First I moved. Now it's time for my online self to follow.

Today marks one year since I started this blog, chronicling my life and ministry as a church planter in Chicago. Seeing as I am no longer a resident of the Windy City and that Wind of Peace Church is no longer in existence, I have decided to bring this blog to its natural close.

However, I am not leaving the blogosphere, just moving over to a new blog. This one is entitled Find the I. So come check it out at findthei.blogspot.com.

I am not sure exactly what this new blog will include. Perhaps reflections about my new role as a chaplain. Or wonders of life with my Beloved. Maybe even non-wedding plans. Or it could just be the same old ramblings, musings, ponderings, and silliness as before. We'll see...

I love this guy

Some of you may know that I have been crushing on singer/songwriter/satirist Roy Zimmerman for months now. This guy is hilarious! And absolutely brilliant. Most of his songs have me crying with laughter.

This one however is different - so poignant I found my eyes brimming with tears of another kind.

Yes, he's angry. But I'm angry. And (to paraphrase a popular activist slogan) if you're not angry, then you're not paying attention. And to you I'll say, "Thanks for your support."

US Constitution turns 220!

Today is the birthday of the supreme law of our land, adopted by the Constitutional Convention on this day, September 17, 1787. What I want to know is, in the 220 years since this baby was signed, has the Constitution of the United States of America ever been as threatened as it is today? From Bush's superfluous (and criminal!) use of signing statements, eroding the balance of power within the government, to the USA PATRIOT Act, stripping us of our rights and liberties, this magnificent document is vulnerable, susceptible to the malevolent forces at work in our government. With this administration, I fear that we may not have another 220 days with our Constitution, let alone another 220 years. Is my fear unfounded? Will our Constitution survive the George W. Bush White House? I hope so. My wish is that I will be celebrating the birthday of our Constitution for years to come. Even if I am doing so as an ex-pat in another country...


Now, on a lighter, albeit related note, while I do not find any levity in the escalating loss of liberty here in the US (thanks to the USA PATRIOT Act and the like), I appreciate that Jack Handy can still make me chuckle in a way only Jack Handy can. Enjoy…

from Deepest Thoughts: So Deep They Squeak

"If somebody told me it wasn't “fashionable” to talk about freedom, I think I’d have to look him square in the eye and say, ‘Okay, you tell me what’s ‘fashionable.’” But he won’t. And you know why? Because you can’t ask someone what’s fashionable in a smart-alecky way like that. You have to be friendly and say, “By the way, what’s fashionable?” ~Jack Handy

So, um, yeah, blog

I know, I know. A blog needs to be nurtured, tended to daily from time to time. In my defense, I will say that my computer has decided that it wants to continually type the back slash key. Needless to say, this makes writing blogs difficult. (Right now, I am typing on Craig's computer while mine is being repaired.)

So, since my last post, I have:
- introduced my parents to my Beloved's parents
- hosted an goodbye Chicago / "engagement" shindig
- packed up way too much crap
- said adieu to the Windy City (and lovely Bowers House and the awesome ladies of WWOW)
- cried
- drove to upstate New York (stopping to visit friends in Cleveland)
- attended Eleanor and Thor's wedding
- met Craig's Peace Corps friends
- drove to Virginia (stopping to visit great aunts in New York and Pennsylvania)
- arrived at our new home
- wondered if new house was haunted
- fought with movers
- cried
- got a library card
- took a drug test for my new job
- started my new job
- unpacked a too little of my crap
- decided computer is possessed
- got a reimbursement from movers
- made a few new friends
- missed my Chicago friends tremendously
- loved on Craig
- found a great used bookstore
- got food poisoning
- got well
- built a bookcase
- unpacked a little more
- found a church (rather two churches) we like
- beat Craig at Pente
- cursed my demon computer
- found a box of cassette tapes from college, high school, and junior high
- actually listened to Milli Vanilli (or the two guys who really who sang for the lip-synching duo)
- laughed

That's about it. Not too much to write about.

What's been happening with you?

um, let me rephrase that

So I really don't think that church people suck. Church institutions? Sometimes. And church systems? Yes. But church people? No. Church people are people. They can be mean and self-serving and inconsiderate. But for the most part, church people, like all people, are kind, compassionate, caring, honest, and sincere. This week, my church folk friends have loved on me, encouraged me, told me that I am not a failure, and shared in happiness over my future.

I was dreading coming to General Assembly this year, and this dread was a new feeling since I usually love this time of reconnecting with colleagues and friends. But this year, aside from the fact that I am overwhelmed and stressed beyond measure abut the upcoming move (15 days!), I was feeling like a quitter, like I have failed the church by leaving Wind of Peace Church and following my love away from Chicago. I was expecting judgment, perhaps the same judgment I was placing upon myself, from my friends. But it never came. Instead, I have been greeted by big congratulatory hugs and squeals of delight as friends celebrate my upcoming union, and I have also been bombarded with eager questions about what my future with Craig holds for us.

And last night, as the the new church planters and pastors walked onto the assembly stage, my eyes welled with tears as I was not among these colleagues. I feel such grief in releasing the ministry of Wind of Peace. But what comfort I took in the arms and words of of the friend, who embraced me and whispered, "For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" (Jeremiah 29:11).

No, church people don't suck. Church people are people. And I feel blessed to have so many good and kind people in my life.

Church People Suck

I have been out of touch in the blogosphere lately, attending the General Assembly of my denomination, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). I haven't had regular internet access (wifi ain't free at our hotel), and honestly, I have been too busy catching up with friends and colleagues from all over the country. I enjoy General Assembly. I love the fellowship. And the worship is usually inspiring. And the workshops very often challenge me and empower me to go about making a difference in the world. And for the most part, I enjoy the business sessions, where we as a church hold ourselves accountable and discern our public witness in the world.

But today, I am angry. We have a business item before the assembly, calling for our Church to finally take a public stand on the war in Iraq. It's about four years too late. It's thousands of lives too late. And honestly, in my opinion, it's a pretty weak statement. But you know what the assembly did? They voted to send it back to committee to water it down even more!!! Because we have some disagreement. And you know, as much as I love our polity, sometimes, our desire for "unity" hinders our prophetic witness. We want to create a benign document with which everyone agrees, and we end up creating a statement that is meaningless mush and makes nobody happy. We are so concerned with protecting our precious church unity, that we fail to be a credible voice calling for peace and justice in our world.

I have said it before and I'll say it again: the church needs to get out of this self-preservation mode and once again become a movement working for peace and healing in our world. Otherwise, we should just stop calling ourselves "Disciples of Christ". If we are truly to be followers of the one we call the Prince of Peace, then we need to actually start following. Otherwise, we won't be disciples, just church people. And church people suck.

Legislate Against Hate

Within the next 24 hours, the US Senate is scheduled to vote on an important hate crimes prevention act (S. 1105, Local Law Enforcement Hate Crime Prevention Act of 2007 - LLEHCPA). This legislation, already passed by the House of Representatives will, for the first time, allow for the federal prosecution of certain hate crimes based on sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, and disability. And the LLEHCPA will also provide local police and sheriff's departments with vital federal resources to address hate crimes on a larger, more inclusive scale.

Hate is not a family value. Hate is not a moral value. Hate is not a faith value (at least not my faith). And moreover, hate is not a democratic value, and thus should not be tolerated in our democratic society.

Now contrary to what folks are saying, this legislation does NOT criminalize speech, nor does it limit religious freedom. People can still think their unfortunate bigotted thoughts and even express them. Narrow-minded preachers can still spout their bad theology of exclusion and intolerance (though I hope and pray they will come to see how destructive such thoughts are, not only on society, but on their very souls). However, hate-filled people will not be allowed to attack another human being, to commit a crime against another human being just because of who they are - their gender, their race, their sexual orientation, their religious identity. And this legislation protects people from being the victim of violence perpetrated by those who hate. I believe that every human being is endowed with dignity and worth. And crimes motivated by hate cannot and should not be tolerated in our world.

Two months ago, I was at a rally in Denver, Colorado when LLEHCPA passed in the U.S. House of Represenatives. On that day, my boss, the Rev. Dr. C. Welton Gaddy, delivered this speech:

We have passed the House. Now I urge you, readers, to please contact your senators and tell them to enact the hate crimes bill today!

buzz kill

I have cut back on my drug of choice. This past weekend, I went cold turkey from caffeine. My headache was tremendous, and nothing I took could get rid of it. Then after 48 hours of excruciating, throbbing pain, I awoke this morning feeling just fine.

