It is springtime in Virginia! The past few weeks have brought a fairly rapid warming, punctuated by cool snaps and violent thunderstorms; rushing, swollen rivers and the explosion of color everywhere in the dogwood trees, azaleas and my personal favorites, lilac bushes, wisteria and the Eastern Redbud trees.
I had never seen, or at least had never noticed, an Eastern Redbud tree until I visited Virginia back in 1993, not long before my husband and I were married. Everywhere along all the sides of the highways, one could see these lovely trees and shrubs, with their buds of a vibrant purplish-pink color providing a pop of color against the clean, fresh green of the emerging leaves of other trees. Bradford Pear trees with their white blossoms and almost perfect shapes and the different colors of dogwood trees join in the color concert, with the final glory being grabbed by the white, blue and lavender wisteria trees and vines and the delicate lilac flowers on spindly little bushes at the end of the drive into our property. My favorite, even though it is a tough choice, is still the Eastern Redbud.
These trees have demanded my attention - - almost as if they were yelling at me to look at them, or make note of their presence along my beaten path - - and I have cheerfully complied this year. I mentally greeted and checked off each one, with this morning’s trip into Fredericksburg being no exception.
And then, just like that, they were gone.
Oh, the trees are still there. The dogwoods continue to bloom, the azaleas are still flourishing and the wisteria flowers still hang in all their periwinkle blue and lavender lushness. But almost as if God flipped a switch during the hours I spent at work today, the Eastern Redbud’s “red buds” were replaced by fresh little green leaves this afternoon! The new clean shade of green is cool, soothing, and refreshing, and after all, green is my favorite color. But I already missed the purple-pinkness of the buds as I began my trek home this afternoon, with my non-driving focus becoming one of seeking out even one tree that still bore these little purple-pink buds. It was not until I left Warrenton heading west this evening that I finally saw a couple of them in mid-transition on the highway out of town! The abrupt changeover of so many trees at once is somehow jarring this year, and it is has left me a little wounded, a little sad, or perhaps nostalgic that another spring seems to be passing by just a little too rapidly.
The emergence of the leaves from within the redbuds marks the passing of another season of my life; indeed, Sunday will mark another anniversary of my birth. It always seemed that the redbuds were here for my birthday, and I’ll continue to miss them this year, even as I have enjoyed them for the past several weeks. The ornamental Bradford Pear trees turned from white to green somewhat abruptly a week or two ago, but not this quickly. The weather has turned suddenly hot from somewhat chilly (for us), with few of the perfect, idyllic seventy degree days to which I have grown fond in my advancing years since moving back east from California. April showers have been in the form of violent thunderstorms for the most part, with the odd tornado here and there; I have to wonder about the probability of May flowers, as the old saying goes.
The heat and humidity are making their presence felt all too quickly; we need a few more weeks of temperatures in the mid seventies, with little humidity. We need more days with a warm sun and a cool breeze; gentle afternoons with nothing to do but laze in the porch swing and dream of another time when the first loves of our adult lives were new, fresh and innocent, and the responsibilities of life still seemed far, far away. The present moment was all there was; we didn’t have pasts to forget or sins to be forgiven, and the future was a still a few nightmares off. We didn’t have wrinkles or sagging skin, gray hair or extra stress-fueled belly fat, and we didn’t need reading glasses to see the print at the end of our arms’ ever shortening reaches.
Summer will be here before long, bringing with it the reality of the sun’s harsh, unforgiving light and heat of responsibility and I’m not ready for it. I’m not ready for the newly grown grass to wither and die, or the red clay soil of our yard to crack, just as my hair continues its slow graying or thinning and my face its wrinkling and sagging. I’m not ready to pull up a rocking chair and my knitting that I’ve recently once again taken up.
Not this year.
This year, I want to enjoy a good “beach read”, whatever that is, although I think I’ll do it without the sand in my toes and the inevitable sunburn. This is the year I’ve sent away to get a new passport and I’m finally going to plan that trip to Wales, and possibly Scotland or Ireland. I’m going to finally clean out that loft room and set up the easel, canvasses and see if those paints I have are still good enough to mix and smear on with a brush. And if they are, I’ll see if I have sufficient creative talent to make something recognizable and beautiful with them!
I’m continuing with my exercise program and newly formed eschewing of gluten, overly processed foods and all but the rarely occasioned bit of chocolate, while embracing healthy proteins, fruits and vegetables. I’m trying to reorient my night-owl persona to one more amenable to quiet early mornings. I’m paying attention to sunrises and sunsets, often commemorating them in photographs.
