Pride and disgust

...in the same week.

Last Sunday, my church elected +Katharine Jefferts Schori as our first female Presiding Bishop. I knew nothing about her; I'd been told by a friend that she didn't have a chance, and another nominee was a friend of another friend. He's managed to make progress among both the liberals and the conservatives, and I thought it would be him. It wasn't. She got it. The more I've read and learned about her, the happier and prouder I am.

Today, Reuters carried this headline: "Episcopal Church votes to avoid gay bishops." Apparently, we're bowing to the ones who would hold unity above justice, at the expense of good, qualified, and called human beings. Bishops Iker, Schofield, and Ackerman can be happy. ++Akinola of Nigeria can dance at his influence over us. I'm not.

The election of +Gene Robinson as bishop of New Hampshire in 2003 brought me back to this church. The legislative body assembled in Minneapolis didn't do a bloody thing wrong. They consented to the choice made by the people of New Hampshire, of who would best lead them. In so doing, they made this church safe for all people on every kind of margin. This week, some of those who voted for +Jefferts Schori are friends of mine. I am part of this. This is my tribe. I'm in seminary in an Episcopal institution. I'm considering what form my ministry will take. I am committed to being here. The issues I left over, at 22, are still very much present. But these people made progress in my absence, and I will join my efforts with theirs.

We had done nothing which called for repentance. Not in 1976*, not in 2003, not in 2006. It is not for human beings to stand in the way of God. An Australian Anglican friend put it this way: "My thoughts on schism are that women are the price Anglicans have been willing to pay for unity for decades. My response to that is that unity is the price I am prepared to pay for women."

Unity is the price I am prepared to pay for the respect and inclusion of all of God's people.

*September 16, 1976, on the very day I turned six, General Convention authorized the ordination of women to the priesthood and episcopate.

Newsletter piece

This is something I wrote for the Ascension monthly newsletter; I thought I'd publish it here for people who are just meeting me in blogland, and for people in the Bay Area who want to keep up with what I'm doing. It had to be short, so I've left some background out. I thought about expanding it, and may later, but here I am for now. Peace.

First, I’d like to thank everyone I’ve met, on Sundays, at the rummage sale, and at vestry meeting, for making me feel welcome. Everyone’s been open and friendly; you’ve put me right at ease here. Thank you.

To introduce myself:

I’m a second-year seminarian at Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, CA. I grew up in Everett, lived in Olympia for 17 years (during and after college at Evergreen) and was looking for a different parish experience near my home for the summer. Through recommendations, I landed at Ascension. I’m very happy here, and energized about the work I’m doing.

I’ve begun with a plan for a baptism class I’ll get to lead next week. I’m also creating something for the Altar Guild about liturgical seasons, and finding or writing prayers to accompany them. I’m integrating into the community as I go. You’ll see me sitting in the pews sometimes, and serving sometimes as well. During the week, I can be found upstairs, surrounded by my laptop, books, and tea, next to the choir’s vestments.

I’ll also be housesitting for many of you. Thank you for welcoming me into your homes while you’re gone; I now have places all summer where I know I’ll be. You’ve all been a huge help.

In the meantime, I’m asking myself questions. I know that I am called into ministry. Into what, exactly? Do I need to be ordained? Do I want to sign up with Mercy Corps, and work in Africa? What feels right, what doesn’t, where are my gifts and what can I learn? What do I absolutely not want to do? I believe that people are called where they are. When I’m in the right place, it’s like being in the middle of a waterfall. I’ve begun this journey non-traditionally. I will enter the formal discernment process at some point; I’m considering how ready I am for the rigors of that. In the moment, I’m learning, working, experimenting, and growing where God has put me.

I’ll keep you posted.

Update

I'm settling in to work at Ascension, and I really like the community a lot. The people are really friendly, and they care about me and what I'm doing. I've come up with a plan for a baptism class, and am working on revising it and adding a resource handout. I'm also working on the "Mary" element in a currently "Martha"-esque altar guild rubric. I'm writing something about the church seasons, and finding or writing prayers for them.

Went to a vestry meeting last night. We went half an hour over time, but no one cared; they just kept discussing a particular issue until everyone had been heard, and they'd arrived at something they were all happy with. It actually was really fun to watch. These are good people; they care about each other and the ministries they do. There's a lot of creativity here.

Afterwards, we ate and talked in the rector's office. Three of us went downstairs to scope out the rummage sale stuff for this weekend. I'm housesitting currently at the home of Possible Water, and didn't get up there until around midnight. I didn't go to sleep until 2. I dragged myself out of bed sometime this morning, and just sort of puttered until I was ready to leave. I drove here (to work) because I need to go grocery shopping on the way home.

