A sermon

Telling Stories
John 4:5-26; 39-42

The Samaritan woman’s testimony to the town’s people is really remarkable when you stop to think about it: “He told me everything I have ever done.” (v. 39) Here is a woman whose reputation looms so large that she is known even by those who just happen to pass through town. People had been telling the story of everything she had ever done for years.

“Did you hear about the woman who lives on the edge of town, you know, the one who has been put out by five different husbands?”

“Yeah. I hear she’s living with another man now and that he hasn’t even bothered to marry her. Oh, the poor dear. How does she do it? It must be just awful to live that way.”

“Poor dear? Are you kidding? I hear those husbands were all well within their rights to put her out.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t. You just never know what you can believe these days. I do feel badly for her. She must be awfully lonely. I’ve started to strike up a conversation with her several times, but I don’t know. That’s risky. I’m afraid of how it might make my husband look if people knew his wife was associating with her.”

And though the stories they told may well have been behind her back, or maybe they were told in her presence, she knew what was being said, and perhaps even at some point let go of the idea that there was a different story to tell. The power of voice, of whose story gets told, has a way of doing that to us.

She was accustomed to being the one who hushed conversations when she walked into the room, the one no one spoke to when she went to the well. For years she’d gone during the early part of the day to draw water, when it was cooler, like the other women, but after awhile it became easier to endure the heat of the sun in the middle of the day than it was to deal with the impact her presence had on the women of the town. It’s hard to walk into a group of people who know you by your reputation and as a result, refuse to allow you to be a part of the community, to join in the conversations, to have relationships with others.

So it’s surprising that what struck her about the encounter with Jesus is that he told her everything she had ever done. There must have been something different about his telling.

How do you tell her story? Do you tell about a woman who had lived a hard life, maybe made some bad choices along the way, but also suffered the pain of rejection, the heavy weight of guilt and shame?

That makes for a pretty good story doesn’t it. It makes Jesus look pretty good too. The Jewish teacher sits down with a woman who had shown poor judgment in her life leading her to make some mistakes with men and offers her eternal life. He’s gracious that way, not afraid to sit with the sinners.

I think we have to be careful how we view her from our position of 21^st Century western privilege. We run the risk of seeing an autonomous woman who had the freedom to make choices about her marital status, and thus her position in society, because that’s our experience, or at least we think that’s our experience. Life was clearly different for women then though. They were more likely to be viewed as property to manage than as people with freedom to make their own choices.

I think it’s pretty hard for us to know how much of her life’s condition was the result of her own choice and how much was the result of society’s proclivity to exclude. We have to be careful about how we tell others’ stories. No matter how gracious we may think we’ve been in the telling of the story, we may still fail to fully grasp its truth.

So what made Jesus’ telling of her story different?

John introduces the story of their encounter by telling us that Jesus had to go through Samaria on his way to Galilee from Judea (v. 4). It was not the custom for Jews to walk through Samaria. There was a way around that made as much sense for him to take as it did for him to go through Samaria. But something compelled him to go through and not around.

He came to the place known as Jacob’s well. He was tired and thirsty and though it was the middle of the day, a woman, a Samaritan woman, walked up to the well to draw water and he asked for a drink.

I wonder how the woman approached the well. Because I’m inclined to think she was there in the middle of the day for the express purpose of avoiding people, I imagine her working really hard to keep from making eye contact with Jesus. I picture a woman trying to sneak up to the well without being seen, trying so hard to blend into the sky around her that it startles her when Jesus speaks to her.

But, she does something surprising. She responds to him. She points out his error: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (v. 9) She cuts to the chase. "Who are you?," she wants to know.

Thus begins a conversation about ancestors, including an interesting allusion to Jacob, the one for whom the well was named, you know, Jacob, the deceiver, the one who lived by the name given to him at birth until he had a profound encounter with a stranger, maybe God, maybe an angel, who knows, maybe himself, and insists he won’t stop wrestling until he has been blessed. And the stranger responds by giving him a new name, a new story to live by. He became Israel, one who strives with God and with humans and prevails. (Genesis 32: 22-30) That is their ancestor Jacob. His story is part of Jesus’ and the Samaritan woman’s shared heritage. I don’t think it’s a mistake that this encounter happens at his well.