Still, with a big, important meeting today, I did succumb to a half mug (yes, I know that a half mug for me is a regular mug for the rest of you). But I am definitely decreasing my caffeine intake. Sleep is a good thing. And I haven't been getting much lately.

otherwise engaged

He asked me. I asked him. We both said, "Yes" or "Whatever". Rings were exchanged.

["What does a guy's engagement ring look like?" Hilary asked. "Just like mine, a simple band. No diamonds." "Yeah," she says, "I think Craig would look strange with a big diamond on his hand." "That he would, but both of us have issues with the diamond industry, so lucky for him, no diamonds."]

It's all very egalitarian, mutual, reciprocal. And what does it all mean? I guess it means that we're engaged. Or whatever. See, we are avoiding terms like "engagement", "wedding", and "marriage" and we haven't quite found other words to use in their place. Actually, I think I avoid them more than he, but he does respect my neuroses opinions about patriarchy, heterosexism, etc. He gets me. I'm lucky.

How did I find such an amazing man - a sensitive, brilliant, kind, passionate, compassionate, articulate, opinionated, well-read, justice-oriented, progressive activist/pacifist/scientist who despises the diamond industry (and other forms of oppression)? Oh, yeah, on match.com. Searching specifically for "very liberal" "vegetarians" with "master's degrees".

So anyway, our big ceremony will be sometime in 2008 (winter or spring). Exact season will be dependent on my brother's deployment schedule. Let's end this war soon!! Craig and I want to get hitched. Or whatever.

thoughts on the Bush-commuting-sentences business

Actually, I really don't know how to respond to this whole corrupt, Nixonian, slap-in-the-face-to-our-judicial-system, Scooter Libby scenario.

And Bush just seems to be on a commuting rampage. Now he's commuted Pluto's sentence, too? This I take personally, as I happen to know a member of the "jury" that handed down that sentence to the planet-wannbe.

Christy Loves Jeanne

This past weekend, my dear friends Christy and Jeanne wed. I was fortunate enough to attend their ceremony, to witness these two amazing women (both colleagues in ministry) commit their lives to one another. They promised to love each other, to be faithful to one another, to laugh together, to play together, to cry together, to pray together.

Oh, what a blessed and joyous day it was!! The love that Christy and Jeanne share radiates from them, permeates any room they walk into, and indeed, inspires all who meet them. Yes, their union inspired many. At least two people popped the question to their significant others during the celebratory weekend.

35

Today I celebrate my 35th birthday. Thirty-five. 3-5. Somehow that sounds as if I am supposed to be a grown-up now. Is this true?

The other day, I mentioned that this birthday would be my 35th, and one of my housemates, a youngun, all of 24-years-old, said, "Shhh. We can say you're 29!"

"Hell, no, " I thought, "I am not going to lie about my age. Besides, 35 seems like a perfect age." But you see, I know something he doesn't. At 24, 35 seems old to him because he can't imagine life after 25, thus there is no way he can possibly know that it really does get better after 30. At 24, he's is where so many of us were in our 20s, full of existential angst and desperately trying to figure out this thing called life. Or maybe I am just thinking about me at that age.

At 24, I was so self-conscious, uncomfortable in my own skin. At 24, I was trying to discern what I was supposed to be doing with my life, where I needed to be, what I needed to be doing. At 24, I still wanted desperately to fit in, to find a home in a group or a community. At 24, I longed for this thing called confidence, and while I professed a self-reliance, a fierce autonomy and independence, I wanted nothing more than to belong.

Somewhere around 30, I eased up on myself.

And here at 35, I am still trying to figure out this thing called life. But I realize life is something that unfolds as I go along. I don't have to have all of the answers right now. And it's kind of fun making them up as I go. At 35, I am still trying to discern what I am supposed to do with my life, but only the next chapter. I have realized that all of the best plans transform on me anyway, so all I can do is take this next step in faith and trust that I will have the wisdom (and the courage) to figure it out beyond that. And at 35, I have become comfortable with myself. I am no longer searching for "home", because I have learned how to be at home in myself. And this way, I get to carry my home with me wherever I go.

It's not really a secret. And I wish I could share this with my housemate, tell him all of the wisdom I have gleaned from these last eleven years of my life. But I won't. Because these are things that he'll have to figure out on his own. So I just laugh and say, "Ah, 35 is not that old."

And really, it's not that old. Unless of course I am to believe my birthday horoscope in The Onion, which reads, "This is an important birthday for you, especially considering how very, very few of them you've got left." Ah well, I guess I better enjoy my birthdays while I can.

resigned

Last week, I resigned as the Visionary Pastor for Wind of Peace Church. My decision came after much prayer and reflection. In my resignation letter to the region, I wrote,

This past year, I have been exploring the South Loop, discerning ways in which God’s Spirit is moving in that community, and envisioning a new church there. What an amazing and blessed year it has been! And I know that God can and will do amazing things in this neighborhood which Chicago Magazine describes as “the hottest neighborhood in the country”. I feel a tremendous loss knowing that I will no longer be a part of what God is doing here. However, life, love, and family commitments call me away. And I must pursue another path.

The new path I am pursuing involves moving away from Chicago with my Beloved. My heart is brimming with wonder and excitement as I envision our future together, heading first to Virginia (for a year), then immigrating to Canada.

At the same time, I am grieving. I had such hopes and dreams for a faith community here. And I have fallen so deeply in love with this city and the people here. Oh, it will be hard to move away from the friends and family I have made.

But I am committed to this Love. And so I have reconciled myself to the loss that comes with this decision. I guess you can say that I have not only resigned from this ministry, but I am resigned to the ending of this season of my life. Yet even in this resignation, there is a hopeful resolution.

I am so excited for what lies ahead...

the sun stands still

Yesterday, for just a brief moment, the sun stood still. Did you notice? Our planet, tilting on its axis, held those of us in the northern hemisphere up to be kissed by our sun. It's the closest we'll be to the sun until this time next year.

Summer has officially begun. And so has the shortening of days. The earth spins, carrying us away from our star.

Yesterday was the solstice, from the Latin sol, meaning sun, and sistere, to stand still. Too bad I didn't stop, stand still, and bask in the solar embrace. I hope you did.

Crazy Notes: Lessons on Singing in Community

[a belated Father's Day post]

I love to sing. I was singing before I was talking. At least that is what they tell me. Even before I could form words, I was able to make melodies.

Maybe it's in the genes. Or maybe it was growing up surrounded by music. But which ever, the love I have for music and my propensity for it are things I inherited from my dad. He is one of those folks who can pick up an instrument and learn to play it. He plays guitar, banjo, mandolin, bass, piano, and myriad other instruments. And he sings. His voice is a bright, warm tenor. It's a voice that brought me so much joy and comfort as a child.

When I was little, Dad used to bring his guitar into our pink bedroom and sing us to sleep. He sang "The Yellow Rose of Texas" for my sister; that was her song. "You may talk of Clementine or sing of Rosalee / but the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl for me" except Dad would change the last line to "but the yellow rose of Texas, her name is Hilary".

"Sing a song about me!" I begged. I wanted a song that was my song, like Hilary had hers. So Dad thought a moment, then sang, "You Are My Sunshine". It didn't have my name (Rachel is a hard name to rhyme), but it sufficed.

I learned early on that if I wanted to stay up later than my bedtime, I would just request another song. So we sang and sang. "Puff the Magic Dragon", "Rock Island Line", "The Titanic", "Blowin' in the Wind", "The Butterfly Song", the list goes on. It took Mom a while to catch on. Soon her, "Bill, let the girls go to sleep," became, "Rachel, that's enough. This is your last song." She knew who was calling the shots there. Yes, she knew I had figured out how to get my way.

My voice was strong. And I was really young, probably no older than three, when Dad wondered if I could carry a melody on my own. So one day, as we were singing a song together, Dad broke into harmony. (Family legend tells that) I stopped singing, put my hands on my hips and asked, "Daddy, why are you singing those crazy notes?!?"