Most of all, I want to reestablish my personal centering prayer life, in the meditative posture that brings me into the presence of God in the same figurative way as sitting silently with the loves of my life, watching the river flowing by on seventy degree days with that warm sun and cool soothing breeze, while enjoying the vantage point of a bank replete with blooming lilac, wisteria and - - you got it - - Eastern Redbud trees.
May our Lord richly bless you in this and every season!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
And a River Spills Over It
Greetings to the four or five of you that actually read this blog! It has been a long time since I have written anything, but it has not been due to any lack of willingness. Life has been busy and interesting to say the least. I’ve been in something of a nostalgic mood recently, and have touched base again with some of my past experiences. In going through some things I had stored away, I ran across a book of poetry I wrote back in the late 1980’s when I was single and living in San Francisco. I thought I’d share one or two that aren’t just really dumb with you. The muse did not stay with me for long, so hang on every word; these are collectors’ items!
Musings
Darkness falls, meeting the rising mist.
Out at sea a ship heads for port.
The seals are splashing the jagged rocks,
Oblivious to all but their sport.
A pensive ghost melody haunts the cool air,
Steamlike wisps are borne on the breeze;
As if the sun had just dropped from the sky
And submerged in the cold silver sea.
Beneath where I stand on the dark craggy shore
Lies a structure succumbed and unnamed.
Beside it are skeletal remains of a tree
Which the forces of nature have claimed.
This stark silhouette to the twilight sky
Reminds me of love long since past.
A great gardened mansion, it fell being built;
And I fled from its gables aghast.
I walk down alone to the cold windy beach;
Second guessing decisions I’ve made.
Pulling my cloak close around me, I shudder inside
And a quivering confusion pervades.
When I embarked on my quest for Fulfillment and light
Did I relinquish my claim on romance?
Did I really believe that the search for my Self
Meant I could no longer join in the Dance?
Why doesn’t God answer my prayers anymore?
Were my dreams just some fanciful flights?
If they were only imaginings of an unworthy mind
Why were they sent to me night after night?
I’m loath to believe I’m to stay all alone;
There’s so much within me to share.
Yet it seems that my destiny is found in between
Little breaks in my dark solitaire.
The breeze has combined with the thickening mist,
Covering me in a light weeping rain.
The seals are still playing and splashing the rocks,
Oblivious to me and my pain.
As I hear them, I smile and chuckle inside;
They don’t question the lives that they lead!
They just swim in the sea and dive from the rocks;
Trusting God to provide what they need!
I return to my ship and head back to port,
Strangely calm from the voyage tonight.
In a few quiet hours the sun will ascend;
Somehow things will again be all right.
SEPARATING
“Why do you not love me now?”
She asked to no reply.
“Did you ever love me, then?
And if you didn’t, why?”
The question hung as if ‘twere limp
And lifeless in the air.
His facial muscles still and calm;
His eyes just blankly stared.
When he finally moved to speak,
She inhaled a breath of knives.
He told her, “I won’t make a move
Which will ruin both our lives.”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” she cried.
“Don’t put me on a shelf!”
To this he turned and whispered soft,
“You did that to yourself.”
SAFETY’S NIGHTMARE
Running down the darkened hall
Behind a bouncing dot of light,
My mind shrieks as it recalls
Other runs on other nights.
On either side are many doors
Some stand open; others locked.
A pool of light spreads on the floor
‘Neath the one on which I knocked.
It opens slowly on its own
“Do come in,” a voice invites.
“You’ll find in here a safety zone.”
From the bait I take the bite.
The room seems warm and is furnished well
Richly dressed in fine brocade.
It has a faint magnolia smell
And old Southern lemonade.
While I admire a doily made of lace
And a Swiss-made cuckoo clock,
In the mirror I see a fleeting face
And the bolt turns in the lock.
“Please wait!” I cry and rush to find
There is no doorknob there.
But I shrug and think, “Oh, never mind;
I’ll relax here in my chair.”
But I discover as I turn that I
Am now in another room.
A bed of stone now greets my eye;
Like one found inside a tomb.
From somewhere far beyond the door
I hear a wicked laugh.
It pierces deeply to my core;
Have I met my darker half?
I hear my voice scream, “Let me out!”
And feel a wind both cold and brisk.
It seems safety doesn’t banish doubt
And it carries its own risk.
SAN FRANCISCO SKY GAZING
I’m a hopeless fan of sunsets
They’re so beautiful to see
I’ve not encountered e’en one yet
That failed to humble me.
They’re stunning when high-cloudy skies
Make purple and orange hues.