In this conversation about ancestors Jesus makes a curious reference to living water, and the woman takes that and runs with it. She sees his offer as an end to her striving. She will never be thirsty again. She’ll never have need for water, never have need to walk to the well in the midst of those who’ve rejected her, never have need to walk there in the middle of the day. If he will give her this living water, perhaps she’ll be self-sufficient and she can free herself from the suffering she experiences everyday of her life. (v. 15)

But the conversation takes an interesting turn here. It exposes the woman’s misunderstanding about what she needs to end her suffering. Jesus asks her to go get her husband and bring him back with her. (v. 16)

Can’t you just feel the tension in the air when he says that to her? Can you see the discomfort in her face? Can you feel her vulnerability?

Perhaps in a last ditch effort to cover up her exposed life, she tries to hide. First, she tells a partial truth: “I have no husband.” Jesus is not swayed. He calls her on it: “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband;’ for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!” Then she does what any good theologian would do when feeling vulnerable. She turns to heady theological conversation. She tries to distract him with the one point that has divided his people from her people: “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.” Who could resist a good debate?

Or maybe she’s just testing him, seeing if he comes to her genuinely or if he’s just using her life’s condition to further solidify his position of power over her. Maybe she’s asking him to show his hand before she risks acknowledging the truth in his presence.

Jesus shows her he understands what separates them, but he calls her to see something different. He calls her to worship in spirit and in truth.

His telling of her story is different. He tells the truth, but he does it to liberate her, not for his own benefit - to show that he is better than she is - and in doing so, he frees her to reconnect with those from whom she has been isolated for years. His call to truth-telling is rooted in the conviction that the truth will set her free. He empowers her to tell her own story. It takes a lot of courage to do that. He doesn’t tell her to do it. She does it on her own. And she does it with urgency.

Now I’ll make a confession here. I don’t know if I’ve told the Samaritan woman’s story faithfully or not. Telling someone else’s story is always pretty risky, and nine chances out of ten we end up revealing as much about ourselves in the choices we make about how to tell the story than we do about the person whose story we tell. In hearing my telling of the story, perhaps you hear that I am a person who knows what it means to have someone else tell her story for her and in turn to resign herself to believing it’s true. Perhaps you know what that’s like.

If that’s what you hear, then I hope you also hear that I am someone who knows the powerful impact of speaking one’s own truth in the presence of someone who does not wish to use it for his own benefit. Doing so may not convince the masses to see us any differently, but in the telling, we become convinced of the truth of our own lives.

What would you hear if the Source of Life told you everything you have ever done?

Winter gardening

When I was a kid, the mail nearly every winter day was heavy with the weight of seed catalogs and farm implement sales bills. My dad loved to garden. Even more, he loved to plan for his garden. He studied the catalogs with the keen insight of an experienced scientist. His purchases always included a carefully determined mixture of tomato, green bean, and sweet corn varieties that were known hits and others that were experiments, attempts at taking the best sweet corn ever up a notch higher or producing a tomato crop that would outdo last year's. No garden ever received more loving attention, particularly in the winter months, while the ground lay frozen and dormant.

I think of Lent much like the time my dad spent planning for his garden. Like the tilling of the soil and the anticipation of the seeds that would be planted, my Lenten disciplines are preparations for growth, removing that which blocks it, taking up that which is needed to nourish.

I'm new to the practice of observing a Lenten discipline. I grew up Baptist. I knew nothing about the ashes, except that they were something the Catholics did, and the Baptists had determined Jesus made no longer necessary. Though my worship professor in seminary worked diligently to correct all the years of Baptist irreverence for all things liturgical in his students and teach us a thing or two about the Christian year, I still don't have the deep intuitive sense about the meaning of some celebrations on the Christian calendar.

I admit I don't get how giving up caffeine or sweets or sex or whatever helps one prepare for growth. More to the point, I haven't yet figured out how it helps me. I do understand that it's meaningful for others. I've heard many stories about how the absence of something that's part of others daily lives reminds them to focus on God, to reflect on that which gets in the way of them connecting with God. I've just never had any success finding a deeper connection with God that way.

Instead, following the pattern I started a few years ago, when I decided that I was going to give up the habit of "catastrophizing" for Lent, I've chosen to consider the patterns of behavior or thinking that keep me from fully connecting to God and to those around me and choosing to allow the period of Lent to be a time-limited experiment of giving up those patterns, knowing that I can take them back up afterward, if necessary, but also realizing that in most cases they are things I don't want in my life anymore and that after 40 days of living without them, I'm much better able to let go of them for good.