Dad laughed first. But then he began to explain to me the wonders of harmonics. He encouraged me to keep singing the melody as he sang the "crazy notes", his harmony dancing around the tune I sang out. Well, I wanted to learn how to sing "crazy notes" (it was probably a decade before I actually learned the word "harmony" because Dad had liked "crazy notes" so much that was the phrase he used). So Dad began to give me my first lessons in music theory. I learned how the warm, rich major third comforted me with soothing consonance, while the haunting minor sixth pricked my skin with goose bumps. Soon I moved to passing tones and dissonances. I began to love holding onto the tension of a minor second or a major seventh only to find resolution in the unison. Eventually I discovered the joy of counterpoint, and Dad and I would delight in singing together our independent tunes and rhythms, while remaining in harmonic communion.

As I look back on my upbringing, the lessons of the "crazy notes" went deeper than singing pretty or music theory. It actually had a lot to do with my evolution as a citizen, as an activist, and as a member of my community. Dad always stressed the importance of faithful, thoughtful citizenship. Dad sought to raise his kids to be highly independent, opinionated, self-reliant individuals. He encouraged us to form our own thoughts, beliefs, opinions, and he empowered us to speak out, to share our ideas with others, with the world around us. Yes, we learned how to hold together independent ideas and opinions while remaining in community.

Dinner time at the Frey household was filled with lively banter and often heated discourse. We would share our thoughts on God, on government, on literature, on love, on politics, on personalities. Dad wanted us to be strong-willed, opinionated, articulate, passionate people. And for better, for worse, he got his wish. And our dinner conversations served as rehearsals for our singing our hearts and minds in the wider community's chorus. We learned to hold our own in a debate. And we learned to stay in dialogue with others, even when we disagree. Call it harmonics. Call it "crazy notes". We call it relationship. And for the most part, it works.

I love to sing. And even more so, I love to share what I believe and have a lively conversation with those around me.

Sometimes when I lift my voice and speak about what I believe, proclaim what I know to be true, I find I am singing in unison with my friends and neighbors. We are united in our opinions, in our beliefs, and we lift our voices together.

Other times, I sing out, and find that while I am not singing the same notes as those around me, it sounds pretty damn good, and there is room enough in our little song for my points and your counterpoints.

But still, so very often, I feel as if every note I sing clashes in harsh dissonance to society's melodies singing the praises of consumerism, vanity, hatred, intolerance, and war. Recently, I feel as if I have been that lone voice in the wilderness, singing out, calling for peace, calling for justice. But I keep singing my song. And I hold onto that dissonance, waiting for harmonic resolution.

But oh, the hope I experience when I hear other voices singing the crazy notes, the songs of peace with me, even against the discordant voices of the world around us. And oh, what joy and comfort I feel when I hear Dad's bright, warm tenor voice joining in the chorus.

make a wish

Last Saturday was a glorious afternoon, a perfect day for taking a book to the Point and chillin' with my 'mates. It was lovely. I was there with Scott, Pam, Adam, Mercedes, and Irv. We didn't talk much - I don't think we exchanged more than a dozen lines between us - but the afternoon of quiet company was nourishment for my soul.

At one point, I climbed down the limestone "sea"-wall to dip my feet into the chilly waters of Lake Michigan. Very near where the wave were splashing and crashing, I saw a solitary dandelion, already gone to seed, with the tenacity to grow in a crevice in the rock. I felt inspired.

So I snapped a photo.

Then, as I joined my breath to the wind off the lake and scattered the seeds of the dandelion, I made a wish: for courage, for the tenacity to grow and to flourish in precarious places.

What about you? What do you wish for?

Note: I believe this photo captures a glimpse of the lake through a cleft in the rock wall.

the fortunate ones

What is a cajun restaurant doing in a place like Edmonton, Alberta, Canada? Serving up dee-lish-ious food that's what.

But what is this same cajun restaurant doing serving fortune cookies? Don't know the answer to that. But not long ago, after enjoying an amazing meal of etouffee (accompanied by an outstanding chili lager brewed by a local Albertan brewery), these were the fortunes that awaited us:

• His: You will make a change for the better within the year.
• Mine: Prepare yourself for a change of events in your personal life.

hmm...

transportation issues and inconsistent grace

Just so you know, I hate driving. Actually, it's not the physical act of driving I despise so much as it is other drivers. I swear, the roads are packed with idiots who won't let you merge and who cut you off in traffic!!

And you know what else, I don't like myself so much when I am behind the wheel. I yell. I curse - sorry Mom - like a sailor. You know, when people accidentally swear in front of me and then they get all nervous because I'm a minister and everything, I try to assuage their guilt by saying something like, "Well, obviously you've never heard me in traffic." Yeah, I can really cuss.

Now, I am not a road-rager. I do get frustrated and yell a bit. But I don't let it build up. One second, I am screaming, "You $#*$% jerk!!" and the next, I am wailing along with Gladys. "I'll be with him (I know you will)...on that midnight train to Georgia (leaving on a midnight train - woo woo!)". Nah, I don't carry the anger with me. No racing to pass the @#$% who cut me off in order to cut him off. I like reciprocity but not revenge. And no tailgating the slowpoke going 45 in a 60 zone. That's just a useless waste of energy. I yell. I swear. I damn them to hell* (maybe not an eternal sentence, but at least some immediate condemnation). And then I move on. Back to singing with the Pips.

So no, I don't like driving. I much prefer mass transit, my bike, or my very own little feet.

But sometimes, I just have to drive. Like yesterday. I had to retrieve Craig from the airport. On our drive back into the city, I was continually pissed off by other drivers. We weren't even on our way back, we were still at the airport, when I first got irritated. You see, I was just about to pull away from the curb when this car (a Beemer) stops in the lane next to me to let somebody out. So I was trapped. Idiot!! With a few choice expletives, I wished damnation upon him.

Then on the highway, I needed to get over to the left lane to prepare for my exit. So I signaled and checked my mirrors. Which was when I noticed that the car behind me pulled into the left lane and sped up, so I couldn't get into that lane. After the car passed me, the driver pulls back into the lane ahead of me. Now, if that person wanted to continue in her original lane and go faster, why couldn't she have just stayed in the lane and let me pull into the left hand lane, which is what I wanted to do anyway? I guess she was just oblivious. Or mean. Take your pick. Either way, I issued a curse upon her.

When we arrived at Craig's home (after attending the baptism of his friend's daughter, hopefully saving her from the fiery pit and thus making her a good driver) I discovered that the back tire of my bicycle had been stolen. I had left my bike locked to a parking meter after our last bike ride. And somebody had stolen the back tire. Oh, this was upsetting. I had just spent some major bucks getting my bike fixed and I don't know how much new back tires cost, but it is certainly more than I can afford.

But interestingly enough, I wasn't angry. I was sad. And hurt. And shocked. But not angry. And then I became very philosophical, inquiring into the reasons why people steal, contemplating injustices in society, both actual and perceived, that people use as reasons to take something that is not theirs. This led to a discussion about privilege and oppression. Now, I don't want to excuse people for taking the possession of another or to imply that theft is justified (and I doubt that stealing my bike tire ensured that some impoverished children didn't go to bed hungry that night). But still, I just felt a sadness that we live in a world where people feel the need or the desire to steal from another.

So, we were having this conversation about the injustices in our society and a culture of taking from others, etc. And it was in the midst of this discussion when I suddenly realized an inconsistent absurdity about myself: if you steal from me, I will try to understand where you are coming from and what made you do it. But if you cut me off in traffic, I will extend no such mercy; you are damned.

I guess we all must live with such strange contradictions within ourselves. I just recognized another of mine.



*Note: I do not believe in some fiery-furnace, afterlife concept of hell. But perhaps that is the subject for another post.

Contradiction

What do you do with contradictory messages? I have been getting lots lately. And I am just not sure what to do with them. And on top of that, I have been reading Paul, which always makes me uncomfortable. As if I didn't have enough contradictions in my spiritual and vocational life.

I really struggle with the writings of Paul, because his stuff is chock full of contradictions. He seems to the eminent politician who, in his own words, is trying to "be all things to all people" (1 Corinthians 9:22).

On one hand he asserts, in Christ, there is neither male nor female (Galatians 3:28), and his "all are one" statement seems pretty egalitarian. Then he claims that women are to submit to their husbands (Ephesians 5:22) and that no woman shall have authority over a man (1 Timothy 2:12). Not so egalitarian after all.

In the same Galatians passage, Paul claims that in Christ there is neither slave nor free (3:28) But no, he won't go so far as to proclaim liberation for the slaves. Instead, he says they, that slaves should give honor to their masters (1 Timothy 6:1)

You know, Paul does this so often that it's hard for me to give much stock to anything that he writes. That's right, you read it here: I do not profess a Pauline faith! There I said it.

