The advent of Advent

 

Art work: "The Four" by Tricia Robertson
Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba  

Good Saturday morning, good people who stand with me here, on this 30th and last day of the 11th month of the Gregorian Calendar, at the advent of the Liturgical Season of Advent.

I will have a lot of things to say about Advent and the lectionary lessons for tomorrow but there are Christmas decorations to schlepp out of the storage shed, and backs to be made sore by the moving and opening of large boxes of Very Important Memories, and curses to be said loudly into the cosmos because I can't find something I know I put *right there*.

I'm fairly limited in the schlepping department this year as recovery and healing are making good progress and no one wants to mess with any of that.

Even so, it's ADVENT, for goodness sake! It's time to light small sparks of anticipation under the pot of Incarnational Stew which will be stirred, eventually, into becoming the full, roiling boil of Christmas excitement.

For now, just a few small sparks, here and there. The Advent Wreath is on the dining room table which has a festive tablecloth of Christmas colors. We are ready for tomorrow night when we'll light the first Advent candle. A very dear friend came over and helped us set up the outdoor creche scene.

This morning, I'll put up our Fontanini set which I've been collecting for, oh my goodness, it's easily been 30 years, if not more. As much as I love that one, I think my favorite is the small, felt one I bought in Jerusalem at Sunbula, a non-profit fair trade organization, and made in Bethlehem by children and adults who are members of the L'Arche Community known as Ma'an Lil-Hayat. Oh, let me take just a moment to tell you about them.

Ma'an Lil-Hayat means 'together for life' in Arabic, and was founded in August 2009 as a project of the International Federation of L'Arche Communities. Ma'an Lil-Hayat brings together about 40 people from refugee camps and villages in the Bethlehem area with and without intellectual disabilities to share life through work, celebration, and mutual relationships of friendship and trust. Their workshop is located just a few steps from The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.

The nativity set - and all other Christmas ornaments - is made of felt from natural sheep wool that is purchased from local shepherdesses, many of them Bedouin. The entire project is overseen and supervised by Muslim women and the profits made from the sale of their work go to help restore dignity to the lives of the disabled and oppressed in Palestine.

God only knows what has happened to them since 10/7/23. I have not been able to get any information or order anything from their website. I pray for them daily. These Muslim women, refugees, and adult children with disabilities stand, in their own way, as Hearlds for us of the Incarnation. We could learn a great deal from their example. (https://www.sunbula.org/)

God keep them safe and well during these very dark days.

Over the years we have come to understand that, in many ways, Advent is a Marian Season. We pattern our spirituality from the elements of the character of Mary, the Theotokos, the God-bearer. In the Season of Advent, the Season of Mary, our ears are better tuned to hear the voices and the wisdom of women.

I have compiled the words of some of the wisest women I know - including the voices of two young women - and have used them as the words Benediction at the end of each service in Advent and Christmas.

They are: Maya Angelou, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Coretta Scott King, Greta Thunberg, and Malala Yousafzia.

I will be using these blessings to end our time of prayer at the Advent Wreath Candle Lighting Liturgy on Sunday evening at 5:30 PM, on the Facebook page of St. Peter’s, Lewes, DE (https://www.facebook.com/SaintPetersLewes/).

I offer them to you today, on the advent of Advent, for your consideration and use. Our days have become so dark and frightening that our faith, on examination, may appear small and meek and vulnerable.

May these blessings provide small sparks of anticipation and preparation that will grow in strength to the full celebration of the coming again of Christ in our midst.

We might miss the Incarnation because Christ may appear to us as small and insignificant as our faith right now.

Because we feel so weak and anxious, we may want Christ to appear big and strong, confident and bold, but Christ may appear to us as a Muslim or Jewish woman or Bedouin shepherdess or an adult with intellectual or physical disabilities that make them seem childlike.

The Heralds of Advent tell us that Christ will come, not in the armor of a warrior or the robes of a king, but wrapped in bands of the cloth salvaged by those who are poor or those who are refugees in a place ravaged by the evils of war who hold onto the broken, pointed shards of hope in their broken hearts.

It is time to wait and listen with the poor, to watch and hope with those whose lives have been devasted by illness or death. It is a time to plant seeds in the hard, cold ground. Light candles in the midst of darkness. Sing songs of joy in the face of despair. Ululate like a Middle Eastern woman to express emotions that can not be communicated merely with words. Look for community in the midst of your loneliness. Expect the unexpected.

Most of all, take the time to examine your heart and your soul and try to find the courage to live your life like you mean what you believe, even though that will be seriously tested and challenged in the days ahead.

If you don't look, how will you find?