Giving up the habit of catastrophizing opened me up to one of the greatest transformations of my life, and while I don't expect that kind of dramatic change to happen every year, I do see the potential a yearly tilling of the soil and examination of what's needed for growth can bring to my life. The imposition of ashes is a reminder of my mortality. Life is short. I don't have forever to wait for those things which are most important to me to just happen. For life to have the meaning I desire, I have to be intentional about the choices I make. Letting go of patterns of behavior or thinking that get in the way of that kind of intentional living seems to make the most sense to me in the season of Lent.

My Lenten discipline this year started calling to me some time in November or December. I didn't have to reflect much to decide what I wanted to give up. It emerged naturally over the course of several weeks, like the cycle of growth that planting, harvesting, and waiting that exists in the natural world around me.

Still, I'm struggling to let go. I'm trying to give up the questions of inadequacy this year, the ones that ask: Am I smart enough? Good enough? Creative enough? Attractive enough?, etc. I know the patterns well. I even understand the role they play. But letting go of them means taking up the discipline of risking and working hard to move toward those things that I want most for my life. Letting go means having faith to move beyond that which has held me back most of my life.

I'm not asking anyone to tell me I'm enough, because someone else's perspective isn't what I really need. What I need is courage to believe what I already know is true, because if I truly believe it, my actions will follow.

That, my friends, is my struggle in the darkness of winter, while I pore over the seed catalogs of possibilities for my life.

My view

This has been my view for the last couple of days....


Since the fever broke last night and I'm on the mend, my view has changed today. You can imagine my excitement about plans to go to the farm for dinner this evening!

Hopefully I'll have something more interesting to blog about after today.

Live blogging the flu

The first signs of feeling human again appeared late this morning after the Tylenol kicked in and I'd had a cup of coffee. This flu bug really knocked me out. If you haven't had a flu shot yet and can still get one, I highly recommend it. I'll be more diligent about getting one myself after this.

I'm still coughing (and driving the cat insane in the process) but my energy seems to be returning. After a trip to the grocery store wore me out yesterday, I'm not willing to give the newfound energy a good test though. I do, at least, feel like sitting up to read today. That's a definite improvement and will help keep the boredom at bay, the most life-threatening symptom I experienced yesterday.

I have a sermon to write for chapel next Thursday. If this improvement continues, I may be able to knock out my first draft later this afternoon. That would be a good thing!

Stay well, my friends! I wouldn't wish this stuff on anyone.

Commiserate wtih me

Eleven hours after waking up today, I've achieved the primary goal I had for the day: get home and go to bed. I woke up with every joint and muscle in my body aching and my chest feeling like someone has taken a vice grip to it. It's that stuff that makes it hurt to raise your pinkie, you know, the flu. Unfortunately, I was 250 miles and two meetings with prospective students away from home.

So I got through the meetings, drove the miles, dropped things off at the office, returned the rental car (a Mazda 3, NOT a Mazda 5, thank you!), and changed the sheets on the bed, and now here I lay with a warm, purring cat next to me, ready to crash for the day.

So why am I blogging? Because apparently the only thing I hate worse than feeling like crap is not having anyone to commiserate with me in my agony.

What good is a blog if you can't use it to drum up all the sympathy you need in such circumstances?

Time-of-day quiz

You are breakfasty, like a pile of pancakes on a Sunday morning that have just the right amount of syrup, so every bite is sweet perfection and not a soppy mess. You are a glass of orange juice that's cool, refreshing, and not overly pulpy. You are the time of day that's just right for turning the pages of a newspaper, flipping through channels, or clicking around online to get a sense of how the world changed during the night. You don't want to stumble sleepily through life, so you make a real effort to wake your brain up and get it thinking. You feel inspired to accomplish things (whether it's checking something off your to-do list or changing the world), but there's plenty of time for making things happen later in the day. First, pancakes.

Sounds about right. Mmmmm....pancakes.

Try it, if you like. via JM

A great day!

