it’s official!

At the presbytery examination, answering questions (and apparently demonstrating a new pilates stretch)

After ‘languishing in the process’ (well, not actually, but having been ‘threatened’ with the category…) for the past six and a half years, believe it or not, I am finally going to be ordained!

Details are still TBD, but consider yourselves invited October 18 to a late afternoon service, followed by a reception/party.

For those of you from out of town, there are plenty of folks with whom you can stay if you’d like to make the trip–you are invited!

waiting to go before the presbytery

prayer following approval for ordination as Minister of Word and Sacrament

practice what you preach

“Most good things have been said far too often—they just need to be lived.”  -Shane Claiborne

It’s been bugging me for a long time, actually. But it has taken that long for me to give voice to what the ‘it’ is that has actually been nagging at me.

I remember having the conversation out loud for the first time, about ten years ago. I say out loud because it had been rolling around in my head before then.

“What happens next?” I remember asking a friend of mine, in the midst of a conversation. Upon seeing his blank stare at the question I realized a bit more explanation might be helpful.

“I mean, so much of what you hear in sermons is all about what you ought to believe or ought to be doing—but when you get there, then what? It feels as though so much of preaching is about convincing—once I’m convinced, then what?” Still the blank look. Clearly the question had some more percolating to do.

About three years ago I ran into the quote from Shane Claiborne. Most good things have been said far too often—they just need to be lived.  Exactly.

I used to have this problem—I’m getting better at it, though not entirely cured—that I’d go to the library and check out a stack of books. I would be excited at the prospect of reading them. Sometimes I needed a bag to put them in, there were so many. But inevitably, the two weeks or, if I renewed them, the four weeks would come and I would have not even made a dent in the stack.

The same basic premise gets played out in other areas—if I have new running shoes, then I’ll actually start running again. As a teenager very involved in my church’s youth group, I reasoned that if I had a new Bible with cool maps in the back and various study notes, then I’d actually read it regularly.

Around the same time as the ‘what next’ conversation I remember telling my therapist that I thought it would be good for me to run a marathon because I felt as though I lacked self-discipline. She looked at my (then) workaholic, driven, over-achiever-self sitting there on her couch and gave me a blank stare not unlike my friend’s.

What I tried to explain to her was that the thought of setting out upon a goal that could not be accomplished easily or overnight, but had a clear destination and proscribed route to get there, was very compelling to that part of me that continued to ask, “What next?” and “Is there something more?” It was tangible, definable, and required me to act—and not just think—bit by bit, if I were to be actually run all 26.2 miles.

Recently I was on a backpacking trip in the Sierra Nevada Mountains with a friend and a friend of hers. Over the course of the seven days we spent many hours in silence as we hiked over passes and walked through valleys.  One day on the way back from a 14 mile day hike I asked Katy, whom I had just met at the beginning of the trip, about the yoga practice she had made reference to earlier in the week.

“I’ve been practicing now for seven years,” she said. Over the course of the next five miles she shared what her practice meant to her, the basic tenants of practicing yoga, and the fact that she had even moved to a new apartment to be closer to the yoga studio. Though as a schoolteacher she does not have a lot of extra income, she’s been on multiple yoga retreats to continue to refine her practice.

“That’s what’s missing,” I thought to myself. That’s the link between the ‘what next’ and the Shane Claiborne quote, the library books checked out but never read, and the disciplined plan of the marathon—the actual practice of a faith that for me had for most of my life been relegated to the realm of belief. That was what I had been longing for, what I couldn’t find a language to express, but that I sensed I was missing.

But what might that look like? What would an embodied, practiced faith, do differently?

It was not that I thought the Christian church lacked in the area of practices—I remember enough from my Church History courses in seminary to be familiar with the desert fathers or monastics who separated from life in order to devote themselves to the practice of their faith.

But what about now? What about those of us who choose, intentionally, to remain a part of the world around us? What about regular, normal, day-to-day life? What about the time that happens outside of the four walls of the church, that happens in between ‘spiritual retreats’ in the normal messiness of life?

In the midst of this wondering I happened upon a new book, Finding Our Way Again, by pastor and author Brian McLaren. Though I’m an avid reader of McLaren’s work, I had no idea about this book.  The subtitle “the return of the ancient practices” made me realize that perhaps I’m not the only one that’s been asking these type of questions.