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

BLESSINGS OF THE WORDS OF WOMEN 

IN ADVENT AND CHRISTMAS

ADVENT I
May faith be the bridge you build to overcome evil and welcome good. May you learn that you still have a lot to learn. May gratitude be the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer. And the blessing of God, Creator, Word, and Holy Spirit be upon you and those you love and pray for this day, and forevermore. Amen (Maya Angelou)

ADVENT II
May you fight for the things that you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you. May you be able to disagree without being disagreeable. May you be remembered as someone who used whatever talent she had to do her work to the very best of her ability. And the blessing of God, Creator, Word, and Holy Spirit be upon you and those you love and pray for this day, and forevermore. Amen (Ruth Bader Gingsburg)

ADVENT III
May we know that nonviolence is the only credible response to violence. May we know that revenge and retaliation always perpetuate the cycle of anger, fear, and violence. May we know that the greatness of a community is most accurately measured by the compassionate action of its members. And the blessing of God, Creator, Word, and Holy Spirit be upon you and those you love and pray for this day, and forevermore. Amen (Coretta Scott King)

ADVENT IV
Let us take action and do the impossible because giving up is never an option. May we learn that together and united, we are unstoppable. May we know that the climate crisis has already been solved; all we have to do is wake up and change. And the blessing of God, Creator, Word, and Holy Spirit be upon you and those you love and pray for this day, and forevermore. Amen (Greta Thunberg)

CHRISTMAS
Let us pick up our books and pens and know that one child, one teacher, one pen, one book can change the world. May we learn that someone may take away our pens and books, but they can not stop our minds from thinking. May our fear never be stronger than our courage. And the blessing of God, Creator, Word, and Holy Spirit be upon you and those you love and pray for this day, and forevermore. Amen (Malala Yousafzia)

Compiled by Elizabeth Kaeton+. Permission to reproduce with proper attribution, please. Thank you

Out of the Blue

Good Monday morning, comrades on The Way as well as all those who are tagging along because you're curious.

Thanksgiving week seems to be a good time to have this conversation. It's not an easy one to have. I've been debating whether or not to even have it, so I'll start with you where it began with me: Out of the Blue.

My mother used that expression a lot. Things were always happening "out of the blue". Someone said something "out of the blue". As a kid, I never really understood it until she said, "It just fell from the sky."

That's pretty much the way it has been for me, recently. I'll get to the bottom line and we'll go from there.

I have breast cancer. Aggressive. Invasive. Ductal. Early stage.

My prognosis is very good.

My particular story has a very important message about the extra steps women (and the few, rare men who also get breast cancer) ought to take to ensure the earliest possible diagnosis and intervention.

It starts with a monthly BSE (Breast Self Exam), although, in my case, it was so early that I didn't feel anything. It includes an annual mammography but now there's an additional step.

On July 10h, I dutifully went and had an annual mammography. For the past few years, I've followed the advice for "a woman my age with 'Dense Breasts'" and have gotten 3-D mammography. I am very grateful that my insurance pays for that version.

Well, until the man with the worm in his brain consults with the Oz Man and they agree with the two men who are going to help cut government spending.

Please note: About half of women over 40 have dense breasts. Please also note that the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) does not recommend extra screenings for women with dense breasts and no other risk factors. I had no other risk factors, except one maternal aunt who developed breast cancer in her mid-80s.

Eight or nine days later, my results came in the mail. Nothing unusual. "Normal," it said, noting the "dense breasts"

So, I filed the report and went on with my life, as one does. At 8:30, Monday morning, August 26th, my phone rang. It was my PCP (Primary Care Physician). "Hey, Elizabeth," she said, "I was just going through some charts and I'm wondering if you got your mammography report."

"Yeah, sure," I said. "It was normal. I mean, yeah, of course it was. I filed it. I can find it for you, if you want. Is there a problem?"

"Did you get the radiologist report?" she asked.

"No," said I, "Why?"

"So, it's not normal," she said as, right out of the blue, I felt something hit my stomach. "Well, there's something there, so I'm going to order another mammography, this time of the right breast only, along with an ultrasound. Let's get right on this, ok?"

"I'm on this," I said and listened as she said, "You know, I don't
know why I read the radiology reports. I almost never read them, but, I dunno, I just felt like, with yours, I should. I guess, in your business, you'd call that 'God', right?"

"Ummm, I think even in your business, you'd call that 'God'."

(See also: Right out of the blue)

"Right," she said. "Just go get that mammography and ultrasound and we'll both sleep better."

The first appointment I could get was on the 10th of September, two weeks later and two months after my mammography.

The technician was having difficulty with the ultrasound so she called in the radiologist, himself. Nice man. He smiled when he came in. He frowned during the ultrasound. Ten very long minutes later, I told him that, in my experience, it was never a good thing when doctors frown, especially during a procedure.