There isn't much anymore that will get me up early enough on a Saturday to be showered and presentable and on the road before 8:00 a.m., but the chance to meet Yankee T was more than enough for me. Unfortunately, in my rush to get out the door this morning, I forgot my camera. Run over to her blog to see a photo from the day. The ones she takes are so much better than mine anyway.

I arrived in the city that's home to the newest presidential library late this morning. YT had called about 30 minutes before I got to the place where we were to meet; she was early and I was late. I had no trouble spotting her car in the parking lot when I got there. Long time readers of her blog know that the back end of her station wagon is a bulletin board of clever bumper stickers supporting every liberal cause known to humankind. When I rounded the corner near the restaurant where we were to meet, I spotted her immediately. Her denim jacket which I'd seen photographed recently was easily visible from a distance. She was on the phone, but turned to see me and recognized me right away. It's amazing how that happens. After three years of visiting over e-mail and through blogs, it's like we'd already met.

We had lunch and went through the usual run down of past blogger meet-ups and some catch up on what's happening in each of our lives. We talked about the presidential race and other assorted fun things. YT is as warm and spunky in person as she is on her blog. It took no time for me to relax and enjoy the conversation. She proved to be a true friend when she pointed out the piece of lettuce I had stuck in my teeth, saving me from certain humiliation!

Almost three years ago, I made my first attempt at leaving AM. It was a scary night, spent in a hotel alone and uncertain what the future would hold. I had two phone conversations that night, one with YT, who had been following my saga through my blog and e-mail, and one to a good friend in the town where I lived. The sound of YT's voice has stayed with me since that night. It was great to hear it in person today!

After lunch, we sauntered through the newest presidential library, then parted ways. It was such a great day! My only regret is that I didn't get to meet the World's Best Bleeding Heart Attorney or any of their amazing daughters. Perhaps a trip in the future will allow that to happen.

Thanks for a great day, YT!

Don't tell anyone...

...but I get to meet the amazing Yankee T tomorrow, if all goes as planned. We'll be meeting at an appointed place in the state that rests between us.

Yippee!

Speaking faith to fear

After spending 8 hours with my mom, my representative sample of one from small town middle America, I'm firmly convinced that the most important thing we can do to bring change in our world for the better is to patiently and skillfully work to dismantle the firm grip that fear has around the bible-belted waist of this country.

My mom and I discussed the upcoming presidential election. She is worried. She thinks we're all going to hell if Hillary is elected. If she gets the Democratic nomination, my mom is voting for whichever Republican wins, regardless of who it is, and in spite of her conviction that none of them is worthy to be president. Obama would be okay, she thinks, but she's afraid to vote for someone with a Muslim background. When I pointed out that he isn't Muslim, she said, "I know, but he comes from that background." Um, okay? Nevermind the problem with thinking that someone with a Muslim background can't lead. Which do I address? The obvious misconception or the underlying ridiculous fear? If I had it to do over, I'd skip the misconception and jump right to the fear.

Fear, my friends, is evil! It steals common sense from otherwise educated and capable people. Are we going to let them remain in fear's grip without naming it for what it is and challenging them to be people of faith?

Polling the internets

I am looking for a refreshing book on the topic of leadership, particularly one written from a feminist or collaborative leadership perspective. Have you read anything recently on the subject of leadership that you found refreshing and helpful?

The ultimate miracle

When people began to arrive..., it seemed the ultimate miracle, to have good people love you, freaked-out, self-centered mess that you were.

The line above is from the novel Blue Shoe by Anne Lamott. It comes at the end of the book and is used to refer to how the main character, Mattie, felt as her friends gathered with her for her birthday. The book is the story of her growing acceptance of her own inconsistencies and quirks and the messiness of life.

I know how she feels.

A group of friends joined me at a restaurant tonight for dinner. There was decent food, and a lot of laughter, and I enjoyed it immensely. I feel truly blessed in this place. It all feels pretty overwhelming at times. It is, I think, the ultimate miracle.

Saturday snapshots

I got up early to pick up some friends at the airport this morning, so naturally, I had to take a nap when I got home. It's a slow Saturday. I'm grateful for that. It's fun to just let my mind wander wherever it likes on a day like this.

