A Lesson in Patience

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Friday was a trying day.  Fridays are my day “off” and I have a routine.  I put a load of laundry in, and then head to the computer to work on my sermon.  Each load of laundry gives me a break, a chance to walk around the house, stretch my legs and my mind, and then it’s back to the computer until the sermon is finished.

This past Friday, I had a good start on the sermon already.  I thought I’d be finished by 12 or 1, and have a chance to get to the gym before packing up for our annual women’s retreat.

Friday started normally.  I glanced at my phone before I headed downstairs about 6.  No urgent emails, everything looked normal.  By the time I got on the computer about an hour later, I had dozens of emails.  Turns out that my email system was hacked into successfully at 6:30 AM, and (after I changed my password), I began responding to…eventually…hundreds of people who received an email from my email address with a suspicious-looking attachment.  Aargh.  So much for the gym.  Finished laundry, finished sermon, picked up bread for communion and headed for the women’s retreat only 15 minutes after my intended departure time.

One of the things I love about living in Cleveland is the ease of traffic, but Friday was an exception.  The trip to the Jesuit Retreat House that usually takes 30 minutes took 90.  An accident created a major back-up.  I arrived at the retreat house an hour after I’d wanted to, only minutes before dinner began.  I tried to hide the stress I was feeling, the frustration that my day hadn’t gone as I’d hoped, the disappointment that I hadn’t been able to work out, the anger at the time wasted and lost.

Our first session began at 7.  We were introduced to the life of Hildegard of Bingen, the most influential woman of the Middle Ages – a writer, preacher, leader, herbalist, musician, composer, and rabble-rouser.  Hildegard was sent to the monastery at age 8, and spent the first 30 years of her life in what is called “an enclosure”, a small room attached to the monastery which she DID NOT LEAVE for 30 years.  With no ability to explore the outer world, she developed, fully, a rich inner life.  She learned everything she could from those who taught her, she absorbed the rhythms of life in a Benedictine monastery, she became a confidante to those outside the monastery walls who would come to her window and tell them her problems.  She began to play and compose music while she was, literally, walled-in.  She developed strong opinions about the way the church was being run; she knew of its corruption and – because she also was a student of scripture – she knew the corruption was unbiblical.

I try to imagine being unable to leave one small room for 30 years, and I cannot.  I can’t imagine 30 days.  Hildegard’s time was different, to be sure; opportunities for women were certainly limited and the monastic option was one of the more attractive.  Still, most people who lived a cloistered life were much less productive than she.  She sowed seeds for every one of those 30 years; growing within her was a curiosity about music, spirituality, the natural world, and ways she could speak her mind.

When she was finally able to leave the small enclosure, all of those seeds took fruit.  She was more widely traveled than any other woman of her time.  She founded two monasteries, wrote prolifically on a wide variety of topics, and corresponded with popes.  Hers is a prototypical example of a life lived well:  talents and time used to the fullest.

After listening to what Hildegard did with her life under acutely difficult circumstances, somehow the angst of my day faded away.  Problems with technology and traffic get on our nerves, but some historical perspective makes our complaints almost laughable.  If I thought my Friday was a day to try one’s patience, well…let’s just say I ended the day full of gratitude for the peace of a retreat center and the lesson of Hildegard’s life.

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Becoming Who We are Meant to Be

Usually the week after Christmas is one of the least serious weeks of the year for me.  It’s always a quiet week at church.  Customarily, the most pressing matters on my mind are which Christmas cookies to serve at which family gathering.  This week was different.  In addition to some lovely time spent with relatives, I engaged in three significant conversations with three young adults:  one who is facing a cancer diagnosis, one who is in legal trouble, and one who is making remarkable progress figuring out his life and his future.  I corresponded with an older person who is considering a dramatic lifestyle change as she thinks about how to live the rest of her life with abundance and authenticity.  And then, on Wednesday morning of this week, we learned of the death of a 27-year-old nephew.

On this New Year’s Eve, all of these individuals are on my mind and heart as I do my own reflection on the year that is ending.  I have been using this tool this year –  the  Holstee Reflection Guide– which asks some helpful basic questions.  Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or sometime in January, I commend a year-end/year-beginning reflection practice to you.  It’s so easy and tempting, in this rushed pace most of us live, to go from day to day, year to year, without pausing to think about how we are living.  I love the example from one of the creation stories in Genesis in which God pauses, at the end of each day of creation, to look around at what has been made.  God looks at the sun, moon and stars, and says, “It is good”.  God looks at the waters full of fish and the variety of birds in the skies and says, “It is good.”  And then on the seventh day, God takes a whole day to rest.  If even God needs to reflect, give thanks, and rest, perhaps we would all be more creative if we learned that pattern and practice.