He said, "I'm not sure what I'm looking at here - and, you know, it may not be anything - but I'm going to advise that your doctor orders a biopsy."

All the way home, I kept hearing " . . . it may not be anything." It became a life rope I hung onto which helped me feel like I wasn't slipping slowly off the end of the earth and into The Blue.

Twenty days later, on the 30th of September, I had a biopsy. They put in a little clip on the "growth" (that's what they called it then) so that "future mammographies will show the clip so we know it's there and can measure it."

Sounded reasonable. I told her my story and why I was there and asked her 'how does this happen?"

She was quite chipper. "Oh, you know, it could have been the radiologist. Some of them have .... accents . . . which can be hard to understand. Or, it could have been the transcriptionist. Or, sometimes, you know, it's the machine.

"Look," I said, cutting through her cheery tone, trying to be polite, "I cherish the diversity and inclusion in this country. I am thrilled that other countries send us their brightest and best. But, you know, if it's a matter of accents, maybe some remedial language skills are in order. And, if it's the technician, perhaps another in-service or two?"

Suddenly, her cheerfulness touched a place in my Azorean Portuguese blood and I could feel anger begin to rise. I heard myself lower my voice the way my mother did when she was angry, and through clenched teeth I said, "But if it's the machine, then for God's sake, get another goddamn machine."

And then, because I'm of good immigrant stock who was carefully taught my place, especially in the presence of a very fair, very blonde, woman who put a capital C in Caucasian, I apologized for "sounding angry. I'm just anxious."

And she, for her part, immediately looked up my report and said, "You know, it's still here. In your chart. And, it still says, 'normal'. I'm going to report this to my manager. I'll be right back."

Suddenly, people in white lab coats were in my room, asking questions and apologizing and assuring me that "this is going to go to the highest level" and "this will be addressed."

On Friday, October 4th, around 4:30 PM, Ms. Conroy and I were sitting in our chairs, checking emails and such. A little notice popped up. "Oh," said I, "there's a message in my portal from the hospital. I wonder if that could be my pathology report."

I felt absolutely no anxiety. Indeed, I felt pretty confident that this was going to be a benign cyst or a calcification. I didn't even get upset as I normally would in having to set up the new portal with just the right password and then tried to figure out where to find the path report.

It was all good. Until it wasn't.

And so it was that, right then and there, in the comfort and relative safety of my wonderful, overstuffed chair, there in my living room with a wonderful view outside the windows of my sunroom, with my Beloved sitting right next to me, that I read my pathology report.

And, just like that, right out of the blue, my new identity fell right out of the sky and into the very middle of the middle of who I am.

I have breast cancer. Aggressive. Invasive. Ductal. Early stage.

I am a breast cancer patient. At 4:45 PM on a Friday afternoon when all the clinics and doctor's offices had closed and no one would be available until Monday morning.

It was quite a weekend. We were both in shock. I remember Ms. Conroy calling what seemed like half the medical and nursing universe, getting ideas for referrals and next steps.

I called together my spiritual posse, telling them the news and getting on various prayer lists. I called my rector who was pastorally brilliant, as always. He called one of his daughters who is a resident physician for advice.

It was also T-minus 7 days to my pilgrimage to Greece. Do I cancel? Do I go? How can I go? I'm a cancer patient.

Most of the rest of that w/e was - is, still - a blur of questions with answers that had to wait and confusion and anxiety.

I do remember that at 8 AM on Monday morning, I called for an appointment. I told them my story (you betcha I did) and got an appointment with the head surgeon of the Breast Cancer Unit the very next day at 3 PM.

She was wonderful. Brilliant. Highly educated and trained. Experienced. Skilled. Compassionate. Kind. Took her time. Listened. Answered. Was outraged by my story. "This WILL be addressed," she said, "This makes us ALL look bad."

"And yes, of course, you will go to Greece. I won't be able to operate until November 4th. Which is better, do you think, to sit around your house wringing your hands for a month, or going to Greece and expanding your mind and taking care of your heart and your spirit?"

See what I mean?

On October 31st, just back from Greece, I had a very minor pre-operative procedure called "the insertion of a savi scout" into the tumor, which allows the surgeon to wave a wand over the breast which causes the savi scout to light up so that the surgeon can find the tumor and remove it and, if she deems fit, to remove only the tissue necessary, making it minimally invasive and less destructive to the integrity of the rest of the breast.

A big change from the days of "Slash. Burn. Poison."

On November 4th, the day before the election, I had a "segmented mastectomy," which means that the mutilation of the breast was as minimal as possible.