My city has an outdoor store that I visited shortly after I moved here, looking for a hiking guide for the area. There apparently isn't such a guide, but the guy who waited on me at the store that day gave me some great tips about good places to go and then signed me up for their newsletter and sales ads and some program where they send you a postcard to get a free t-shirt on your birthday. Last year, I got the postcard and took it in for my t-shirt. I bought a pair of hiking socks because I felt guilty about getting a t-shirt from a store where I'd never purchased a thing. This year my postcard came. It was for a backpack, this backpack to be exact. I took the card in last week and got the pack. It's really nice...should be a good day hike pack, very light, fits nicely on my back. I've looked on the internet out of curiosity and can't find the sucker for less than $49. I wonder what guilt will talk me into buying now.

I spent the week in a house with a programmable coffeemaker. I don't know how I've lived without such a luxury. Do you have any idea the difference it makes for the coffee to be done when I get out of bed, instead of having to turn the coffeepot on first? In my house, I get the coffee ready to brew the night before and then stumble out of bed when the alarm goes off to go turn it on so that it's ready a few minutes later, usually after I brush my teeth and change into my running clothes. With the programmable coffeemaker, I had the coffee ready to brew the night before, then set the timer for it to start when I planned to get up. The beauty of this method is that the house smells of brewed coffee when I first wake up. The alarm goes off, I open my eyes and take a deep breath, and there it is...coffee. Heaven, I tell you. Pure heaven.

It's supposed to be in the sixties here tomorrow. I really need to go hiking. I might even skip church to do it.

Speaking of church, the story about nearly torching it really isn't as exciting as you've likely imagined. I went to a small group meeting on Thursday night. I used a match to light the chalice* at the beginning of the meeting. It was one of those wooden matches that you strike on the outside of the box. I hit the box , and the lighted match flew out of my hand and landed on my notes for the meeting. There's a lovely burn mark on the paper and for a moment we all expected the paper to catch fire, but fortunately I grabbed the match in time to keep that from happening. It was a fabulous way to start a meeting in which the topic of the evening was "evil."

I've already turned in my tax return for last year. That's the earliest I've ever done it, I believe. I'm getting a chunk back, which I plan to immediately plop in my savings account to have in case of emergency.

I've been listening to the music of Zero 7 for the past few weeks. My friend Leigh gave me some of their cds for Christmas. There's no way to describe my deep fondness for their latest cd, In the Garden, which features Jose Gonzalez. Very good!!! If you click on his website, you'll find several videos and songs from his latest solo album. He makes use of some great art in the videos. His music has a deeply spiritual quality to it.
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*When I told some folks at the seminary about nearly torching the church when I lit the chalice, several people looked at me confused. They were picturing a chalice full of grape juice or wine and couldn't imagine why I'd be lighting it. I had to explain that the UU chalice holds a candle which we light when we meet together.

Another day, another year, a little wiser

My alarm went off at 5:00 this morning. I had planned to run, but when I let the dogs out (I'm housesitting for friends), I saw that it was wet outside. A few minutes later, I heard tapping on the windows and looked out to see that we are getting sleet and freezing rain. I guess the time I had planned to spend running will now be spent driving slooowwwwly to work. It's too bad. I really wanted to run.

I turned 43 this morning. When I checked e-mail, I found an e-card from the Yankee with pictures she took herself, all of them with a button that says, "Today is my birthday." Fabulous! Yesterday's mail brought me a card from Katherine. I mention these because I find it remarkable that they both remembered. I'm not particularly good at that sort of thing, but I'm grateful for people who are.

A friend at work is taking me to lunch. Later in the day, I'm having coffee with another friend. The big celebration, though, will be Sunday night. I decided to plan my own celebration this year, a step which is intended to be a deliberate stance against self-consciousness. Some of my friends will meet me for dinner at a local restaurant. It'll be a great time!

And as always, feel free to party here today! Nothing like a good blog party to celebrate a birthday!
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Updated (8:30 a.m.): When the celebrating is done, remind me to tell you about my observations on Unitarians trying to have a discussion about "evil." And some new thoughts on call.

Oh, and about how I nearly set the church on fire last night.

Short post

UGH!

That's all. Just...UGH!

Rappa

It all started one day in the drive-thru at a local frozen custard place. We'd had chicken wings for dinner, cajun, teriyaki, garlic-parmesan, lemon-pepper, and fries. I don't remember the exact occasion, but chicken wings are usually the order of the day when one or more of us is stressed or tired. I can't explain it.