My own practice is what Julia Cameron recommends in her books as “morning pages”, writing three free-hand pages first thing every morning about whatever comes to your mind.  I believe in looking to the past, not to feel guilt or shame or regret, but to learn more about myself.  And I find that twenty minutes or so of reflection every morning helps me listen to my inner wisdom, rather than being swayed by the way others are living.

My husband Doug and I saw the movie, “La La Land” yesterday afternoon and it was the perfect way to end this week.  The very first scene (a song and dance routine in the middle of an LA traffic jam) had me grinning ear to ear.  The movie is a joyous celebration of creativity and imagination, and also raises some interesting questions about the price of following one’s dreams.

Becoming who we are meant to be is hard work, the work of a lifetime.  Catherine of Siena puts it best:  “Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

I dedicate this post to our nephew, Russell Brill, who lived his too-short life with passion and creativity.  His father wrote this achingly beautiful and honest obituary.

To everyone who reads this, my New Year’s prayer for each of us is for health, for the ability to conquer our demons, and for lives that glow with joy that is deep and real.

 

 

For such a time as this…

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It was in August when I planned my fall preaching schedule, choosing for this coming Sunday – Thanksgiving Sunday – the scripture passage, Matthew 5:13-16.  “You are the salt of the earth…you are the light of the world…a city built on a hill cannot be hid.”  The United States of America has been called the city on a hill; sometimes we have claimed that for ourselves.  We are concluding a three-week worship series entitled, “On Solid Ground.”  My sermon title is, “Grateful for the Best of our Heritage.”  I still intend to preach on that scripture, using that sermon title, but I’m also going to address this question directly:  “How do we live faithfully in anxious and fearful times?”

This past Sunday, our church had our best worship attendance since Easter.  Maybe it was a fluke.  Maybe it was the pancake breakfast!  But my hunch is that part of it was that many people are feeling afraid and anxious, and they wanted to remind themselves of their grounding.

On Wednesday night, my friend Maggie Stark told about her day at her workplace:  Kendal at Oberlin, a retirement living community.  Most of the residents she spoke to that day had voted for Clinton. Most feel devastated about the election results, worried for the future for their children and grandchildren.  One couple was considering moving back to Canada.  She said it reminded her of the days after September 11.

Not everyone feels devastated, of course, but many feel a sense of uncertainty.  Here are other reactions I’ve witnessed in the past (long) six days:

One couple said to me Sunday, “We considered cancelling our family Thanksgiving dinner this year.  Our family is all over the political spectrum.  One family member is protesting the election results.  We voted for Trump, but we’re scared.”

One person of color came into my office and said she no longer feels safe in this community.

One woman was harassed because she has a Clinton bumper sticker on her car.

One man was stopped on the street by a woman who pointed at him and yelled, “You voted for Trump, didn’t you?”

Some people are grieving.  Some people are deeply angry.  Some people genuinely do not understand the grief and anger.

My pastoral role, my role as a preacher, is to help us find our footing.  I believe that there are several specific purposes for us as people of faith in these times, in this deeply divided nation.  Churches like ours – united because of our common calling to be disciples – are needed now more than ever.  In my sermon this Sunday, I will give some practical advice as to how we can live faithfully in the midst of our fear and anxiety.  I will share my vision of what our church is called to do and be in these days.

 

Give Me Your Eyes

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On the third day after the election results, I am filled with admiration for the ways that my family members, friends and colleagues are reacting.  Each is following the pull of individual conscience.  One relative, with very little disposable income, has made financial contributions to causes she believes need to be supported now more than ever.  One colleague wrote a beautiful pastoral letter to her congregation, challenging them to take a concrete step towards reconciliation (and taking one step herself.)

We knew, before the results early Wednesday morning, that our nation was divided.  Now we know just how sharply divided we are.  One candidate won the popular vote, the other won the electoral college.  In the county in which I live and serve, the margin was 388 votes, less than 0.3 percent!

Wednesday night, we at the Avon Lake United Church of Christ were celebrating the end of our six-week fall programming we call CrossTraining.  CrossTraining, which also occurs during Lent, is an opportunity for our church family to come together for a meal, an informal worship, and classes for all ages.  The class I led this session was a book discussion of Parker Palmer’s Healing the Heart of Democracyhhdcover2

We had a respectful and heartfelt conclusion to our book study, and then we went next door where the class on Understanding God in Islam and Christianity was also wrapping up.  That class had been attended by both Christians and Muslims, most of them members of Cleveland’s Turkish community.  Our Turkish friends brought food to the last class session, so we were all invited to sample desserts, drink Turkish tea, and mingle with one another.  It felt like church at its best, and exactly what we are called to be doing at this moment in our nation.