Rivaled only by the next sunrise
With its shades of rust and blues.
For me, the mountains are the best
For viewing our Father’s show
When the sky’s reflected on the crest
Of a soft, new-fallen snow.
There’s a quiet, calm serenity
As it sinks behind the ridge
And gold magic clothes the City
As it silhouettes the Bridge.
Somehow deep within my soul
There’s a wistfulness it seems
As the sun’s now just a glowing coal
And I’m lost inside my dreams.
------------------------
And as the rain softly falls outside, making the rivers that much more swollen, I’ll retreat to sleep and get lost inside my dreams. Wherever you are tonight, stay safe and warm and dry! Next time, I promise to post something relevant!
Musings
Darkness falls, meeting the rising mist.
Out at sea a ship heads for port.
The seals are splashing the jagged rocks,
Oblivious to all but their sport.
A pensive ghost melody haunts the cool air,
Steamlike wisps are borne on the breeze;
As if the sun had just dropped from the sky
And submerged in the cold silver sea.
Beneath where I stand on the dark craggy shore
Lies a structure succumbed and unnamed.
Beside it are skeletal remains of a tree
Which the forces of nature have claimed.
This stark silhouette to the twilight sky
Reminds me of love long since past.
A great gardened mansion, it fell being built;
And I fled from its gables aghast.
I walk down alone to the cold windy beach;
Second guessing decisions I’ve made.
Pulling my cloak close around me, I shudder inside
And a quivering confusion pervades.
When I embarked on my quest for Fulfillment and light
Did I relinquish my claim on romance?
Did I really believe that the search for my Self
Meant I could no longer join in the Dance?
Why doesn’t God answer my prayers anymore?
Were my dreams just some fanciful flights?
If they were only imaginings of an unworthy mind
Why were they sent to me night after night?
I’m loath to believe I’m to stay all alone;
There’s so much within me to share.
Yet it seems that my destiny is found in between
Little breaks in my dark solitaire.
The breeze has combined with the thickening mist,
Covering me in a light weeping rain.
The seals are still playing and splashing the rocks,
Oblivious to me and my pain.
As I hear them, I smile and chuckle inside;
They don’t question the lives that they lead!
They just swim in the sea and dive from the rocks;
Trusting God to provide what they need!
I return to my ship and head back to port,
Strangely calm from the voyage tonight.
In a few quiet hours the sun will ascend;
Somehow things will again be all right.
SEPARATING
“Why do you not love me now?”
She asked to no reply.
“Did you ever love me, then?
And if you didn’t, why?”
The question hung as if ‘twere limp
And lifeless in the air.
His facial muscles still and calm;
His eyes just blankly stared.
When he finally moved to speak,
She inhaled a breath of knives.
He told her, “I won’t make a move
Which will ruin both our lives.”
“That wasn’t what I asked,” she cried.
“Don’t put me on a shelf!”
To this he turned and whispered soft,
“You did that to yourself.”
SAFETY’S NIGHTMARE
Running down the darkened hall
Behind a bouncing dot of light,
My mind shrieks as it recalls
Other runs on other nights.
On either side are many doors
Some stand open; others locked.
A pool of light spreads on the floor
‘Neath the one on which I knocked.
It opens slowly on its own
“Do come in,” a voice invites.
“You’ll find in here a safety zone.”
From the bait I take the bite.
The room seems warm and is furnished well
Richly dressed in fine brocade.
It has a faint magnolia smell
And old Southern lemonade.
While I admire a doily made of lace
And a Swiss-made cuckoo clock,
In the mirror I see a fleeting face
And the bolt turns in the lock.
“Please wait!” I cry and rush to find
There is no doorknob there.
But I shrug and think, “Oh, never mind;
I’ll relax here in my chair.”
But I discover as I turn that I
Am now in another room.
A bed of stone now greets my eye;
Like one found inside a tomb.
From somewhere far beyond the door
I hear a wicked laugh.
It pierces deeply to my core;
Have I met my darker half?
I hear my voice scream, “Let me out!”
And feel a wind both cold and brisk.
It seems safety doesn’t banish doubt
And it carries its own risk.
SAN FRANCISCO SKY GAZING
I’m a hopeless fan of sunsets
They’re so beautiful to see
I’ve not encountered e’en one yet
That failed to humble me.
They’re stunning when high-cloudy skies
Make purple and orange hues.
Rivaled only by the next sunrise
With its shades of rust and blues.
For me, the mountains are the best
For viewing our Father’s show
When the sky’s reflected on the crest
Of a soft, new-fallen snow.