But the Church seems to put so much credence to the writings of this man. And maybe that's why the Church is in such a state. The church cannot figure out what it is, who it is called to be, and and ends trying to appeal to everyone and bowing down to the the culture around us. [The church doesn't look a whole lot different from corporate America, with the exception of the liturgical garb. We use their gimmicks for marketing, and we are just as obsessed with numbers.] Like Paul, we try to be all things to all people. And we fail to be anything authentic or real. And we fail to be agents of change, we fail to allow ourselves to truly participate in something new that could emerge, if we only let it.

Paul said that people need not be circumcised to be a part of that early Christian community (Romans 2:28-29). "Out with the old, in with the new," he proclaimed. "We're talking about a New Covenant, people!" But then he persuades Timothy, his protege to be circumcised (Acts 16:3), sacrificing the vision of what could be to the pressures of maintaining the status quo. He nods to the powers that be, instead of holding to a faith in the powers that are about to be.

Our churches today do the same thing, saying we want to do a new thing, to let God speak in amazing new ways. But when it comes down to it, we ain't gonna let it happen. We, too, hang to our old rituals, religious jargon, and ideas of what it means to be a church. And in the process we sacrifice the vision of being a truly relevant, meaningful, life-giving, liberating force in this world.

My question is this: does it have to be so?

What in God's Name?

So, watching the Republican debate last night, I kept hearing people invoke the name of "God" - to justify bad science, in this case (and in previous statements, to justify discrimination in marriage and the military and to justify an unjust war). As I watched, I just kept wondering, "Who is this God they are talking about?" Because it certainly isn't any God I know.

Aside from all of the yucky "Christian nation" implications (Romney, in defending his Mormon faith, actually said he believed as most American's believe "in God...in the Bible...that Jesus Christ is [his] personal savior"), aside from that, the candidates kept saying, "He", and referring to "Him". And my God doesn't have a gender.

And if God does, She most certainly ain't a dude.

there's no place like home

Well, I am not in Kansas. But after a two and a half month "sabbatical" away, I am back at my beloved Bowers House co-op.

It is good to be home.

My thanks and apologies

Cindy Sheehan has resigned as the "face" of the anti-war movement. You can read her resignation letter on Michael Moore's blog.

Cindy, I want to thank you. And I want to apologize.

Thank you for your continued witness, for speaking truth to power. I am sorry that we let you be our mouthpiece, and then we let you be our scapegoat. We let you speak for us, and we didn't back you up.

Thank you for fighting for peace in our world. And I am sorry that we are a nation bent on war, a country profiting from war at the cost of human life.

Thank you for trying to make our country better, for calling us to live into the values we profess. And I am sorry that we resisted such change, that we continue to play partisan politics and allow the lives of our troops and Iraqi civilians to be used as pawns in the political maneuverings.

Thank you for sharing your grief with us and for reminding us of the very real, human costs of war. And I am sorry that we as a nation, ridiculed you, accused you of being a bad mother, and mocked you in your time of sorrow.

Cindy, I understand why you must step down from this role in which you were cast. We may not be the country you love, but you represent the best of the country I love. And my hope, my prayer, is that we, as a nation, will heed your words, follow your example, and establish true peace with justice in our land.

Cosmic Wind (redux)

Craig said I was being too hard on the church. Well, he didn't quite say that, but he said that my posts did not reveal my deep love, hope, and commitment to what he knows I believe could be a life-giving force in the world.

So, let me introduce you to the galaxy M82.

This is another amazing photo from the Hubble Space Telescope, this one depicting a starburst galaxy with a supergalactic wind. The deal is, a recent encounter between M82 and another galaxy disturbed M82 and started a massive wave of star formation. The new, hot young stars are creating the cosmic wind (seen here in red) sweeping out into space.

***
Since 2001, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) has started over 500 churches, making us the fastest growing mainline denomination in the United States. (um, actually, we are the only growing mainline denomination).

Here are just a few of the new, hot young stars, I mean, ministers creating this mighty wind sweeping our land:

• Ayanna - Family of Hope Christian Church, Blue Island, IL
• Liz - Church on the Common, Worcester, MA
• Liz - Hope Church, Boston, MA
• Amy - Milagro Christian Church, Pueblo, CO
• Molly - Table of Grace Christian Church, Elk Grove, CA
• Laura - Living Water Christian Church, Kansas City, MO

These are my friends and colleagues. And they do give me hope.

Cosmic Wind

Let me introduce you to the Eskimo Nebula.

This cool photograph was taken by the Hubble Space Telescope, and depicts a glowing shell of gas around this planetary nebula, a star very much like our sun, at the end of its lifetime. You see, as this type of star dies, it runs out of hydrogen and there is no longer enough energy flowing out of the star's core to support it's outer layers. The core begins to contract into itself, and it heats up. Eventually it gets so hot that it blows (not exactly a scientific term, but it conveys the point). You see that "fur"? It looks a bit like the hood of a parka? Well, that's gas and debris being ejected by a mighty cosmic wind blowing off the outer layer of the star.

****
Yesterday was Pentecost, the day in the Christian calendar that we consider to be the "birthday of the church." It was on Pentecost that the original followers of Jesus, a bunch of scared disciples huddling together behind closed doors, exploded into a movement that changed the course of history.

What happened on that day? Well, we know that Pentecost was an obligatory feast day in the Jewish calendar, so people had made the pilgrimage, streaming into Jerusalem from all over the celebrate the feast in that holy city. Everyone was there - Medes and Elamites from the east; Romans from the west; Libyans from the south; and Cappodocians from the north. Only one group was missing, the followers of Jesus, who had locked themselves away. They were scared. Remember what happened on the last feast day, the Passover? Their leader had been arrested and executed! Their fear is understandable. And so is their reaction: they barricaded themselves in their room, believing that their safety lay in sticking together and keeping everybody else out.

Perhaps they would have continued on that way, pulling into themselves, seeking to find safety and security within their own little sanctuary, locking their doors to the outside world in hope of preserving themselves. But such was not the case. No, in Acts 2, we read that a mighty wind blew through that room, blowing off the doors and windows of their dying community, and hurling the followers of Jesus out into the world, ignited and set aflame, their lives to burn as a witness to truth and peace and justice and compassion.

We often fall into the same patterns as those early disciples. The world has become a frightening place for us, and so we lock our doors to barricade ourselves against it, believing that our safety is in sticking together and keeping everyone else out. We call our buildings freaking "sanctuaries"!! And we see Church as a place for threatened, like-minded people to get together and agree on everything that is wrong with the outside while keeping ourselves apart from the scary world in which we live. We decide who gets to join, and often that decision is based on who looks like us, who talks like us, who acts like us,who thinks like us, who loves like us. In fear, we contract into ourselves. And all this reveals that we are dying. We need a mighty cosmic wind to blow through us, to blow off our outer layers of debris, our locked doors and windows, and hurl us out into the world, into the streets, to do the good work that needs to be done: ending war, ending poverty, ending oppression...

And if we cannot let this wind blow, to let God's spirit transform us into a movement that actually participates in the healing of the planet, well then maybe it is time we finally burn out and (at the risk of mixing mythologies) see what rises from the ashes.

What if?

This weekend is Pentecost in the Christian tradition. Pentecost, though originally a Jewish festival, is held to be the "birthday of the Church" because it was during the festival of Pentecost when the original followers of Jesus received what we in the Church call "the gift of the Spirit". It was this Spirit which transformed that rag tag group of frightened disciples, bereft of a leader, into the founders of a movement which came to be known as Christianity.

So, in a few days, it's time to sing "Happy Birthday" to the Church. But I am not sure if I want to.

If you know me (or if you have read some of my blog entries) you know that I have a love-hate relationship with the institutional Church. I distrust the destructive hierarchies and I deplore the abuses of power. Yet I have such hope and vision that the Church can be so much more than it is. Which is ultimately why I stick with it. If I didn't have such love I would have left this racket ages ago.