Anyway, after salty chicken wings and fries, two of us wanted something sweet, so we stopped at the frozen custard place. I pulled up to the speaker and said, "We want one small chocolate cone and one small birthday cake in a cup."

The 12-year-old boy who was working there answered, "Okay. That'll be one small FOD in a cup and a small chocolate cone."

"Ummm....oh! Yes. That's right." It took me a minute to realize FOD was flavor of the day, which happened to be birthday cake on this day. And from there our dialogue was a five-mile long string of abbreviations that about half-way home descended into a discussion about rapper names.

J mentioned that she has a rapper name and told me what it is, but I don't remember all of it. It is abbreviated 3SC. She started signing her e-mail that way after our conversation. In response to one of her e-mail to me, I made some comment about needing a rapper name and suggested she pick one for me. She and T revealed it to me this morning as I took them to the airport to leave for their vacation. I told them I was going to blog it, but it suddenly occurs to me that my anonymity on the blog will make it hard for you to grasp how perfect this name is. Suffice to say, my last name is what makes this the perfect fit, so here it is: Model T.

I laughed when they told me, and so they proceeded to explain why it is perfect for a multitude of reasons. They said it fits because I'm old fashioned AND revolutionary, like the Model T. They went on to explain that sometimes I have to be cranked up to get me started. There was more, but by the time they got to it, I was laughing so hard I didn't catch it all, except for the most important reason it's a good name: It rhymes with 3SC, so if we start a band together it will all be good.

T wants to be FOD. Unfortunately, she had to remind us what FOD is. The trip to the frozen custard place was a distant memory.

Through the eyes of a friend

My mom and I are entering a new phase in our relationship. She is starting a slow transition into the years when her need for care overtakes her independence. My mom epitomizes the self-reliant, boot-straps American. The transition is by no means smooth.

I spent last weekend with her. My driving meditation for the two hours it took to get to her place was a prayer of surrender. I am learning to allow the things that are annoying and hurtful about her to just be, to surrender my need to change her. I accept that she is a triumphalist Christian and while my preference that she loosen the grip on her religious certainty remains strong, I no longer feel the need to change her, to point out the painfully obvious flaws in her theology, the arrogant and illogical fallacies born of privilege and fear. I felt more relaxed with her than I have in a long time.

Still, there remain the painful negotiations around those things which she finds herself growing more reliant on her kids to offer or supply. She is unable to drive out of town, and a steadily encroaching arthritis has taken over one of her knees, leaving her to walk with a cane much of the time and to struggle to get up and down all of the time. The time for a knee replacement has come. She knows it cannot be done without turning to her family for help. She can't drive herself to see an orthopedic surgeon, and since I am the closest in proximity to her, she shyly asked if I would be able to take her. I assured her that I would do it gladly.

My mom's anxiety around asking for help is so charged and electrifying it could raise the dead. My driving meditation on my return home was less about surrender and more about begging the universe for mercy. I pleaded for the surgeon's schedule to magically clear on a day when I had no commitments. I knew from previous experience that if I had to say no, that won't work, she would cower, and apologize profusely for imposing on my life, for being an embarrassment to her kids because she could no longer care for herself and would have to rely on them to help her get through the surgery. I fully expected her to say she didn't think she wanted to go through with having the knee replaced because it would just be too much trouble for everyone in the family. Every conversation in the months of October and November centered around that very plan. I didn't want to hear it again.

My pleas where not granted. Today she called with a date. They offered an appointment next week in the middle of the big conference on campus which I cannot miss. I told her I wouldn't be able to go that day, and gave her the days in the next two weeks when I could go. The conversation went something like this:

L: I can't do it on Wednesday next week. We are having a conference on campus, and I can't be away from here that day. What other days is he in the office?
M: He's there on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
L: Thursday would be okay.
M: So you can't do either Wednesday or Thursday of next week.
L: [pause while I take a deep breath to slow the conversation down] No. I can't do Wednesday. I CAN do Thursday.
M: Oh. Oh. You don't have to get grumpy with me.
L: I'm not grumpy. I'm trying to find a way to say this so I don't keep confusing you.
M: You're grumpy.
L: What about the next week? I could do either Wednesday or Thursday of the next week.
M: Okay. I'll try that. Do you prefer a morning or afternoon appointment?
[I looked at my calendar and saw evening meetings on some of the days and knew if we had a morning appointment I would likely be able to keep my evening appointments]
L: I'd prefer morning, but either is okay.
M: Okay. I'll call to make the appointment, but I won't call you at work anymore. It makes you grumpy. I'll call you at home tonight.
L: Alright.