The nomad thing is a challenge, but it's good to have time to myself. I'm not sure how this all will work out, but I know that it will. We did a form of lectio divina last night, with a passage from Luke. I heard in it, "Be watchful (but don't be afraid). I will make you strong enough. Listen for what is your calling." And that, I know, is my work for the summer.

I'm in a good place--or places--to do it.

5 Things in Various Places

Stolen from I Will Sing...

5 Items in my Fridge:

I don't have a fridge; I only last night got to my current housesitting gig. So, 5 items in the last fridge I had a relationship with:

1. Milk
2. Blue cheese
3. Drawer full of nuts
4. Avocados in various conditions
5. Mangos

5 Items in my Closet:

Again, I don't currently have a closet. 5 items in my last one:

1. A shirt I've had for fifteen years
2. Clothes I probably haven't worn since then
3. Girl shoes
4. Bike helmet
5. Fleece jackets

5 Items in my Car:

Here goes...

1. Bag of blue-corn tortilla chips that rode up here with me
2. Blankets and pillows I should have left in California
3. CD walkman (are they still called that?)
4. Emergency kit
5. A pair of hiking boots

5 Items in my Purse:

I don't carry a purse, and I shudder to think about either of my backpacks. 5 Items in my pockets:

1. Two or three phone numbers, with and without dates for housesitting
2. Wallet
3. Metro bus tickets
4. Phone
5. Keys

5 Items on my Desk:
1. Laptop
2. Bottle of Ritalin
3. Tea
4. Pile of books
5. Palm pilot

5 Items Flowering in my Garden:

Again, I don't currently have one. 5 plants I've recently been connected with:

1. Nasturtiums at the Apostle in Exile's house; I started them at school at Eastertime, then accidentally light-starved them on her dining-room table. I transplanted them outside before I left, and I hope they lived.
2. Boysenberries in her back yard
3. The aloe-type of plant that's outside on a street corner in Berkeley, and bigger than me
4. Most of the morning-glory in Olympia, at some time or another
5. I haven't done this in a few years, but I used to start basil plants every spring and give them away.

Quick check-in

I met the community at Ascension today; they're really warm, and excited to have me. It's going to be a good summer.

Half of Seattle is playing hot-potato with me, housing-wise. I don't feel settled yet, but I'll find my rhythm.

More later. I need a nap.

RevGal Friday Five: Rain

Wanna play?

1. Favorite way to spend a rainy day
Napping with a not-terribly-gripping novel

2. Favorite song about rain
The only one I can think of: "Here Comes the Rain Again" by the Eurythmics

3. Favorite movie featuring rain
Too obvious: "Singin' in the Rain" (which I've only seen once)

4. Favorite piece of raingear, past or present
Duck shoes! They were the first online purchase I ever made (from REI, years ago) and my feet haven't been nonconsensually wet since.

5. Favorite word for rain
"Pouring buckets", "the sky's spitting," or "God's taking a shower again"

Safe in Seattle

Exhausted. Excited. Have dicey access: none at home, and not at work until they figure out how to string a DSL line upstairs. (I'll be ensconced at a card table in the choir room.) I can walk to the library, though, which is where I am now.

Will write more later.

Peace to all.

Limbic spaces

I don't do well with being in-between. I'm crashing tonight at the home of friends in Olympia, and will drive to Seattle in the morning. I'd thought of asking them if I could shower here anyway, and then my endurance ran out before I reached Portland. If I'd had any sense of time, I'd not have tried to drive through the redwoods on the way up here. That's something to do when you're not trying to make time, and you're available to appreciate and enjoy them. They were beautiful, but I was really not in the mood. Next time, I'll go there with friends, and be there when I am there.

I left Stockton yesterday way later than I meant to. The Apostle in Exile and I got talking with people at her church, then it took me longer to pack my far-flung laundry and load the car than I'd thought it would. (Meanwhile, she made us lunch, picked berries to go with ice cream, and packed me road food--leftovers, fruit, and truffles.) Her neighbor came to show us that one of the Apostle's cats had nestled on my towel, in the open back of my packed car. And we--really I--took forever saying goodbye.

Two weeks ago, she was a friend I was going to stay with between school and summer internship: a limbic space of her own. She became truly family. She taught me so much about presence, love, and absolutely intentional friendship. She accepted my joy and my fears with equal readiness. She gave me time. And she, and God, taught me how to turn that outward to the world. I needed to learn this. I'd have liked to have gotten it before now. But now, I know that I can give this kind of love to people who need it as much as, or more than, I did. Really, we all need to be loved into ourselves. I still need this. I know enough now, to see the ways I am being fed, and to help feed other people.

I'm picturing this now:
"What did you do on your summer vacation?"
"I broke my friend's dishwasher and found God."

Oddly enough, it's true: and just in time to go start my internship, start figuring out how to live this out with my head, my heart, my body, and my time.

