentary Humor: A woman stopping by the desk for, apparently, something else:

A mammogram? Girl, I'm 80 years old and they've been all dried up for a l-o-n-g time!

In the Some Nerve Department

Just picked up a voice mail reminding me of my mammogram scheduled for tomorrow.

Please try to arrive a few minutes early.

If you are late, we may have to reschedule your appointment.

Anyone wanna lay claim to EVER having waited less than half an hour past the appointed time for a medical appointment?

Jerusalem, We Have a Problem

I think I've written about his before: I got an A in Calculus, long, long ago, by memorizing the textbook.

I never had the faintest idea what Calculus was about.

Do you think that I could memorize every single letter and syllable in Genesis 22 and get through Hebrew that way?

I keep thinking of that scene in Apollo 13 where they dump the stuff on the table and say, "This is what you have to work with to get them back to earth."

I have to get through 6 weeks and 1 day more.

Of course, the main thing the astronauts had was people who wanted them to survive.

I have that.

Today's Hebrew Moment

So. (You might need to know a little Hebrew, or at least a little about Hebrew, to get the humor.)

We are learning Hebrew by dissecting Genesis 22 (the story of the binding of Issac) syllable by syllable. Twelve hours of class thus far; 1.5 verses.

I finally realized that I need to work ahead in the workbook as much as I can before class, so that I do not have to sit there in abject dismay as everything flies right by me. This way, I've gotten about half the material beforehand and I mostly know what I don't understand. (Not, as it turns out, always.)

This morning I made it through class and then spent a couple of hours with Long Suffering Professor. At first there was a small group of us, The Lost The Baffled and The Utterly Confused, but eventually our numbers dwindled to just me.

I had a few more questions, and I pulled out the copy of the passage that I had photocopied and enlarged on 8.5"x14" paper so that I could see all the little dots and dashes, and placed it on the table.

"You've got it upside down," said LSP.

Yesterday's Hebrew Moment

I went out for a very long walk, Hebrew flash cards with me. At one point, I realized that I had made a mistake with either the spelling or the pronunciation of a word ~ either one side or the other of the card made no sense.

As I walked through the park on the far side of the Little Lakes where many families were having picnics, I noticed a woman wearing a long skirt and long-sleeved t-shirt chasing after a preschooler. Ha! "Are you Jewish?" I asked her. (Obviously; it was 80 degrees out.) "Yes," she said. "Oh, could you help me with this?"

She was very gracious and assured me that I was right about being wrong.

Good thing I live here.

Summer Hebrew

So here's the thing:

The professor, who could not possibly exhibit more patience, explains the material slowly and clearly.

"So now you know [whatever it is]," he says calmly.

And some people, perhaps most people in the class, actually do.

I spend two hours with him later in the day; he basically re-teaches the entire morning's class to me.

I spend two more hours with the tutor and a couple of my classmates. She re-teaches most of the class -- my third time through in one day.

I spend hours with the workbook, reading and re-reading and slowly, slowly, slowly making sense out of the material, enough that I can understand it when I read it and practice it for the zillionth time, but not enough to have knowledge independent of the text. Not enough to be able to reconstruct or explain any of it.

I try the practice review in the text. I cannot answer a single question.

You know, I get it. I understand the value in being able to read, if only for a brief few months in time, some of the Scriptural text in the original.

But there are so many other things I want to learn that would be of so much more value to me in ministry ~

And all the time that would go to them is being devoted instead to a language that, if my experience with Greek is any indication, I will have completely forgotten a year from now.

If I were not so close to the finish line, I would seriously think about giving up.

Next Little Hill

A year ago I would have viewed what lies ahead as an insurmountable mountain but, you know, one's perspective changes.

I'm back at seminary and about to start summer Hebrew ~ two quarters of classes crammed into eight weeks. People frequently offer the opinion that it will be easier than doing it the usual way, since presumably the language is one's sole focus. Perhaps, if one is 23. And that view discounts the reality that I spent about 35 hours a week on Greek when that language was the bane of my existence. (My three other courses got occasional nods.) I would have to triple the time to accomplish the same thing this summer, and I'm not sure that there are 105 hours in a week available for study!

This morning I prayed with last Tuesday's Pray-As-You-Go, because I like the music. The meditation suggests attentiveness and appreciation toward the gifts of others, as opposed to arrogance about one's own. I think that I will have ample opportunity to engage in that particular spiritual practice today!

God Our Mother and Father

God our Mother
birthing new life
through chaos

God our Father
building hope from
the dark night

God our Sister
comfort us in
times of sorrow

God our Brother
guide us through the
storms, calm water

God of the Night
brighten our dark
days, warm light

God of the Day
show us the way,
love as you

God, mystery
One in Three and
Three in One

Parent, child, friend
Comforter, Grace
Spirit, Love

Lover, One, All
Infinite One
Compassion

Sun, Moon, and Stars
Earth, Wind, and Fire
Water, Life.

In Your Image
Abide in us
We in You

In your Image
In Your image
Mystery.
Amen.