Yesterday I was having lunch with my old friend Scott, always a bright and insightful man, but somewhere along the way, he has turned into a brilliant and reflective theologian and ethicist. Anyway, we were talking about my on-again, off-again love affair with the not-so-organized religion of which I am a part. He laughed. He has known me for a long time, and while I have grown much in the years since we first met, I still have the same love and hope for the church I have always had, along with same frustrations because the church fails again and again to be a place of love and and care and justice and compassion and peace and goodwill. [ugh! it drive me crazy! We could be so much, and yet we don't even try!!!] As we were talking, Scott posed a question to me, one he had posed to his students a few weeks back:

"What if we stopped calling ourselves 'the Church', and instead called ourselves 'a community of people who follow Jesus'?"

Now that has got me thinking. What if we did that? What would that mean? What would that look like?

I think I could get behind that. I mean, that is what the church ultimately is, "a community of people who follow Jesus", we've just made it into something icky. When Jesus called disciples, he didn't say, "worship me" or "idolize me" or "commodify me with your mass marketing you call evangelism". No, he said, "Follow". I interpret this to mean, "Follow my way of living. Follow my way of loving. Follow my way of boundary breaking, of opposing systems of oppression, of calling attention to poverty, injustice, and religious hypocracy." I consider myself 'Christian' because I choose the model of living presented in the man Jesus of Nazareth as one I strive to follow.

Another aspect of Scott's question/suggestion I find appealling is the emphasis on community. The Christian faith is not something that can be lived out in isolation. It's not some personal, private affair. Rather, the Christian life is one lived within a group of people who share values and commitments and together try to be faithful to discerning and fulfilling the calling to follow.

So, here we are on the weekend of the Church's birthday, and I am wondering what you think about reframing our understanding of Church and reimagining what it means to "be Church'. I am interested to know how you would answer Scott's question. What if we did that? What would that mean? What would that look like?

What if we stopped calling ourselves "the Church", and instead called ourselves "a community of people who follow Jesus"?

gas

He was leaning to the left and burping. Not an obnoxious, I'm-trying-to-gross-you-out kind of burp, but instead a burp of the I'm-sorry-but-I-have-gas-and-it-sucks variety. The burping I understand; we had yummy Mexican at Los Nopales for dinner last night. But every time he would burp, he leaned to the left. And this puzzled me.

He saw my quizzical look and said, "I always lean to the left when I burp." And of course, there is a good scientific explanation for this. You see, our stomachs are on the left side of our abdominal cavities. And the esophagus comes down and enters the side of the stomach at a bit of an angle. By leaning to the left, one can align the body so that the esophageal junction is at the top of the stomach instead of the side and thus make it easier for the gas to be expelled.

Okay, it makes sense. But now I am concerned. You see, here I thought I had found myself a good left-leaning liberal. But maybe he's just been gassy all along.

I've been tagged

So, my friend Dawn, a poet who blogs on MySpace, tagged me in an online version of the childhood game called, well, um, tag. Actually, she tagged me over two weeks ago, but I was out of town, and then I have been so very busy being chased that I wasn’t ready to be “it”. But now I am, so here goes:

"The rules are: once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with six weird, unique or unusual facts or habits about yourself.... at the end, you need to choose six people to be tagged and list their names and why you chose them.... don't forget to send them each a comment that says, "you have been tagged....go read my latest blog...."

So six things about me…

1. Since Dawn’s two reasons for choosing me were that we grew up together and that I am a minister, I will address both my younger years and my calling to the ministry. All in this first statement. I am a minister who was both (a) kicked out of my junior high youth group, and (b) flunked chapel not once, but twice, at Baylor University.

2. Despite having my patriotism questioned repeatedly, it is a fact that I have sung the national anthem at a major league baseball game. Solo. It was an Astros-Reds game. And my darling ‘Stros won. How ‘bout that?

3. I like to put chips in my sandwiches. I delight in the crunchy yumminess they provide. And jalepeño-flavored kettle chips are my favorite. I don’t eat very many sandwiches though. Thus not very many chips either.

4. Strangely enough, though I am an ordained minister in mainline protestant tradition, I distrust and even dislike most institutional hierarchies. In fact, I can’t think of a single one I do like. Or trust. Makes for an interesting fit in the Church.

5. I will only buy my gas at Citgo. I am all about supporting the Venezuelan government. However, I would rather bus, bike, or walk.

6. My favorite word is reciprocity. I enjoy the feeling of it sliding off of my tongue. And the meaning is pretty cool, too. It is something I strive for in my relationships. Mutual dependence. Cooperative interchange. Give and take. It’s a good thing.


Now, who will I tag?

BC – He is one of the most thoughtful (and provocative) bloggers I know. His posts always challenge me. And our society.

new north – My new online friend has such a delightful way of turning a phrase.

REFUGE – Janel, I want you to start blogging again!!! Your writing is so beautiful.

God save us… – Scott is an old friend who just happens to be a brilliant theologian/ethicist blogging on contemporary issues from a fascinating and challenging perspective.

the church down the street – Audrey is a caring pastor. And one of the funniest people I know.

All day to get there - Jason, will you use your paintings to tell us about you?

Nae-nae – Yes, I know this is seven, but I cannot leave out Shannon. This is going to be fun. I can’t wait to read what she has to write.


And the rest of you, please fell free to play along in the comments.

An analysis of my coffee mug: revelations into my psyche and the mug's sociological impact on my community

I have become a science blog addict. I guess it comes from spending so much time in the presence of a particular scientist. But reading these blogs, especially the ones that deal with happenings at the intersection of religion and science, has become a bit of an obsession for me.

Probably my favorite science blogger, well my favorite whom I do not know personally, is Pharyngula. Recently, he posted a challenge from another science blogger, David Ng, to reveal and comment upon our coffee mugs. And in a desperate attempt to make these science dudes think I am cool, I am stepping up to the challenge.

So here 'tis...

1. Can you show us your coffee mug?
Yup. This is the one. I have lots of others, but this is my favorite.

2. Can you comment on it? Do you think it reflects your personality?
Let's see, it a 16 oz (very big, for you non-science folks) mug depicting stargazers sitting around a fire and tracing the constellations with their hands. It was gift from my own stargazer. He picked it up in Calgary when he was at the American Astronomical Society meeting last June. When I requested his help in describing the mug, I specifically asked if he could tell me if it was the summer sky or the winter sky depicted, and if it was the northern hemisphere or the southern. His reply was, "Well, it's no sky I have ever seen." When I asked why he, the astronomer, would purchase a mug that was not scientifically accurate, he replied (somewhat annoyed, I think), "It's poetic." I guess I should have figured out that one...

Does it reflect my personality? Well, it does tell you that I need a major caffeine fix every morning. And it does remind me of my stargazer. :)

Oh, normally it has a piece of masking tape across it that says, "REV'S STARGAZER MUG" because if you don't label your personal items in a co-op, it becomes community property. However, I have been away from my beloved Bowers House for a few months now and the tape has peeled away. I imagine the label will go back on when I return home next week.

3. Do you have any interesting anecdotes resulting from coffee cup commentary?
Most of the stories about others commenting on the mug refer to the sheer size of the mug. Housemates like to point out that I can take the whole pot of coffee to fill my mug (not a very cooperative thing to do) or on my caffeine addiction. Some people like the label. One housemate, Irv, once made a mushy sentimental comment about the mug, it's accompanying label, and my obvious affection for the astronomer who gifted it, indicating that he had picked up on the poetry in the mug, even if I hadn't (though in my defense, I think the label itself reveals that I do appreciate the poetic sentiment of the gift. yes?).

4. Can you try to get others to comment on it?
Oh, I hope so. Please comment on it. Show them that I have friends. Make these science blog guys think that I am cool. Yes, one can be a minister and be cool, too.

***
P.S. PZ, I will be responding to your latest challenge before your deadline. I figure a reverend's perspective might be an interesting addition to the digest.

sick

If I believed in a petty, mean-spirited, sadistic bully of a god who derived pleasure in inflicting pain and small torture upon others, and if I wanted to prove the existence of such a god, you know what evidence I would offer up? The spring cold. Because only a deity who wants to mock and taunt and delight in suffering would think up such a nasty, vile torment.

You know, I have just made it through a Chicago winter. The temperature has been warm, and I have been out walking barefoot along the lake shore, riding my bike through the city, and basking in the coquettish sunshine.

And then I hear it, that snide whine of a voice, calling out to me on the cosmic playground, "So, you made it through winter and you think you're so tough, huh? Well, how 'bout this? How 'bout I slap you with a little cold? How 'bout I cram your ears and your nose with some nasty, coagulated gunk? And oooh, I know, I can send a tickler down your throat to inflict his agonizing torment upon your tonsils. And how 'bout I turn up the heat with a wee bit of a fever?"