I've joked with some of my friends that I'm planning to have the scar tattooed. I think we've decided on a lovely, feminine scroll that will read, "Bad-assed woman".

It's no longer a joke. As soon as the radiation and chemotherapy are complete and it's safe to do, it's as good as done.

My prognosis is good. I'm feeling stronger every day. I'm no longer on pain meds that make me feel and sound goofy. I still have a bit of anesthesia brain and it's frustrating and annoying to have to reach for words but this, too, shall pass. I've been to Greece and back and no one will ever take those memories.

So, I told you all of that to say this: A monthly BSE is not enough. An annual mammography is not enough. Please make sure that you ask for a copy of the radiologist's report AND make a special request that your PCP or ordering physician reads it AND that someone from the office puts her remarks on your patient portal.

If my PCP had not ... "decided"... to read my report that Monday morning in her office, this would be a very different story.

I'll keep you posted as I move through this journey. I would only ask that you please not tell "social media horror stories". I know they're out there. I don't need to hear them. Seriously.

I've not told you my treatment care plan because, well, I see my radiation and medical oncologists the first week of December. I'll know more then. Even so, please refrain from giving me advice. I know you mean well, but honestly, I'm in good hands.

Oh, and one more thing: Please don't send me a private message on FaceBook. I rarely go over there unless you are an old friend or relative and that's how we communicate. Please? Thank you.

I feel deeply blessed and so amazingly grateful. And, if my story can help to change another person's story, well, let's give all thanks and praise to God who drops things right out of the blue and into the middle of the middle of our lives.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

The Feast of the Realm of Christ

Good Sunday morning, good citizens of the Realm of Christ. This day is also known to church traditionalists as "The Feast of Christ the King" but there are those of us who know that the very idea of the Resurrected Jesus (AKA "The Christ") with a crown on his head sends Him into serious gales of uproarious laughter.

We live in very strange times, strange enough that some people have lost their sense of humor and would find statements like that "offensive". Ah, more's the pity.

I'm sitting here watching the sun come up on the horizon which I can see from my sun room on the marsh. The trees are increasingly outlined in a blaze of red which trails off into the turning-blue sky and out to the deep-blue Bay.

If you're focused only on the image of Christ with a crown on his head, with all sort and manner of naked baby angels surrounding Him, you'll miss out on how God crowns the earth every blessed morning.

If you're looking for a particular shape and hue of a crown, you'll miss out on how Mother Nature gently bows her head to accept the crimson and blue tiara and then generously spreads that light to all the rest of creation and her creatures.

You'll miss out on how the winged creatures rise up to greet her and sing her praise, the gulls laughing with astonished joy for the gift of another brand new day.

It's a great day to be a citizen of the Realm of God - a bit chilly, to be sure, but perfectly splendid in its regal simplicity and elegance. If you focus your search only on finding evidence of human glory, you'll miss it.

Keep your eyes on the horizon, your mind open to possibility and your heart filled with gratitude, and there you'll receive the dazzling crown of The Creator - the golden crown of Love, set with the sparkling gems of Hope.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

FB Reflection: Resistance!

Good Monday morning, comrades who struggle for truth, and justice, and to stay on The Way.

I've been thinking of ways that I can be part of the Great Resistance we're going to need to get through the next 2-4 years (two years to flip at least one House of Congress in the midterms, four years to flip the White House).

Not all of us can be like Nancy Pelosi and stand up and point our finger at The Oppressor in a room full of His Men (see that famous picture posted below), but we can do what she did and take a picture he posted because he thought he was making fun of her and turn it around as a picture of the triumph and strength of The Good when it stands up to The Evil.

The first is that I am going to work really hard at being kind to myself so my first impulse will be to be kind to others.

That's a slightly different slant from The Prayer of St. Francis. I know this is going to sound like heresy to some, but I think there is a slight flaw in that most beloved prayer.

See? I don't think you can give away what you don't have. You can't sow love in the face of hatred if you don't love yourself. You can't sow faith if your mind and heart are filled with doubt.

You can't sow kindness if you are not, first, kind to yourself.

At least, I can't. If you can, well, you're a much better person than I, which is not hard to imagine.

So, yes, when I see someone with a Red MAGA Hat, I will take a deep breath, smile, and say, "Good morning."

But, I can not do that unless I am, gracious and kind to myself.

That does not mean, however, that I am not ready to protest and march and perform acts of civil disobedience and go to jail. It does mean that I am not willing to surrender my basic humanity to the representation of a force for cruelty and evil.

What's that old saying? Ah yes, "Smile. It makes some people wonder what you're up to."

Think of it: A smile as an act of subversion. Makes it easier to smile, doesn't it?