Two weeks ago, during CrossTraining worship, we showed a powerful video in which Muslim immigrants and native Europeans look each other in the eye for four minutes:

When I follow the tug of my heart and conscience, I feel called to find the people in my county who voted differently than I and look them in the eyes for four minutes.  I want to listen to their stories.

I know that some people voted for Mr. Trump because they feel the American dream has left them behind.  That I understand.  What grieves me is that some also feel that the only way they will get ahead is by leaving others behind.  In theological terms, we call that a scarcity mentality:  “there’s not enough to go around, so let me grab mine while I can.”  The faith I proclaim is one of abundance:  there is enough to go around, and we all do better when we pull one another up.  Life is not a teeter-totter where every four years, one group of persons is listened to and another denigrated.  Our country will not progress if the rights that have been enjoyed by some these last eight years are now squashed in favor of others.

Perhaps I’m naive, but I’m going to trust my instincts and look for opportunities for conversations that open eyes, hearts and minds to the reality that we live in a world of abundance.

No Glee, No Despair

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First reflections on the morning after the presidential election.  I have several emails already from parishioners who are devastated by the election results.  I know that I have parishioners and friends who voted for Trump and who are pleased with the news they’re waking up to this morning.

It is time to listen to one another, not about the election results, but about our stories and the truth of our lives.  Like it or not, one learning from this election is that people who have felt ignored found their voice.

Both presidential candidates demonized the other side.  It was wrong for Donald Trump to not vehemently disavow support from those who are known white supremacists.  It was wrong for Hillary Clinton to call a large group of Americans “deplorables.”

There are too many people in this country who are hungry and homeless.  Too many feel that the American dream is completely out of their reach.  How will we bring good news to the poor in these next four years?  How will we bring about liberty for those who are oppressed?

I find inspiration in stories of resistance.  I think of the brave men and women of the underground railroad, who risked their lives to shepherd slaves to safety.  I think of those who kept Jews in their attics and basements during World War II, those who gave them false papers and stowed them away on boats and trains.  I think of women like Edith Cavell, the inspiration for the book, The Nightingale, who helped allied servicemen in occupied France escape over the Pyrenees into Spain and the people of the French village le Chambon who hid many Jewish children.

I’m talking about the kind of resistance that is personal and risky.  Some people may feel called to write vitriolic twitter posts, or to carry protest signs.  I feel called to get to know the people in this country who feel disenfranchised and advocate on their behalf.  I feel called to do what I can to encourage our young people to become involved in our political system so that we have better choices for leaders in the future.  I feel called to resist the pull of apathy and cynicism.

Let’s be countercultural, because the status quo is not working.  Let’s be countercultural and refuse to accept that our only two options are glee and despair.  We cannot spend the next four years complaining and obstructing; we cannot spend the next four years gloating.  There is too much real work to be done.

This is not resistance towards one political party or one president.  This is resistance to a system that has left many behind, resistance to the rhetoric of hate that has left many today feeling afraid.

This is not the day for gleeful celebration.  Neither is this the day for wallowing in despair.  This is the day to roll up our sleeves and get to work on behalf of the people Jesus loves.  He would seek out the people who are feeling forgotten, overlooked, ignored, and despised.  He would reach out to them with compassion.

Truly, we must learn to live together as sisters and brothers or perish together as fools.

 

 

We’re Better Than This…a Call for Civility

Applause is not usual following sermons at the church I serve, but I received applause two weeks ago when I preached a sermon entitled, “Go as One.” We read two passages, one from I Corinthians and one from Galatians. In the Message version of the Bible, Eugene Peterson writes, “You must get along with each other. You must learn to be considerate of one another…In Christ’s family there can be no division into Jew and non-Jew, slave and free, male and female…” Those were the divisions in Paul’s day. I don’t think it’s going too far to say that if those words were put into today’s context, they would read, “There can be no division into conservative and liberal, Democrat and Republican, supporters of Clinton and supporters of Trump. You must learn to be considerate of one another.” Imagine a nation in which our DIFFERENCES do not DIVIDE us.

The word which describes the American landscape today is the word “polarized.” Polarization is a concept that comes from science. It involves light, radiation, or magnetism moving in different directions. Outside science, polarization refers to how people think, especially when two views emerge that drive people apart, kind of like two opposing magnets. We have allowed ourselves to be polarized. Our deep division has been made easier because of the loss of common media outlets and it has been exacerbated by social media. We make a sport of vilifying the other side. We know it’s not good for our nation. But the Bible says that this division is actually sinful.