"But why?" I ask of the bully god, trying to wiggle free from the unrelenting headlock, knowing the dreadful noogie soon will follow.

"Because I can," says the deified tyrant, then laughs maniacally. Oh, the malevolence!


I guess it is a good thing that I don't believe in a god who delights in the misery of humanity; I'd be in the wrong racket if I did. But I am sick. And it sucks. And with the sun shining out there, beckoning to me, it does seem a little cruel to be knocked out with the yucky cold.

there is irony. and then there's this...

Just when I think nothing about either of these men can surprise me,

Fred Phelps to Protest Jerry Falwell's Funeral

[Alas, I have a project for a class I am taking due tonight, so I cannot comment now. But really, what could I say?]

Jerry Falwell

Jerry Falwell died yesterday. Dr. Scott Paeth has written a profound reflection on the evangelist's passing. Written from a progressive Christian perspective, Paeth's post provides an excellent critical analysis of Falwell's contribution to the role of religion in public discourse while being extremely fair and even gracious to the man himself and to his perspective.

I am proud to claim the author as a friend and colleague. I myself could not have been so kind.

The Good China: Lessons of Grace and Hospitality

[a belated Mother's Day tribute]

Mom was one who believed in setting out the good china. Dishes are made to be eaten off of, not to sit and look pretty in the china cabinet. So we used the good china. Often. Of course, many plates and bowls and tea cups have been broken along the way, but, according to my mom, these are just things, the important thing is the fellowship that is shared around the table. She wanted everyone who sat at her table to feel special and to feel welcome. So she served up her delicious and nutritious meals. On the good china.

When the bishop came to visit (he raved about Karry Frey’s homemade dinner rolls), she used the good china. And when one of the towns drug dealers stopped by, she used the good china. She welcomed them both. She loved them both. She accepted them as is. And she saw that they had potential to be much more than they were. In the bishop, she saw a man more loving and gracious than he appeared to the world (or in John Shelby Spong’s autobiography). And in the pothead, she saw the kind, charismatic, and imaginative kid who she had the qualities to be a great leader.

When dinner time came, there was always enough to serve our family. And if somebody else dropped by, she’d pull up a chair and serve them a plate, too.

Sometimes we her children would be obnoxious, obstinate, unkind, or naughty. We’d be sent to our rooms until we were “ready to be nice”. Occasionally we wouldn’t be ready to be nice when a mealtime came, so we’d stay in our rooms while our family enjoyed the table fellowship. But a place was always set for us, should we choose to come to the table. And if we didn’t come, both Mom and Dad would tell us how much they had missed us and how dinnertime just wasn’t the same without us.

My own Christian theology and worship center around the communion table, with its open invitation, “Y’all come. Everyone is welcome. Rich, poor, gay, straight, black white, old, young, doubter, believer, saint, sinner. Really, everyone. Come!” And my model for life and ministry is that of the man Jesus of Nazareth, who broke down boundaries, who shared meals with both the high-religious and society’s outcasts.

But such radical hospitality I did not learn from the Christian teaching. No, I first learned it at home, during those first communions of family dinners, at the table where, no matter how much I had messed up, I found a place set for me. With the good china, no doubt.

Mother's Day (cont.)

To accompany the last post. This image is from the Syracuse Cultural Workers.

Mother's Day

Just a reminder that Mother's Day has not always been a boon for Hallmark. Rather, it was originally a political protest. (Thanks to Sandhya for reminding me.)

Julia Ward Howe's Mother's Day Proclamation - 1870

Arise then...women of this day!

Arise, all women who have hearts!

Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!

Say firmly:"We will not have questions answered by irrelevant agencies,

Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage,

For caresses and applause.

Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn

All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.

We, the women of one country,

Will be too tender of those of another country

To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs.

"From the bosom of a devastated Earth a voice goes up with

Our own. It says: "Disarm! Disarm!

The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."

Blood does not wipe out dishonor,

Nor violence indicate possession.

As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil

At the summons of war,

Let women now leave all that may be left of home

For a great and earnest day of counsel.

Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means

Whereby the great human family can live in peace...

Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,

But of God -

In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask

That a general congress of women without limit of nationality.

May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient

And the earliest period consistent with its objects,

To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,

The amicable settlement of international questions,

The great and general interests of peace.

The company she keeps

My friend April recently told me that this coming election, she will be considering not just the candidates but the people with whom they surround themselves. April believes that this says so much more about the candidate than any of their platforms. hmm... I hadn't thought about that before. But I think April is on to something. This current administration is a prime example. It was never just W in office (I almost wrote "we didn't elect just W", but then I remembered we didn't elect him at all), there was always Chaney, Ashcroft, Rumsfeld, Rove, etc.

This past week, I had the opportunity to gather with 40-50 other members of the clergy and meet with Senator Hillary Clinton. She did an excellent job outlining her domestic agenda (expectedly, she shied away from foreign policy and her history of supporting the Iraq war). She shared her own views on faith and politics. She spoke highly of her opponents in the democratic field (she was in Obama territory, after all). And she demonstrated that she is a woman of amazing intellect, as compelling of a speaker as her husband, and a person who cares deeply for this country. But none of this was especially revelatory.

What was most impressive to me was the announcement that Bob Nash, former chairman of Shore Bank in Chicago, had left his position to work on Hillary Clinton's presidential campaign. Now, I am sure that many bankers have worked on many campaigns, but Shore Bank is not like any other bank I know. While it now has branches on both coasts, Shore Bank is an institution of Chicago's South Side. Shore Bank was founded at a time when racial and economic discrimination was "officially sanctioned" in the banking world and from its inception has worked for economic justice and community revitalization. Shore is committed to the communities in which its branches are located, supporting not-for-profit organizations and extending loans for community development. Shore practices socially responsible investing, extends microcredit in developing countries, and was the very first bank to address environmental issues. Like I said, Shore Bank is not like other banks.

I do not know Bob Nash personally, but I know Shore Bank. I have tremendous respect for the institution he served. And it says a lot to me that he would leave a position with an institution whose motto is "Let's change the world" unless he found another way to make an even greater impact on the world. I find it intriguing that he left Shore Bank to work on Hillary Clinton's campaign instead of that of fellow Southsider, Barack Obama.

The election is still a long way off. And I cannot say that Hillary Clinton will have my vote when that time comes. Her foreign policy votes still concern me. (And Obama is my neighbor - seriously he lives one block away!). But while I cannot say if I will vote for her, I will say this: I like the company she keeps.

Mountains of Hope

"Where does hope come from?" asked my friend and colleague Patty, a hospital chaplainin Houston. Then, answeting her own question, she declared, "Why, hope comes from hopelessness, of course."

Hope comes from hopelessness?

Of course.

So often, it is only in the deep silence of despair that we can hear hope's whisper; it is in the night shadows of hopelessness that we can glimpse a glimmering promise of a brighter world.

Lately, and this past month especially, I found found myself in this place of hopelessness. I cannot trust our leaders to work for healing and peace in our world, and I felt as if the little I do - the ministry, the vigils, the advocacy, the writing - I felt that none of it amounted to much, and that my little efforts could not counter the evil being thrust upon our world by the powers that be. But you know what? Just as my friend suggested, it was in this state of hopelessness that I found hope.

Two weeks ago, I attended the Bethany Fellowship retreat. As is the case everytime I gather with this remarkable group of Disciples clergy, I found myself surrounded by excellence, by people making a difference in their little corners of the world, people working for peace and healing and wholeness. And I listened to thier stories, to their struggles and to their successes. And I let these wash over me. And I began to remember that I have stories to tell, too. Stories of sadness and stories of celebrations. And as I began to tell my stories, I heard my own voice declaring that I am doing something to make a difference in the world. And I remembered that this is true.

Then last week, I attended the National Leadership Gathering of The Interfaith Alliance in Denver. And again, I found myself surrounded by excellence, by people making a difference in their little corners of the world, people working for peace and healing and wholeness. The conference was aptly named "Mountains of Hope" - we had the Rocky Mountains just to our west, and hope abounded throughout those days. As I listened to the stories of the affliates working around our country and as I listened to the speakers, I actually found myself not just wanting to hope, but actually daring to do so.