So I shook my head and laughed off all the comments about me being grumpy. Then, she called back this evening:

M: I have an appointment for Thursday the 31st at 9:15.
L: That's great. I'll put it down. [And in a rare moment of external processing, I said] I'll look to see if I have anything on Wednesday evening. If not, I'll come up on Wednesday night and spend the night.
M: Well, you'll need to come Wednesday night. The appointment's early in the morning. You can't come up on Thursday morning.
L: Well, I can if I need to. I'll have to wait and look at my calendar tomorrow. I left it at work.
M: You said a morning appointment was your preference.
L: It is my preference. 9:15 on Thursday the 31st is good for me.
M: I'd ask someone else to take me, but I just thought it would be good if someone from the family could be with me for this appointment.
L: I want to go with you. I can go with you. I just need to look and see when I will come up.
M: Why are you so grumpy?
L: I'm not grumpy.
M: Yes, you are. I'm sorry I asked you to take me to this appointment.
L: Thursday. The. 31st. Is. Fine.
M: See, you're grumpy. I'm going to hang up before you get grumpier.
L: That's a good idea. I'll call you later.

I'm not altogether sure where I went wrong in the first conversation. The second one could have ended well if only I'd made a mental note to check my calendar and not actually say it out loud. Still, the fact remains: these encounters will require me to daily practice letting go of my attachments. My attachment to the desire for her to change and be more open and accepting. My attachment to the desire for her to calm down and accept my help without being an anxious freak about it. My attachment to the desire for anything resembling a normal relationship with my mom.

In her novel Blue Shoe Anne Lamott writes about such surrender as she describes a scene in which the main character, Mattie, is grocery shopping with her mother who is growing more and more confused and unable to care for herself. Her mom, thrilled to be out and away from the care center where she lives, wants to shop using a wallet full of coupons even though Mattie is already late to pick up her kids from school. Mattie prays to see her mom as Jesus sees her. She quickly recognizes the futility of that plea, knowing that she isn't capable of that much graciousness, and pleads with herself to see her mom as one of her mom's friends might see her. That point of view shifts her experience, and she's able to let go.

I don't know why family relationships come with so many attachments and expectations. Though I know after living with her for nearly 43 years that the surest bet on her behavior is to expect her to be anxious, I remain eternally hopeful that the next encounter will be different. I need to work to see her as one of her friends might see her. I need to dare to see her as Jesus might see her.

Do you think Jesus ever prays to see her like her daughter sees her? Surely he must struggle with attachment too. Regardless, it looks like this will be the year of learning to let go of mine. Maybe I'll move to Australia.

Preaching

I really didn't intend to go a whole week without posting. It just happened. I blame it on the busy week at work and church last week, and a weekend at my mom's. With all of that I'm guessing I had 23 minutes at home when I wasn't sleeping or getting ready to go somewhere. This week, fortunately, is much quieter. I'm glad for the relief.

Last semester the worship coordinator at the seminary caught me in my office and asked me to think about preaching in chapel some time during the year. In August I signed up to preach near the end of February. As luck would have it, I have to be out of town that day. Secretly, I was relieved. It's been years since I've preached, many more years since I did it regularly and well.

Late last week the worship coordinator showed up with her chapel schedule. As luck would have it, there were openings from which I could choose another time to preach. So, I looked at my travel schedule and narrowed it down to two possibilities. When I couldn't decide and she didn't have a preference, I cheated. I looked at the lectionary texts for those two days and took my pick.

One of the weeks, the gospel text is from John 14, where Jesus says, "I am the way," and he talks about how he is the father, etc. It's a beautiful passage. I've heard it all my life, but frankly, I couldn't imagine preaching the text and remaining true to my Unitarian identity without a lot of theological work, something I wasn't willing to do with theology and bible scholars looking over my shoulder, so I settled for the other.

The gospel text for the other week is John 4, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. My friends, if I may say so, I hit the lectionary jackpot. If there is a passage more deeply rooted in my soul, I couldn't tell you what it would be.