I woke up this morning in Garberville, California. I'll wake up tomorrow in Olympia, where I'm lying on a futon on the floor right now. I'll drive to Seattle, meet the woman who's hosting me for the summer, and go to the church to get started on all of this. I'm nervous and scared. And I can't wait to be there.

"Blah," said Toad.

What I've accomplished today: Got out of bed, fed myself breakfast and lunch, and brought in four boxes from the car. I'm exhausted, sore, and don't feel like moving. I need to transplant the nasturtiums I brought here, which are dying a slow death from light starvation. I have to want to wash yesterday's dishes. And I need to edit and post World in Prayer, since it came in my in-box and we were up later than we meant to be last night. The Apostle in Exile has a day job. I don't. She slept less than I did; apparently the cats kept her overly toasty. (I sleep quite comfortably on the living room couch.) But here I am, too brain-dead to play with someone else's writing, too tired and sore to move.

What's become of me? I drove back to Berkeley yesterday, to go to an appointment that was rescheduled from last week and to finish packing my room. The drive normally takes an hour and a half; two hours in traffic. I left the Apostle's house at 9:30, and dragged into Berkeley at 2. On the way, I got a flat tire, on the freeway. BANG! I didn't panic; I was relieved to have my cell phone with me. But I couldn't un-stick my jack enough to get the spare out from under the car, and while I have had a tire-changing lesson, it was more than ten years ago. I called 911 and had a tow truck help me. I really don't like doing the incompetent-girl thing. Alas. I am now no longer a Wal-Mart virgin, either, since the tow-truck driver told me how to get to their tire shop, a few miles down the road in Tracy. I had to wait an hour there, so I found a non-enormous-chain lunch place (Filipino) while they gave me a new tire. Then I was on my way again.

Needless to say, I missed my appointment. Oh well. I went down to Brewed Awakening and got a peach smoothie to pack by. Everything takes longer than you think it will, and I was a dirty sweaty mess at 5 when some friends from St. Aidan's came to take me out for Chinese. I found a clean shirt, and went with them. We stopped at Saul's for macaroons on the way back. I'd told them after spring break that I needed new images. One is making me a quilt from her stash pile, in purples, blues, and greens, just the size to nap in. The front is finished, so she brought it to show me. It's beautiful, and I'll have it in September.

I didn't finish packing my car until 9. Dropped the keys with my friend Vik (whom the Apostle calls my "Berkeley mom," because he once wiped my face with his napkin) and went on my way. Fortunately, I had no more mishaps. Got home at 10:30, a bit sunburned but not too much the worse for wear. The Apostle and I hung out and had ice cream. A good ending to a difficult day.

Now, I have to get off the couch and get something else done. We're going to the DioCal ordinations Saturday, and will play in the city all day after that. I'm leaving Sunday, likely via the redwoods but it depends on time. I probably won't write again until I'm in Seattle, next week.

Peace to all.

On self-worth, and dishwashers

I believe...

• I am worth more than the dishwasher I broke the other night
• Love heals all wounds of the soul
• Hugs and chocolate can save the world
• If we listen, we can hear God laughing

I broke a dishwasher the other night. I had help: I was tickled, and fell over the open door, so that now it opens farther than it's supposed to. The Apostle in Exile and I fixed it with an empty flower pot. (It hardly ever washes dishes anyway; it's her drying rack.) She tickled me because I'd said I was sorry too many times for some other thing. I fell backwards, bouncing off the dishwasher door and landing on the floor. She checked to be sure I was okay. Then we laughed until we were both out of breath.

Later, I couldn't get over the idea that I was worth more than her dishwasher. I mean, I hadn't expected her to yell at me or anything. I'm not ten anymore, and we don't have that kind of relationship anyway. But she wasn't upset for a second, and I couldn't believe how that could be.

When I was a kid, my parents and I were time-sharing at their friends' cabin. I borrowed their daughter's bike. I fell off, and came home bleeding. My mother's response: "I hope the bike's all right." I don't think she even stopped washing dishes to look at me. I knew I was worth more than Emily's bicycle, and that her parents wouldn't likely freak if I had damaged it. I remember even trying to say so--a gutsy thing, then. But I grew up in a home where material things mattered more than people. I would never, and have never, treated anyone like that. I've worked a lot with kids, and began intentionally so I'd know that I wouldn't. But this sort of thing sticks with you.

The Apostle gave me lots of hugs and reassurance, and a couple days later I was beginning to get it. We had Haagen-Dazs triple chocolate ice cream to celebrate. I know that my work is to continue this love in other people. I'm certainly willing to tell anyone, "You are worth more than my dishwasher." But it's both incredibly grace-filled and incredibly silly that she needed to say that to me.