One of the speakers at "Mountains of Hope" was Colorado Governor Bill Ritter, who suggested that in our world today, the fight for justice is a "battle between people who hope and cynics." If this is true, then I want to be on the side of the hopeful. Because I want to believe that a peaceful and just world is possible. And even when I don't believe it, I want to.

Talkin' about a revolution...

I do not want to be a part of any institution that is more concerned with perpetuating itself than in caring for its members, others, and the world.

The Church is obsessed with its own self-preservation. And that will be its death. You know, it is not our job to save the Church; it is our calling to serve God in the world. Ironically, if we are faithful in our service, the Church will continue on, in one way or another, for another day of loving and caring. Of course, it may not look like the instituations we have now, but the Body will continue in the ministry of Christ.

We need to do away with the heartless, institutional crap. As far as the Church is concerned, I think we are beyond need of reformation. We need revolution. And we need resurrection.

So maybe we need to let the institutional church continue in its self-serving, self-preserving mission. Just let it die. And then the Body of Christ can be resurrected to do some real ministries of justice, compassion, mercy, and passion. Who's with me?

Love Songs

In the South Park episode, "Christian Rock Hard", Cartman decides to start a Christian rock band, and proclaims it should be easy, just sing love songs and substitute "Jesus" for "baby". Being neither a fan of most pop/rock/r&b love ballads nor of most contemporary Christian music , I found this especially funny. Because it's true. I believe that most love songs seem to trivialize and romanticize real relationships. And most praise songs seem equally idealistic and vapid. Neither seem to adequately address real issues of love or faith, not to mention life. All of which get really messy.

So I prefer to listen to the music of folks who (a) write their own songs - solely or collaboratively - and preferably provide some of their own accompaniment, and (b) sing about life, faith, love, in all their crazy, chaotic messiness, not trying to make it all cheesy and sweet sentimental drivel.*

But today, as I quoted a line from a Dar Williams' song that seemed to capture a piece of my relationship with my Beloved, a spiritual director was struck by the lyrics. As we continued to talk about my ministry, my faith, my hope, and my "relationship with God", this colleague came back to that song and said, "Rachel, what if you thought of God singing those words to you?" hmm... What if, to me, God were singing:

I'm watching you go, it's like spying on hope ever onward with more to burn

Giving your hands and your heart to the weave of the world, though it fights each turn

But you do not give up so easily

That's how I know you won't surrender me

You rise and meet the day

It's all I need, it's all I need to know, it's all I need to know

- You Rise and Meet the Day

Interesting. I am still not sure what I think about it, but I kind of like the idea that God could be watching me go about my ministries and find what I am doing hopeful. It's like spying on hope...

[So reading these lyrics, can you see why I like this kind of love song as opposed to the "everything I do I do it for you" and "you bring meaning to my life; you're the inspiration" garbage out there? Okay, did I just totally date myself as a child of the 80's?]

Anyway, thinking of the Dar song in this way got me thinking about other cool artists I know, and I started imagining their songs as sung by God. While it doesn't work for every love song, it does for many. and perhaps the one with the most interesting results is one of my favorite relationship songs, Ani DiFranco's "As Is". In some ways, this is the heart of the Christian story: we don't have to hide, we don't have to pretend, God accepts us, assholes and all, as is. As they say, "that'll preach."

What do you think about interpreting love songs, not as our songs to God, but God's songs to us? Can you give me some cool examples that work with interesting results? And what about some that don't?


* Okay, I confess to writing a cheesy, sweet love song for my Beloved's birthday last fall. Yes, it was cheesy. Yes, it was sweet. But it was also extremely geeky. And at least the science was good, and the physics right on!

midnight stroll

We went for a walk in the darkness last night. It was I and three of my dearest friends and colleagues: Liz, Ayanna and Sarah. Leaving the bright lights of the parking lot behind us, a single street lamp was all that illumined our path. And if we were to get in a decent walk, we'd have to step beyond that singular light as well.

Pausing on the street, I exclaimed, "Wow! It's dark out here!"

Liz beckoned us further into the shadow. "Come on," she said, "the darkness gets brighter when you step away from the light."

"Ooh, that's deep," proclaimed Ayanna.

Deep, yes. And very true. As we ventured further from the lights of the retreat center, the darkness did indeed become brighter. And it seemed as if the very dirt road on which we walked was gleaming in the moonlight, never mind that it was a half moon, and half covered by clouds as well. Frogs jumping in our path still startled city-girl Ayanna, making Sarah giggle. But we could see. Clearly. And I do believe our hearing was more acute as well. As we walked, we listened. To each other. To the wind in the trees. To the stream making its way over the rocks.

Yes, sometimes we must step into the darkness to see what is truly there, to walk in the midnight in order to find our way made bright in the shadows.

Does this mean I should step into the sadness I have been carrying these past few weeks, to let myself really "go there", to feel and experience the gloom I have been hanging on to? I don't know. Maybe now is the time; maybe not. But it seems that stepping into such deep shadows is the sort of thing that should only be done when accompanied by the closest of friends.

retreating

Usually, I take "retreat" to mean something like a time of seclusion and solitude or a period of withdrawal for prayer, meditation, or sudy. And sometimes, I say it is a way of re-treating myself, caring for myself once again.

But this time, it feels dfferent. I feel like I have been fighting a war (or two or three), and I am getting my rear-end kicked from all sides. So as I come to this week of gathering with my beloved Bethany Fellows, I feel as if I am in military retreat, withdrawing from a dangerous position or a formidable foe (though neither the danger nor the enemy is something I can easily name or even point to).

This week, I am taking a break from fighting battles. This week, I am resting. And perhaps next week I will return to my life, not so much ready to take up the fight, but more, to realize that the fight need not be. At least this is what I hope.

with the sibs

The Frey Kids
April 2007

I love my brother. My president? Not so much.

My brother Chris deploys to Iraq today. And I am just sick with worry and fear and anger and sadness.

I know, I know, I know, I know that I am supposed to say, "we really need to pray for all of our troops. And for everyone impacted in this war - soldier, civilian, friend, and foe." But you know, I just can't. Call me selfish. But I want prayers for Chris. May God protect him. May God bring him home safely.

And I know, I know, I know, I know that I am supposed to say, "we really need to work and pray for healing in our world, that we might find ways to resolve conflict without resorting to violence and war." But I feel so much violence in my heart right now; I actually want to lash out and slug someone. And not just anyone. I want to sock it to our so-called "president"; that would make me feel better - probably only that. So much for my non-violent convictions.

Now I know, I KNOW that I am supposed to be praying for our leaders, that they may govern with wisdom and compassion and justice. But you know what? I can't. Why not? Because I have absolutely no faith in this administration. I have no hope that things can actually get better until we get that idiot fascist out of office. This war will go on. And thousands upon thousands of lives will continue to be lost because of the arrogance of this jackass. So many lives hang on the balance, and this imbecile doesn't bat an eye; he's not worried. He has no problem getting to sleep at night.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I HATE OUR STINKING PRESIDENT!!!

And I know, I know, I know, I know that I am supposed to confess this hatred. Or at least to let it go, to release it before it eats me up. But I am not going to. For the simple reason that I don't wanna!!!

I love my brother dearly. I don't understand his calling to the military. But I love him dearly. And I respect him, I admire him. I don't support this war. But I support him. And I support his troops. I love him. I love him. I love him.

And if anything happens to him, if he is harmed in any way, it's on you, Mr. "President". You can be assured of that. Rest easy.

An Easter Sermon

You know, sometimes the New York Times just says it best:

Guest Columnist: An Easter Sermon (the guest columnist is Robert Wright)

"Mr. Bush says his favorite philosopher is Jesus. One way to show it would be to spend less time repeating the mistake of the Romans and more time heeding the wisdom of Christ."

...

My heart has been heavy these past few days as I anticipate my brother's deployment to Iraq. Despite the joyous news, "The Lord is risen!", I find it difficult to form the word, "Hallelujah!" With the war (coupled with the fact that it is snowing here today), it just doesn't seem like Easter has come.

heroes

here is the sermon I preached this morning at Bond Chapel on the University of Chicago campus:

Heroes

Hebrews 12:1-3

Today, April 4, the world and our nation remembers the death, nay the assassination, of one of our heroes, the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. – civil rights leader, political activist, Baptist minister, and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize. King dared to dream, he had the guts to cast a vision of racial equality, of peace in our world, and of justice for all oppressed peoples. His vision frightened many as equality would shake up the status quo, but this man of faith continued to speak truth to power, he endured the persecution, and he persevered in working for equality - empowered by his conviction that our nation could be just and that our world would be whole.