I've already started working on the sermon. Reading over the passage has been like letting a fine wine roll around on my tongue, allowing me to taste every bit of its flavor. I'm really looking forward to the process.

But, I must admit, I'm pretty darn nervous about it too.

Realization

I have been infinitely more interested in the presidential race this year than I've ever been. Some of that, I think, has to do with my strong desire to see a change, but that's been true in the past too.

But here's the major difference, I think: I don't watch TV anymore and am, thus, not bombarded with ads. I am in control of the information I take in and can study it in a more reasoned, measured way.

I will be voting in my first ever primary in a few weeks. Until I moved to my current state, I was registered as an independent voter. Since I lived in a state (and do now, too) where only registered party members could vote in primaries, I never had an opportunity to participate in that part of the process. When I moved, I registered as a Democrat so that I would have that option. As a result, I've gotten invested far earlier in the process, and find the whole thing completely fascinating.

Now, I can't speak for the rest of the country, but I am pretty much convinced that TV was killing my investment in previous elections. It's reasonable, I think, to point to the ads themselves and the sheer volume of them as a source of election-related apathy in this country.

Just me wondering out loud. Carry on.

Ambiguity (or How I decided to join the convent)

I'm reading a book entitled Just Good Friends right now. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. A friend brought it to me to read after reading my New Year's Day post about my goals for the year.

I find myself saying "we're just good friends" a lot these days. And the response is always that knowing smirk and cocked head of disbelief. But, it's true. L. spent the weekend here, just as I did at her place last weekend. People make assumptions about that, which aren't true, but I'm okay with that. Mostly.

It's all a lesson in greater tolerance of ambiguity for me. Expectations are clear. God knows we've talked it to death, but the future is ambiguous and that's both hopeful and painful.

I think I'll become a nun. Maybe if I could close off the possibility of one outcome, then I could be more open to the fuller experience of friendship that's being offered to me.

Yeah, that would make things less ambiguous. :)

Literary curiosity

Recently, a friend and I spent about two hours in fabulous large used bookstore. It was the night before the half-marathon. We'd eaten a meal that required two restaurants to accomplish and we were filled with the stamina and power the training and the food afforded, so we got there in plenty of time to stay for awhile.

I've been to this particular store many times, and in the past, I seldom ever left the religion and philosophy section. My academic library grew largely due to trips there when I used to live in smaller city in the same area and to one other in a town north of there. I lived in an area where several seminaries existed, so there were a lot of used seminary texts turned in for a little extra cash and I benefited greatly from the opportunity to get some good books at a much reduced price.

I made a vow when I went this time that I would not spend another dime on a religion text, so for the two hours that we there I wandered around the writing, fiction, travel narrative, and nature sections. Oh, okay. I'll admit it. I peaked at the religion books, looking for a couple of specific titles, but I swear I didn't last more than two minutes in that section. Okay, maybe ten.

It was fun reacquainting myself with some of my favorite fiction and travel narrative authors. A couple of them had new novels out in the last four or five years that I hadn't heard about, one of which I purchased. It's an Anne Lamott novel, based, like all of her fiction, in Marin County, CA. It's a good book, but it wouldn't matter if it wasn't. I swoon at the mention of the Wendy's in San Rafael, or barbecued oysters in Point Reyes, or the multitude of other familiar places and sights. Reading the landscape of her work is like taking a stolen glance at a lover. I'm swept away to another place, heart swelling with warmth and love, oblivious to anything else going around me.

I spent a great deal of my time carefully looking over the nature section. My interests in nature writing are growing, and I wanted to get a good feel for the varieties of work in that area. What struck me was the obvious dearth of titles written by women. With some obvious exceptions, like Annie Dillard, most of the titles I found in this particular bookstore were written by men.

Now, my survey, of course, was completely unscientific and it was a used bookstore, but I assume the selection is fairly representative of the genre. So, I'm putting some questions out there for those "in the know":

• Is the field of nature writing overwhelmingly dominated by men and is there a scholarly explanation for that? (I made some assumptions about why and imagine I'm not far off with them, but am curious if there is anyone who's actually read anything that offers a more educated explanation than my assumptions.)
• What women nature writers have you read and do you recommend?
• Do anyone of you know of anyone who's actually noted major differences in the way men write about nature versus the way women do?

Just curious....