So yes, I will be kind to myself so that I can be kind to others. I think self-kindness can be a superpower when you - and the other people to whom you are kind - need to rise up and face the hatred that will be coming our way.

Or, the hatred coming the way of people we love.

And, make no mistake. It is coming. In fact, in some places, it is already here. Some people of color, some Hispanics, some LGBTQ+ people, including some adolescents, are getting text messages telling them that they have been selected for deportation, or to report to a re-education camp.

It is now law in Texas, by executive order of the governor, that you must show evidence of citizenship before being treated in the Emergency Room. It's not that they won't treat you. The Govn'r says it's to have a running count on how much it costs to treat "illegals". Right.

A friend who is a social worker said that the same thing happened in a hospital on the Eastern Shore. I understand that the ER person was fired.

And, of course, you know of the demonstration that happened at the campus of Texas State where men carried signs that said, "Women are Property" and "Homo Sex is Sin." This happened the day after the election.

This is just the beginning. (If you are one of the people who has gotten a text, please report this to the FBI (1-800-CALL-FBI (1-800-225-5324) or online at tips.fbi.gov.)

So, I am going to make a regular, searing inventory of myself. I'm going to work very hard at improving my strengths and equally hard on discovering why it is I have a tendency to do some of the things I do and say, and pray for the wisdom and courage to change the things I need to change.

This is very important. It's like Lent only more intense because now, the stakes are high. As one 80-year-old woman said to me in church yesterday, "I'm willing to die protesting in the streets if I have to because at least I'll die for what it is I believe."

If I'm going to die for what I believe, I'm going to be damn straight clear about what it is I believe and what I stand for, and who I am. Otherwise, it will be a waste of a perfectly good life.

I don't know about you, but some people are so clear about who they are and why they were put on this earth that all they have to do is stand up in a room filled with adversity and point their finger, and even though we don't know what was said, everyone knows.

Everyone knows. Everyone is perfectly clear.

I can't be Nancy Pelosi but I want to be more like Nancy Pelosi. And, Hillary Clinton. And, Kamala Harris. And, Maize Hirono. And, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. And, Pramila Jayapal. And, Elizabeth Warren. Oh, and, Meryl Streep.

I'm willing to bet good money that those women have gotten their superpowers because they regularly do a searching inventory of themselves - of their strengths and weaknesses;

the places in their souls where there is darkness and those places where there is light;

the places they need to be consoled so they can console others;

the goodness they can receive so they can give to others;

the places in their soul that need pardoning so that they can forgive and pardon others.

the places in their soul that need to die so they can help to call into creation new ways of being, new ways of helping people in need, and new ways of respecting (and restoring) the dignity of every human being.

I've learned that I can't magically pray myself into those things. It takes work. Hard work. Painful work.

Saying The Prayer of St. Francis doesn't make it happen, but with hard work and a little Divine assistance, we can be the kind of person we want to be, the person we know in our bones that God created us to be, and do our part in the Resistance we will need.

That will take a lot of self-care. And self-care, for many of us, especially women, is hard work. But, as Kamala says, hard work is good work.

Self-care is important if you are a member of the 'target demographic' of the incoming administration - immigrants, LGBTQ+ people - especially trans people - Hispanics, people of color, "fertile" women - but it is especially important for those of us who are deeply committed to making sure no harm comes to them.

For me, it's personal. For me, that means getting ready to protect and defend the hard-working, amazing Brazilian couple who clean our home every two weeks. It means the fabulous waiter at our favorite diner who has amazed us with his mastery of the English language from his native Turkish. The Columbian men who tend to our yard with great care, and the Guatemalan men who painted the inside of our home several years ago and are now thriving entrepreneurs with a working permit and a visa. The trans daughter whom I love of a dear friend of my heart. The transwoman I only know on FB but with whom I've had transformative conversations.

Good thing Advent is right around the corner. It will give me four dedicated weeks of work, four dedicated weeks of birth pangs, and four weeks to strengthen this beloved creature of God so that may better love myself and be kind to myself so I can better love and be kind to others.

I'm ready to do the work.

I hope something good happens to you today.

FB Reflection: Holy anger

Good Sunday morning, comrades in the struggle to stay on The Way. It's a lovely morning here but it is only 43 degrees. My mood, however, is a closer match to the cold than the bright sunshine that Mother Nature is providing.

I know. It's Sunday. I'm headed off to church. I should really get my act together. But, I'm frustrated. I feel like Jesus in this morning's gospel. The disciples are busy oohing and aahing over the large stones and Jesus is trying to get them to focus on what is and what is to come.