In five days, on April 9, the world will mark another anniversary, that of the death, no, the execution of a man considered by many to be a modern-day Christian martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German pastor and theologian whose resistance to Adolf Hitler and the Nazi regime led to his arrest, his imprisonment, and ultimately his hanging at the Flossenberg concentration camp. Bonhoeffer was troubled by the anti-Semitism that had seeped into nearly every aspect of German life, and he began to oppose the Nazis, his opposition growing as the persecution of the Jews increased. Ultimately, he involved himself in a plot to assassinate Hitler. Bonhoeffer was a man of hope and a man of faith, who lived and died by his convictions that justice must prevail.

King and Bonhoeffer stand with Able, Enoch, and Noah, with Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph. They join Moses and Rahab, Gideon, Deborah, Barak, Samson, David, Samuel, all of the prophets. The eleventh chapter of Hebrews introduces us to some of the heroes of the faith who demonstrated hope, faith, conviction, and action.

These heroes are those "who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, obtained promises, shut the mouths of lions, quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness" (Hebrews 11:33-34, NRSV).

King and Bonhoeffer also stand with abolitionists Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and William Lloyd Garrison, and with activists Rachel Corrie and César Chávez. In addition, they stand with former President Jimmy Carter, Congresswoman Barbara Lee, peace activist Cindy Sheehan, and our very own neighbor Catholic Worker Kathy Kelly, who all work for peace and justice in our world.

King and Bonhoeffer stand with heroes, past and present, those known to many and those only known to the lives they personally touched – with my sister, with your grandfather, with my American history teacher, and with your best friend - this great cloud of witnesses who surround us, inspire us, empower us, and assist us in living with hope and faith and conviction and action.

And King and Bonhoeffer stand with another man who life was taken for speaking truth and exposing injustice. Another death whose anniversary is marked this week, this week the Christian tradition calls “holy”. This is a week in which we who profess the Christian faith recall the last days of the man, Jesus of Nazareth. We remember his prophetic ministry and his execution for challenging the authorities of the day with his calling for justice. We remember him feeding the masses and healing the sick, we recall him showing compassion to the suffering and denouncing those who profited at the expense of another, and we think of him reaching across boundaries that divide humanity and calling for true community. It is this life and this ministry and even this death of the man Jesus that serves as a model for Christian faithfulness. A model followed by our heroes in whose footsteps we also follow.

Do you see what this means - all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running - and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who bothe began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed - that exhilerating finish in and with God - he could put up with anything along the way: cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourself flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!(Hebrews 12:1-3, The Message)

I don’t know about you, but I could use a shot of adrenaline right about now. I am weary, worn down from working for peace and fighting for justice. Itr's hard to do as the choir just sang, "to keep [my] lamp trimmed and burning". But I must not lose heart, and neither must you. There is so much brokenness in our world:

• farm workers are calling for a tomato boycott because McDonalds - McDonalds of all companies, with its billions and billions served - cannot, no will not pay them more than a few cents for every bushel of tomatoes they harvest;
• we are far from realizing King’s dream of racial equality in our nation, just look at the controversies surrounding many of the housing developments here in Chicago;
• and we are a nation at war, preparing to "surge" even more troops, 30,000 more troops to Iraq, where we have already unleashed so much turmoil and bloodshed.

No, we must not lose heart.

So my prayer for us all this Holy Week is this: may we hear the voices of King and Bonhoeffer and that great cloud of witnesses cheering us on from the sidelines, may their shouts of approval and encouragement strengthen us and empower us as we run the race set before us, following in their footsteps and those of Jesus, blazing the way for justice and wholeness in our world.

Amen.

Singing Our Truth

My friends,

We are now into the week that the Christian tradition calls "Holy". It is a week in which Christians recall the last days of the man, Jesus of Nazareth; we remember his prophetic ministry and his execution for speaking truth to power. Finally we Christians celebrate the fact that the truth Jesus proclaimed cannot be contained, even in death, as we profess that Christ the Lord has risen. Today is Palm or Passion Sunday, and the lectionary text for today comes from Luke’s account of Jesus’ life, telling of Jesus’ the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, his weeping over the city, and his cleansing of the Temple.

Four years ago, in the weeks after the U.S invaded Iraq, I composed a hymn for Palm Sunday based upon the Lukan text, in which Jesus claims that if the disciples were silent in their praise, then the very stones would be forced to cry out. In 2003, I found this text to be quite appropriate as I knew it to be a time when those of us who dared to speak out (against our government, the war, et al) were being told to shut up by the communities around us. In Luke's text, I heard the reminder that truth always has a way of being heard, despite my reluctance or my fear to speak out.

Four years later, this message is just as timely. Public opinion of the war may have turned, but we are still allowing for the continuing escalation of troops to Iraq. This is not a time to allow the stones beneath us take our place in the chorus of witnesses. So I wish to share the text of the hymn with you. May we speak boldly the truth we are called to proclaim.

Strength, courage, and peace for the journey,
Rachel


The Very Stones Would Sing
Tune: BEACH SPRING 87.87D
Luke 19:29-40

Here, we wave our palms in honor, Here, we lay our garments down,
As you enter in your glory, And as we demand your crown.
We shout psalms of adoration, Crying “Blessed is the king!”
And you say that if we’re silent Then the very stones would sing!

We have waited for your coming. We have cried out for release.
You’re the King whom we have longed for; You’re the One, the Prince of Peace.
So we wonder at your summons To be the peace you bring.
In reluctance, we are silent, So the very stones must sing.

We are frightened, thus unfaithful, When we’re silenced by the world.
We betray you; we deny you Lest their anger be unfurled.
We are scared, Lord, to speak boldly; To security we cling.
In our panic, we are silent, So the very stones must sing.

Lord, how quickly our “Hosannas” Turn to cries of “Crucify!”
When the justice that you call for Requires of us our lives.
We don’t want a God of mercy; We demand a conquering king.
In our anger, we are silent, So the very stones must sing.

O God, help us to stand steadfast. Help us witness to your peace.
Help us to reclaim our voices That our praise may never cease.
Lead us forward on the journey; Bells of justice let us ring.
Underfoot, may stones be silent; Let us be the ones who sing!


Copyright © 2003 by Rachel Frey. All rights reserved. revrachelfrey (at) gmail (dot) com. Permission for free one-time use is given for congregational worship. The above copyright and contact information shall be included when reproducing this hymn in worship bulletins.

God's Wingman

When my nephew Will first heard that my brother, Will's Uncle Chris, was deploying to Iraq, specifically the Anbar Province, he was deeply disturbed. Will suggested, "Mama, we really should pray." My sister replied, "Yes, Will, we need pray. Things are so messed up in that country and in our country. that maybe prayer is the only thing that can help. We need to put it in God's hands." Surprised, Will declared, "Mom, we still have to do things. We need to be God's back-up." Inaction is not acceptable.

St. Teresa of Avila wrote, "Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which He looks compassion on this world." And I think my six-year-old nephew summed up Teresa's sentiment well, reminding us all that we're to be God's back-up, God's hands working for God's peace in this world.

Amen. May it be so.

Telling Stories

For Sunday's sermon, I once again opted out of the traditional "sermon" model and simply told a story. I am doing this more and more, and my preaching is developing into a narrative style. I appreciate that people seem to connect with stories in ways I can never predict or explain. When I preach a traditional sermon, I tell the congregation exactly what I want them to hear. But when I tell a story, it touches people in profoundly surprising ways. I guess this is because stories have layers that resonate with the myriad layers of people's own narratives. And then that connection just… happens.

For a while, I felt guilty for straying from the traditional 3-point sermon, from all of the homiletics courses of seminary (my seminary was known for cranking out outstanding 3-point preachers). But as I reflect on the Christian tradition, I realize that there's a pretty good model for story telling. I mean, most of us who profess the Christian faith hold that the core of our tradition is the life and ministry of the man Jesus. And, according to the biblical accounts of his ministry, exactly how many sermons did he preach? Two: the "Sermon on the Mount" (Matthew) and the "Sermon on the Plain" (Luke), and really, these were pretty much the same sermon. (So we see that like any good itinerant preacher, he had one great, stock sermon that he used over and over again.) Our scriptures hold that Jesus had one sermon that he preached twice. And how many stories did he tell?