**********

This prayer is up on the RevGals site this morning, thanks to Mompriest.

The first verse completely captivated me.

Advent before last, one of my friends preached a sermon in the seminary chapel in which she reflected upon that period in life when she had been able to sit and watch little bumps in her belly as the new life forming within her stretched and pounded away. I remember leaning over to whisper to another friend how grateful I am that we live in a time in which an Advent sermon might reference the experience of impending motherhood with the authority of someone who has lived it.

(I am feeling a little sensitive about that issue right now as many of the Catholic blogs I read are posting photographs of ordinations of deacons and priests, it being that time of year. It is so ~ um, would disconcerting be a polite choice of words? ~ to see line after line of exclusively male ordinands.)

Anyway, away from women and men and human motherhood and fatherhood and back to God.

I love the words and imagery of the creation stories in Genesis and the Gospel of John. I am entranced by idea of God speaking creation into existence. I love to contemplate breath and sound forming physical, see-able, touchable, taste-able things. (I would say smell-able but, as some of you know, I have no sense of smell and therefore that particular aspect of creation is lost on me.) Think of the imagery: God spoke hummingbirds into existence, and the ocean, and roses, and us. Also, of course, mosquitos, which only goes to show that there is something to the arguments about the inscrutability of the Creator.

However,

at this time of my life, when chaos and sadness and disappointment and rage and bewilderment predominate, when I am trying so hard to envision how new life and creativity and energy emerge from devastation,

God our Mother birthing new life through chaos

is a far more satisfactory image.

If you've given birth, then you probably remember how messy and chaotic and frightening and powerful it is.

The birth of a child and the death of a child seem to be about the same in some ways.

How wonderful to have this prayer this morning.

Mount Angel Abbey (Oregon)

Ten Things

1. The beginning of the third week, and I finally feel pretty much better after getting really, really sick in Oregon.

2. Going to spend the next three days plowing through my last paper (on which, thankfully, I had had the foresight to request an extension) so that I can maybe enjoy at least one long week-end (instead of the 10 days originally planned) before . . .

3. Summer Hebrew starts a week from today. Two quarters worth jammed into 8 weeks, and we all know how gifted (far from it) I am in ancient languages. Kiss this summer good-bye, until . . .

4. Two months from today I will be on an 8-day silent retreat, back at Guelph. I am torn between apprehension in memory of having been on retreat when Chicago Son died and a longing for the silence, the river, the sunrises, the labyrinth, the wide open spaces, the prayer, and ~ did I mention the silence?

5. Gregarious Son is taking the LSAT next week. Too late for law school this fall, which is a very good thing in a life ~ all our lives ~ which will be filled with tumultuous memories at the end of the summer, but who knows what it may lead to later?

6. The Lovely Daughter is at home and has begun her job search in earnest. It's beyond wonderful to have her around.

7. The yard is looking nice. All cleaned up and some flowers in ~ quite a change from last year, when I rushed from seminary to Chicago to CPE and then was too steadily exhausted from those overnight on-calls to think beyond the occasional lawn-mowing job.

8. The house is a disaster. I'm hoping that we will get the guest room re-plastered and painted this summer. So far it has taken about two months to pull down a couple of lengths of wallpaper and clean up the plaster dust, so the re-do plan might be a bit too ambitious. I have no idea how people like Quotidian Grace actually build an entire house.

9. Also ahead this summer: movement toward candidacy status in the ordination process. I have about finished the six essays (thanks to help from a RevGal!) and meet with my Session in two weeks, my CPM at the beginning of July, and the Presbytery at the end of July. All Presby-speak for The Process.

10. I think a great deal about a comment my friend Julia left over on Desert Year some time ago: about how sometimes things happen that you think you cannot possibly survive, and yet somehow you endure and move forward. Apparently that is the case, at least most of the time for most of us. I wish it were true for all of us but, for those of us who are left, there is increasing energy and laughter and ~ each other.

My Favorite Haystack Rock Photo

Cannon Beach Images

Oregon: Haystack Rock Birds

Unless the puffins are the same as those in Scotland (don't know, too lazy to look up), I saw all life birds on our last day in Oregon!

Tufted Puffins (here)

Pelagic cormorant (here)

Western gull (here)

Pigeon guillemots (here)

Black oystercatcher (mine)

Congratulations, Willamette '09!

The Lovely Daughter

Cum Laude

Honors in Sociology

Phi Beta Kappa

The Housemates!

The Campus!

More Gardens

I posted a little about The Grotto in Portland over at Desert Year; the final picture above was taken there as well.

We also visited the Chinese Garden, which fills a block in the heart of Portland. It is exquisite, with so many small, intricately designed spaces, each one different from the last. And quite inspiring, given the miniscule size of our own yard at home. One of the most interesting aspects of the garden is the way in which sunlight is incorporated onto the multitude of patterns and textures by means of window design and tree placement -- you almost feel as if the sky itself is being redesigned. The effects are somewhat apparent in the image of the courtyard tile design called "Cracked Ice"~ just what it looks like.