My heart is breaking after yet another conversation with another gay or trans friend who is planning to leave the country because they are so afraid of what will happen. This is especially so for my trans friends who fear that they will not be able to get their medication, but are more afraid of the violence that will soon increase, putting their very lives in danger.

I am angry about those friends of mine who caution me about my anger, who are made uncomfortable by it, who want me to "calm down" and "spend some time in quiet".

As if I haven't.

I think I'm most upset by the very noble posts on FB, made mostly by white men and some women of privilege, who post memes about being kind and having empathy or write lofty prayers about having our will bent to the will of God.

I always get a bit nudgy when the language of "my will bending to God's will" gets trotted out. In my experience, it's never about God's will but the writer's understanding or expectation about what God's will is which he seems to know precisely what that is for me, which is pretty much that I "behave" in a way that stops making him nudgy.

So, in my morning meditation, I searched for a few minutes to find Audre Lorde's book. I always find great comfort and affirmation and inspiration in "Sister Outsider". I've posted three of my favorite quotes, but I think the one that speaks most clearly to me this morning is:

"I can not hide my anger to spare your guilt, nor hurt feelings, nor answering anger; for to do so trivializes all our efforts."

An image keeps returning to me of an old woman I met in the Cardiac Unit at Mass General Hospital when I was doing my second unit of CPE in seminary.

She was Roman Catholic and, in Boston, we were not allowed by hospital policy, to see any Roman Catholic patients. So, I was talking to the patient in the bed next to her when her priest came in. He was a fairly corpulent cleric, all full of cheer and "joy in the Lord."

"Hey, Mary," he called. "How are we doing?"

"Well, Father," she said, "I'm going to have open heart surgery. They tell me they are going to crack my chest and that I'll be in a fair amount of pain after. So, you know, I'm pretty scared."

"Scared?" the good Father roared, "no need to be scared. Have a little faith, Mary! God will be with you. Here, now I'll say a prayer and give you communion."

And, he did and then left in the same swirl of "joy in the Lord" in which he arrived.

The woman sat in her bed, weeping softly. My patient looked at me and said, "Go to her."

I knew I was breaking the rule. I knew I could have been "written up" for my "behavior". I knew the incident could be reported to my bishop and the Commission on Ministry.

My head knew all that but my heart informed my feet to move and I found myself over at Mary's bedside. "Well, that was quite something, wasn't it?" I asked qently. "You okay?"

She smiled and looked deep into my eyes and said, "Well, the good news is that, as afraid as I am, I'm not half as afraid as him."

"Ah," said I, "let's talk about being afraid."

And, for the next half hour, we did, my Protestant patient joining in the conversation with Mary and me so I wouldn't be in so much trouble.

Mary's words give me a bit of an insight into my siblings’ intense need to tell us about "quiet" and "calm" and "bending our will to God's will" and "empathy".

They're talking to themselves. They're saying what they need to hear for themselves. Understanding that, I can find empathy. For them. Not for those who delight in oppressing me, or sticking their finger in my wound, or shrug their shoulders about the obscenity of the incoming administration's cabinet because, well, you know, "the economy will be better".

I have empathy for the oppressors because I know, as James Baldwin taught, that prejudice, bigotry and race hatred may harm the body of its targets, it also rots the soul of the oppressor.

So, I'm just going to take my pissed-off self to church this morning and ask God to bless my anger and help me to find a channel for it to "make some noise" and "make some good trouble, some necessary trouble".

I'm going to pray for the wisdom and courage to follow The Way of Jesus, especially as I see him respond to the disciples' "Idolatry of the Stones" by not backing down and not giving up on his vision of what is and what will be.

He stays focused. God help me stay focused and not be deterred, even by my own anger and frustration.

Help me to discern and listen more closely to your voice rather than the well-intentioned voices that ask me to listen to them.

Help me to know that my anger is a holy gift.

It is the divine spark to challenge evil.

It is the energy to bring about change.

It is the vehicle to find hope.

In other words, I'm going to take care of myself in the best way I know how: To bring my whole self before the altar of God and ask God to bless me and my integrity and my authenticity and help me be more of myself and more of the person God created me to be.

I hope something good happens to you today.

Bom dia.

Good trouble, necessary trouble

Good Saturday morning, dear companions in the long, ongoing struggle for truth, justice, and the will and the courage to stay on The Way.

I've been looking at the lectionary lessons for tomorrow, Sunday, the 26th Sunday after Pentecost. The Sunday before the Sunday of The Sovereignty of Christ. Two Sundays before the first Sunday of Advent. (Can you believe it????)

Here's what I'm looking at:

Track 1
1 Samuel 1:4-20
1 Samuel 2:1-10
Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18) 19-25
Mark 13:1-8

They're all here https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Pentecost/BProp28_RCL.html

G'won over and peruse them. It'll help you understand what it is I'm talking about. I'll wait. Promise.