I'm getting it, though. I told her it was like a book I read on climbing Mt. Everest, which is an impossible and arduous place anyway, and you'd never want to be there. The hardest part of the climb, apparently, is the last hundred feet or so: not only are you freezing and oxygen-deprived, but it's suddenly steeper until you reach the top. That's where I am. It is not where I was, a week ago.

Thanks be to God.

Rebuilding

Met today with my priest friend in Lodi and their choir director, who's considering CDSP. We had lunch at a Thai place, and I talked about school. It was really kind of neat. I do love what I'm doing, and I have no doubts that it's right, even though I don't know clearly how I'll get to where I'm going.

I'm also happy for a break. I'm hanging out at the Apostle in Exile's house for a couple weeks, long enough to go to my friends' ordinations in SF before I'm due in Seattle. Yesterday, all I did was go online, wash dishes, and sleep. Resting, recovering. I'm better now.

And learning. I understood something the other night, and it's important enough to post here. Something had brought up old fears in me, and I was trying to tell her what I was going through. It was like looking around at where I had lived, and seeing Hiroshima. Exploded house after exploded house, splintered wood and broken glass everywhere. I was picking up random pieces and trying to hammer them together, not even sure which was my house, just working with my head down. Every time I looked up, the devastation seemed bigger. I couldn't see the end of it. I was alone, and all I knew was that I had to keep working. But nothing I was doing made any kind of dent.

We talked a long time. I don't remember what she finally said, or how I answered, but in the act of answering, I got it: I know, and have always known, that I'm called to be a healer. But I've never really known what it's like to be safe at home. (I haven't had abusive partners, and my parents and I are reconciling.) I've been hacking at houses, trying to do what I'm supposed to, but I've been missing three pieces: 1) I am not, and never have been, truly alone in the work that is mine; 2) Everyone is responsible for their own houses, and lots of people are out here with at least the sense to wear gloves, already; and 3) I need my own safe place to sleep, before I can be competent at helping anybody else. I need to find true and deep safety in myself, my God, and my community. Healing is a joyful thing; it's not supposed to relentlessly break your back.

Relief. I know what my work is, and I know I can do it. She asked where God is in this. God is, obviously, in friends who let you feel what you're feeling, who can hold you without holding in your hurt, who don't freak out because their love isn't a Band-Aid. God is also in these images. I could never have recognized the right kind of drills and hammers (counseling, spiritual direction, trust, and love) if I hadn't seen clearly the havoc I've been working with. I couldn't have seen that the help I need is all around me.

I think I might help out at Habitat this summer. Put some physicality into this whole vision, and give something that's truly useful in doing so.

Glory, glory, hallelujah

...Since I laid my textbooks down.

I'm done. Everything's in: all that was timely and all that was late, reflective of the reading I did and didn't do, the thought and soul-processing I'm still working on, knowledge of where I am and hope of where I want to be.

Grades are out of my hands now. Evaluation will come, and it will be honest, and it will be helpful. A year ago, I could never have told you that I'd be in the inner country where I am now. I could not have known the clarity, passion, or confusion that I've found here. So much hurt and so much healing; so much new growth and so much still feeling like an eight-year-old. So much new learning, and so much remaining to imagine.

One minute I was living my life; the next, my friends were graduating. You stop, you look both ways, you pray, you keep moving.

I'm off to Stockton for two weeks, then Seattle for three months. I'll be back here in the fall. Adventures await me, everywhere I go.

My first year of seminary is over. How did that happen?

Boom!

26 years ago, right about exactly now, I was a fourth-grader growing up in Everett, WA. It was a Sunday morning; I was in my parents' bed. We'd been debating getting up for church, and they'd both fallen back asleep. As I remember, the sound was an eerie, disembodied boom, coming from somewhere but not in the house. My mom jerked awake.

"What's that?!"
"It's the cats," mumbled my dad, as he rolled over and went back to sleep.

May 18, 1980, 8:32 a.m., Pacific Daylight Time. We found out very soon that the disembodied boom had been Mount St. Helens, about three hours to the south.

I honor the 57 people who died that day, and all who risked their lives to save others.

Mother Nature is stronger than all of us. Care for this earth.

Damage control?

No, and unfortunately, neither is the contraption under the dorm windows a water slide (as was alternatively suggested). It's the sunshade covering the courtyard for Friday's commencement.

Way to go, graduates! Blessings upon you.

Faithful readers...

I have an internship this summer in Seattle. I do not yet have housing. There are people I could crash with in Olympia, briefly, but I'd have an hour and a half commute. I really don't want to pay real rent in the city for three months. I have some feelers out, but don't yet know where I'll be.

Frequent moving, once I'm up there, is okay. I just want to know that I have someplace/places to sleep.

So, if

1) We know each other (or you're a RevGal)

and

2) You know someone in Seattle who either needs a housesitter or wouldn't mind a houseguest

Please respond in the comments!

Thank you.