How can we be engaged citizens, community-builders, when we are nothing but polarized? Polar opposites pull apart. Communities only work when they come together. If we focus only on our differences, those differences begin to seem more and more significant. Are there differences between the political parties, between the candidates? There absolutely are, and they’re critical in terms of the formation of policy, the appointment of judges, and setting the tone for our nation. But what we forget is that there is a vast middle ground where people can find commonality. It is in that place where dialogue and compromise and civility can take place. When we stand in the middle, eye to eye with one another, we recognize one another’s humanity. When we listen to one another’s stories, we develop empathy with those whose opinions differ. And I don’t know of anything our wounded nation needs more right now than an infusion of empathy.

Why did people clap when I preached about the possibility of unity? Because we are desperate for it, and we are desperate to know that those of us who seek common ground are not alone.

Sometimes we find allies in unusual places. As I was perusing the New York Times over breakfast one morning last week, I skimmed an interview with actress Tea Leoni, who plays the Secretary of State in CBS’ “Madam Secretary.” I’ve never watched the show, but this quote caught my attention: “I like the idea that without that polarization, without that commitment to one tribe or people or party, we can actually get things done quite beautifully and peacefully. Right now it’s beginning to feel like decent politics – and decent policy that has universal regard for individuals and other nations – is far-fetched. And it’s not.”

If you, like me, long for the chasm between us to narrow and the place of common ground to become wider and more visible, know this. You are not alone. My friend Allen Hilton has initiated a formal organization called the House United Movement, whose purpose is to bring together those people and those churches who are seeking to bridge the gaps. You can read more about its vision here:  http://www.houseunitedmovement.org/

I have friends and colleagues who say that this year the rules are different. The stakes are too high, the differences between the candidates too stark, the possible results too drastic. I completely understand that point of view. My argument is that one of the reasons we find ourselves in this particular place in time (Sunday night’s debate has been called “a deeply ugly moment in American politics”…and I concur) is because we have stopped listening to one another. People do not feel heard, whether those people are white working-class men who have lost their ability to find a good job, veterans who struggle to regain a foothold in society upon their return, police officers who feel misunderstood, or people of color who do not believe the American dream exists for them in many ways. Polarization has led us to this moment. Increased polarization will not lead us out of it into a better future.

It is possible to hold our own political beliefs strongly and yet still listen to one another and create space for dialogue that is respectful and civil. Even in this election year.

What Leadership Looks Like

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Nancy Lott Henry looks like a leader to me. She didn’t set out to be a leader. She may not think of herself that way, still. When she left the tiny village of Avon Lake, a town not yet a suburb – a town of grapevines and vacation cottages – she wanted to be a missionary nurse. “Maybe I’ll be back in two years,” she told her parents. She’d seen a UNICEF documentary about India, and that’s where she was headed, in 1960.

This summer, she came back to Avon Lake, now very much a suburb.   A few grapevines remain, decorating the entrances of subdivisions with names like “The Vineyards.” She returned to her home church, where she was honored and thanked for her 56 years of service in India…56 years and counting.

When she married an Indian doctor, she faced discrimination. She was no longer allowed to serve under the auspices of the denomination (male missionaries were allowed to marry “natives” and continue service but women were not.) When she became pregnant, people asked if her baby would be born with stripes.

A staff nurse in the United States, she found herself suddenly a nursing superintendent in India. She taught herself, learned from others, and was tireless in her efforts. She initiated a nursing school, developed a community health program and helped to found a community school for the children of the area. She never brags about herself, but sincerely and fondly thanks all of those who helped her along the way. When she visited earlier this month, she said to me, “Kelly, I never would have had such a rewarding life had I stayed in the United States.”

Last weekend, my husband and I saw the movie, “Sully.” As I watched Tom Hanks embody the character of Captain Sullenberger, I kept thinking, “He looks like a leader.” He demonstrated focused courage while making the unorthodox decision to land a plane in the Hudson River. He personally helped each passenger off the plane, checked it and rechecked it even as water was swelling the cabin. He was riddled with anxiety until he received word that each passenger was safe. And in a public hearing, he thanked his crew for their grace under pressure.

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As voters in the United States contemplate the qualities necessary for presidential leadership, I am grateful for these two examples of leadership. Though very different persons and stories, both Nancy Lott Henry and Captain Sullenberger display these character traits of leadership which I highly value: courage, self-sacrifice, and humility (which includes the capacity to acknowledge a mistake and ask for forgiveness.)