Hi, welcome back. So, I don't know what popped out at you but after about the third time through, my eyes were opened to see four very different models of spiritual leadership, four different ways of being a priest, ordained or baptized member of the Priesthood of All Believers.

The first is Eli. To be fair and honest, a man of his time: A real misogynist. He uses his power and authority in arrogance and judgment. He can't hear Hannah's fervent prayer. He thinks Hannah is drunk. He's wrong. To his credit, his heart does soften to her the perils of her state and offers her hope and assurance.

The second is Hannah. Oh, just listen to the power of her song! She has suffered and been relieved. She has dared to hope and dream and her hopes and dreams have been fulfilled. And from that place of deep gratitude, she invites everyone into the song. She asks everyone to pick up their timbrel, clap their hands, and rejoice in the small and large victories of life.

A thought: You know that Mary had learned the songs of Miriam, Deborah, and Hannah which shaped and formed her own song of praise. And, you just know that, from the earliest times of his hearing, Jesus listened to all of these songs. It shaped and formed him, too. His "Lord's Prayer" echoes the notes of the songs of all of these women.

Anyway, onto the author of Hebrews - whoever he was or she who influenced his writing. What a great model of priesthood. Listen to some of the words of pastoral encouragement:

+ hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering
+ consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds
+ not neglecting to meet together
+ encouraging one another

I don't know about you, but in these very dark days of uncertainty and the intentional provocation of fear, I need to hear these words.

I hear the words of John Lewes, who also asked us not to be afraid but to provoke each other into "good trouble, necessary trouble." I'm feeling that call very deeply right now. I don't know about you, but even as I grieve, I feel I am being "provoked" to tough love and hope and community and encouragement of myself and others.

I also hear the words of Blessed George Regas, one-time rector of All Saints, Pasadena, and Giant of Justice, who encouraged us by saying, "The way we get where we're going is to set audacious goals and celebrate incremental victories."

And then, of course, there's Jesus, our great high priest, who is out with his disciples who are dazzled by the Very Big Stones in the Very Big Buildings. It's what one commentator called "The Idolatry of The Stones." (PS He wasn't talking about The Rolling Stones. Or, the other stones, either.)

Jesus is telling his disciples not to be distracted but to stay focused. Stay the course. He says,

"Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

The disciples can't see it. They won't be able to see it for a long time. We can't see it either. Not with tears in our eyes and anxiety in our hearts. We won't be able to see it for a long time. But we will. We will.

The leadership we see of Jesus in this passage is that of the Prophet - the ability to see ahead and offer hope and consolation and teaching and guidance NOW.

Four different ways of leadership in tough times.

One way is that of reexamining your assumptions, softening your heart, changing your mind, and offering comfort and hope.

One way is subverting the dominant paradigm of power and walking through suffering and oppression with your head held high, not taking on anyone else's definition of who you are. Indeed, inviting others into gratitude and celebration.

One way is being a provocateur of love and good trouble; to be part of a community of love and encouragement, even if it's you who has to call that community together.

And finally, the way of being prophetic, calling people away from the idolatry of the now and the big and the shiny, and guiding them to remember who they are and whose they are and to hold fast to their values and beliefs.

One way or all four ways. Choose one. Or, two. Or, all. Whatever your choice, whether you are ordained or laity, know that you have ancient models of how to be baptized members of The Priesthood of All Believers.

I'm going to leave you with some words from someone I thing embodies all four models of Priestly, Prophetic Leadership. Bishop Steve Charleston wrote these words in 2018. Listen:

"No task is too great when you have the Spirit beside you, no call to leadership beyond what you can do. No challenge is too difficult, no goal too distant, no hope too much of a long shot. You have the sacred up your sleeve. You have the wisdom, patience, and vision you need to gather others to support the work at hand. Even time can be bent for you. Plans can be changed. Do not wring your hands before the demands of your situation, but raise them in prayer. Get the holy alliance of hope and determination going and see for yourself what is possible when faith leads the way."

I hope something good happens to you today. (How could it not? Remember, "You have the sacred up your sleeve," and "Even time can be bent for you.")

Bom dia!

A Lament

This reflection is about lament. It's a little long, so if your tolerance is short, best to scroll on by right now.

Before I begin, I want to tell you briefly about my understanding of a biblical lament. A lament is understood as a form of prayer that involves expressing sorrow, regret, or unhappiness, and then calling out to God. It's a way to process pain and find hope.

Far from being a 'pity party' or a time of self-indulgence, a lament is a way to reconstruct meaning in the very midst of suffering. It is a way to shape faith after it has been shattered.