In a move reminiscent of the stack of library books and the study Bibles choc-full of colorful maps, I ordered the book on the spot.  I’m hoping that when Amazon.com delivers ‘Finding Our Way Again’ in 5-7 working days that perhaps I’ll find some of the answers I’ve been looking for over the past ten years.  Though, I’m wondering if the answer I’m seeking might just need to be lived.

Call and remembrance (next week is it…the big vote)

“Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you.”  -Parker Palmer

Somehow, the above quote seemed rather appropriate, no?

I’ve been wanting to post an update to my plea for ‘why Erin should be ordained’ responses earlier this summer, but I’ve also been waiting until I had something to say other than “we’re still meeting…”  We did meet. Multiple times. (How did you spend your summer vacation?) There is only one step left…

But here’s the amazing thing—the product of all that meeting is a ‘call’ that is solid in all the ways that it needs to be for Presbyterian stuff, and yet is also vibrant and creative and willing to engage in the unknown of trying something new. I’m so thankful for the partnership of churches within the Los Ranchos Presbytery that has come together to make this ‘legitimate’ but that is also willing to take a risk to (hopefully) ordain me to be more of a minister to the world, rather than a minister to one particular congregation.

There is still one step remaining in the process—next week, September 17, I will be going before the entire presbytery (pastors and elders from the 50+ churches) to be ‘examined’ for ordination. This is a time when they can ask me pretty much any question and then vote whether or not to ordain me to what is technically called a Minister of Word and Sacrament. Supposedly no one, if they have gotten this far, has ever been voted down at that point. People keep telling me that, I think as an encouragement. I remind them there’s always a first time for everything.

Anyway, for those of you who are in the area (the meeting will be in Fullerton) and who would like to come to the presbytery meeting you are more than invited and I can give you the details. However, the bigger event, provided my ordination is approved, is a “Service for Ordination to Word and Sacrament.” Since I won’t know for sure until next week that this will happen, don’t book a plane ticket yet, but if you are able to keep the afternoon October 18 available, it is looking like that will be the date of the service. I would LOVE for you to come—some of you have been along for the ride on this journey since it began 9 years ago, others of you I’ve roped in along the way, and I am so thankful for all of you and appreciate the part that you’ve played in helping me ‘listen for what life intends to do with me.’

Today is also the 5th anniversary of my dad’s death. In some ways it seems like a very long time ago, and in some ways I wonder how five years could have already passed. My dad had hoped to live to see me ordained. This process clearly was not on that time schedule, nor on the one I would have chosen, had it been up to me—who wants to ‘languish’ in the process for so long? But at the same time, the call to ordination that will be voted on next week could never have happened in this way, five years ago—I just didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle then. Though the waiting was often frustrating, and felt as though there was no end in sight (I remember writing an email about Shasta Daisies taking two years to flower and thinking that was WAY to long to wait for something), I am amazed at how, out of that waiting and the not knowing, this has come to be.

Another quote from the book by Parker Palmer: “Vocation does not come from willfulness. It comes from listening.” Thank you for listening along with me, even in the midst of my sometimes willful journey.

throw it out

I’m not sure if this was the first time I remembered witnessing it, or if it is just the one that has stuck in my memory. I was in the Dominican Republic for the summer, working for an organization that hosted US high school and college students to work in the local communities for two-week increments.  Having had experience with similar work in Guatemala, I was there for the summer to help them get started in the work.

I worked on the staff with a Puerto Rican woman, men and women from the Dominican Republic, and a man from Guatemala. One night we decided it would be fun to watch a video (we had a TV and vcr) but the only videotape we had (this was back in the dark ages of video tapes, before the instant gratification of immediately downloadable movie possibilities) jammed when we put it into the VCR.

I assumed we were through. So much for the ‘watching a movie’ idea. I also assumed that it was time to throw out the video tape in question—it was broken, why keep it?

I was wrong.

Edie, the man from Guatemala, took the tape out of the VCR and opened it up.

I didn’t realize you could do that.

He then proceeded to splice the jammed part, and to re-roll the entire spool of tape. It wasn’t a quick process, but a few hours later, we were happily watching the only tape we had, ‘A Bug’s Life.’