A lament is a transformative way to understand God's character and actions. It is decidedly NOT passive but its power lies in its raw authenticity and deep integrity.

Classic biblical laments, like Psalm 13 and the Book of Job end with a decision to trust in God, which allows the psalmist to even sing God's praise.

This is a lament. These days, I am feeling a little like Hannah on the steps of the Temple. We're going to read a wee bit of her story this Sunday. (1 Samuel 1:4-20) Well, if you follow Track I in the lectionary.

Hannah had a good husband, one who loved and cherished
her, but she was unable to bear a child - a son - which was a woman's only insurance in antiquity.

So she went to the Temple and, in her despair, cried out to God, begging to deliver her from her fragile and vulnerable situation, promising God that the male child she would have would be dedicated solely to God.

In her despair, she was praying but not aloud. Her lips were moving but she made no sound. She didn't need to. Her lament was addressed directly to God.

Eli, the Temple priest, saw her there, on the Temple steps. He couldn't hear what she was saying so, of course, thought the worst. He thought she was drunk.

So, he yelled at her. Chastized her. Shamed her. Told her she was disgracing herself and to put away the wine.

Sound familiar? Anyone? I'm betting lots of women know similar stories and have been in similar places and spaces like Hannah.

We know about this kind of misogyny as well as the everyday, run-of-the-mill "micro-oppression." The side-glances. The dismissive tone they are unable to hear as such because they are really, seriously, honestly, being sincere. Bless their hearts.

I am so tired - so sick and bloody tired of being sick and bloody tired - of being told to be still, be quiet and listen - especially "listen to/for" The Spirit.

Here's the thing: I HAVE been listening. The problem is that Episcopalians have been carefully taught - lulled into believing - that The Spirit sounds "like the murmur of the dove's song." And, don't we just love to clap our hands and sway to "The Sweet, Sweet, Spirit in this place"?

Of course, we do, and this is not to deny that the Holy Spirit can sound like both of those things. But, if you've not met Shekinah Spirit, let me introduce you.

Shekinah is a Hebrew word that refers to the divine presence of God, or the visible manifestation of God's presence among Her people. The word is a transliteration of a Hebrew word that means "the one who dwells" or "that which dwells".

Shekinah is known as "the divine feminine spirit," but don't ever confuse her for a lady with an apron, pearls, and proper pumps who serves tea from a silver tea set.

Shekinah is a badass woman. You do not want to mess with her.

Ah, think I've lost it? Think I've gone over the edge? Think my anger has driven me a bit mad? Well, I have sisters who know better. Sisters - mostly of color - who have taught me about her.

Kristen Johnson Ingram describes her this way: "Shekinah takes other names. She is Shabbat, she is Presence and she is Spirit, the Hebrew Ruach.

In the beginning, Breath or Spirit or Wind rippled over the face of the womb of creation, brooded over and within the womb, stirred the waters to break and gush out and let God give birth to everything."

"She has come as Wind, a passionate intuition, as a blinding light, and a breath-sucking presence. This ain't no handmaiden but a queen, not whispering but crying out like a hoyden in the streets, bringing no consolation but urgency of motion."

I've been listening to her, Shekinah. Hers is no dove murmuring a song. She is howling like a wounded animal for all of her children who have been and will be harmed and injured. She is roaring like a lion because Her pride is threatened by predators, frauds, and thieves who are now in the highest positions of power.

This is my lament to her, as I sit outside the Temple, on the steps. It is based on Psalm 13 and the writings of Kristen Johnson Ingram and inspired by our sister Hannah.

How long, O Presence of God, will you hide your face?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts?
How long will I be mocked and derided?
How long will all that I abhor triumph over me?

Help me not to run from the fire of Divine Love
Let me not settle for warmth but to burn with passion.
Help me live up to your demand to be w/holy as you are.
Consume me - swallow me alive - so I can be more of myself
than I ever dreamed I could be

Help me to eat, yes, a little of this bread,
Help me to drink, yes, a little of this wine.
just to wash it down so I'll grow strong.
Breathe on me until I am filled with your Holy Spirit
Make me fit for the Realm of God.

I sing your praise because you are badass.
You will not let your daughters suffer
nor your sons commit abominations.
I will sing your praise as a song for the journey
As I turn my passion into compassion
and work to bring your justice, your peace
into a world that is broken and dark and
in need of your Light.

This is my lament. Amen.


NOTE: "Hannah on the Temple Steps." Image by Carrie Kleinberger, an "imaginative realist" from Minnesota, she retired from a 21-year career as a public defender for Juvenile and Family Court in Ramsey and Washington Counties in 2001 and works in oil on canvas and on wood panels.