…..

Fast-forward almost ten years, to yesterday.  The location is Mexico, Baja California, to be exact. The context was a conversation with my friend Edgar who is Mexican and lives in the community here.

We were talking about cars, specifically mine, a 12 year old SUV with 155,000 miles on it that is beginning to have ‘issues.’ Friends from Southern California have been suggesting that it is more than time for the trusty Isuzu Rodeo (which I had never intended to be such a long-term investment) to be replaced with something new—something that will be reliable, won’t break down, with not so many miles on it.

It’s true—I have begun to have various issues with the Rodeo, and am wondering if it might be time to retire it. Those thoughts, combined with the government’s recent ‘cash for clunkers’ program that promises to offer me $4500 for a car that would be lucky to fetch half that price, have caused me to ponder if it is time for something new.

Edgar knew that I’ve had some problems with the Rodeo, and even had recommended a mechanic who came to my house and fixed some sort of loud noise in the engine (my understanding of car engines ends is limited to the knowledge that they are found under the hood) for a lot cheaper than the same work could be done in the US (and did I mention that the mechanic made a house call?!)

“Men don’t mind their cars to have problems, but women like to just turn the key and be able to go,” teased Edgar. I thought about it. I definitely don’t want to be stranded on the side of the road, and since I haven’t a clue how to fix something that might go wrong, I reluctantly admitted that, at least in my case, he was right.

“How many miles do you have on it?” he asked me, as we discussed whether or not it was time for me to think of replacing it. “155,000,” I answered (listing each number separately, as my Spanish is good but not when it comes to big numbers).

“That’s a lot!” he laughed. “But in Mexico, that’s like new!”

With that one comment I was taken instantly back to Edie and the videotape, and brought to the heart of what had been nagging at me.

My 12-year old car is paid for. I don’t have a car payment. As someone who does freelance work and who lives without a steady paycheck, I’d rather not incur a new monthly expense if I don’t have to.  Aside from the less than stellar gas mileage, I really like my car. It works for me. If it weren’t for the pushing 200,000 miles, and the few ‘issues’ I’ve begun to have, I probably wouldn’t even be thinking about getting rid of it.

But, as an American, and more so as a Southern Californian from “the OC,” I live in the midst of a culture that seems to say “if it is old, throw it out.”

This is not entirely unreasonable. I need a car I can depend on, right? I need one that will be reliable. I do a lot of driving—I don’t want to be stranded along the side of the road, do I? I want to be able to drive up to Northern California to visit friends, or to continue driving back and forth to Mexico, without having to wonder, “Am I going to make it this time?” Plus, if I were to buy a new car I could get one with better gas mileage (which wasn’t even on my radar 12 years ago when purchasing the Rodeo), which would save me money and save the planet at the same time, right?

The truth is, the power window on the passenger side doesn’t work from the driver’s seat, so I have to lean over if I want to open it. My at the time very high-tech 10 cd-changer in the trunk, with a tape deck in the dash, has a tape stuck in it so that I cannot use it for an mp3 player. A few years back my wheels were chipping so I decided to spray paint them and though it worked at the time, it is beginning to chip. Plus, there is this ongoing noise that seems to be something transmission-related and all signs are pointing toward repair work that will not be cheap, even if it is done in Mexico by my house-calling mechanic.

So it’s not like I’m throwing out something that is perfect. There are, I think, sufficient reasons to justify replacing it.

But the problem is, do I want to be one of those Americans who throws something out, when I know that much of the world, including my friends Edie and Edgar, live in a world where they don’t have that option? Edgar would love to replace his 1994 Pathfinder with a cracked windshield. But he doesn’t have a government willing to give him $4500 for it or a life that would allow him to pay it off over a 6-year loan—but more importantly, he doesn’t live in a world that would make that decision seem reasonable.

Even as I write this, I’m fairly certain that if my Rodeo can, in fact, qualify for the $4500 cash for clunkers, and if I can find something I like that is within a price I can afford, it will be “Hasta luego Rodeo” and  “Bienvenidos new car.”

But my fear in so doing, in embracing an option that my world makes not only possible but even commendable, is that I will continue to distance myself from the world in which most of our planet, and many of my friends actually live.