There’s a quiet, calm serenity
As it sinks behind the ridge
And gold magic clothes the City
As it silhouettes the Bridge.
Somehow deep within my soul
There’s a wistfulness it seems
As the sun’s now just a glowing coal
And I’m lost inside my dreams.
------------------------
And as the rain softly falls outside, making the rivers that much more swollen, I’ll retreat to sleep and get lost inside my dreams. Wherever you are tonight, stay safe and warm and dry! Next time, I promise to post something relevant!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Belfast or PCUSA
Deep inside, my soul fights a war I can’t explain, I can’t cross over anymore. All I see are dirty faces, rain and wire, and common sense in pieces. But I try to see through Irish eyes. Belfast.
So begins a hauntingly beautiful, very sad, yet simultaneously uplifting tribute simply entitled Belfast, penned by Bernie Taupin, and magnificently set to music and sung by Sir Elton John, on his recording from the 1990’s, Made in England. The piece details an Englishman’s attempt to understand and chronicle the turmoil in that embattled city, and does so with an unmistakable sense of admiration. This is a song about a city that is torn apart by a politically motivated struggle played out along religious lines, yet determined to survive and prosper. This is a fight born of patriotic nationalism on one hand, people who want to retain home rule as a unified, predominantly Roman Catholic country; and descendents of the protestant, likely predominantly Presbyterian, immigrants from the United Kingdom who have remained loyal to the crown and who have asserted their power on a small portion of the island. While not a split specifically involving religion, the battle lines have traditionally been drawn along these denominational lines - - all within Christianity.
The analogy could be drawn between the situation in Northern Ireland and that of our beloved denomination in the brouhaha over the ordination of homosexuals to the leadership or ministry of the church. The division is every bit as political, with definite religious overtones and includes those whose positions are every bit as intractable as one has historically found the two factions in Northern Ireland. To follow is a comparison drawn in my mind with Belfast representing the PC(USA).
The battle is one waged in the souls of those of us who do not, and in fact, cannot, live in the world of strict dichotomies of black and white, right and wrong, sin and righteousness. Everything’s a little grey, the lines a bit blurred. We are the segment of the population that sees both sides of the dispute, or at least cannot find a comfort level with one viewpoint to the complete exclusion of the other. Most of us probably would prefer to leave the language contained in the Book of Order intact. But, prior to the 219th General Assembly in Minneapolis, it seemed to us that neither side was actually listening to the other in our dispute; the rhetoric has been harsh, and the tactics unworthy of a Christian organization. It is based upon the worldly political battle lines of liberal versus conservative instead of along the guidelines of the peace, unity and purity that we seek. Our opposing forces struggle for control of the denomination by figuratively blowing it up, burning it down, and shooting the combatants with heated accusations of intolerance or abominations. Both are right and both are wrong, and I can only imagine our Lord weeping as the arguing continues.
Look outside; summer’s lost and gone; it’s a long walk on a street of right and wrong. And every inch of sadness, rocks and tanks, go hand in hand with madness. But I’ve never seen a braver place than Belfast.
The long walk on the street of right and wrong; it’s a daily stroll for each of us, isn’t it? At the far end of the road for all of us is our Lord and Savior. The distance in between us and the triune God is sin. We Presbyterians do not rank sin; we do not accept that God does either. We are taught that all sin is abhorrent to God; that he cannot look upon any of it. He reaches out to us, he calls to us. We get confused in our humanness and head in the wrong direction; and we do it every day. Each of us. Everyday. In different ways.
The gift of grace is just that; God’s gift to us. None of us deserve it and none of us can earn it. God even provides the gift of the impetus to seek after his Word and his example. We hear the Word, and if it is God’s will, we believe. We still sin, but we believe, and we are mindful of our shortcomings. We try to minimize the intrusion of worldly matters on our relationship with God. But we all fail. Thanks be to God that He continues to pick us up. But, if we all are sinners, why is it we can only hear the Word of God being preached, or can only tolerate the idea that it is being lived out, by persons whose sins are similar to ours? And on the other end of the argument, why is it that we cannot see that in our stubborn resolve to live our own lives, we may be ignoring the possibility that our behavior might actually be sinful? Why has the expression of human sexuality outside of traditional marriage become an abomination while other sins are simply sins? If God, through his Son Jesus Christ, can cause a murderer and terrorist to become a great apostle, if He can awaken the faith in this example of a admittedly heinous sinner, why is it so hard to believe that He could awaken faith in someone whose predominant sin lies in the way he or she expresses love and devotion for another human being? How many of us, when listening to a sermon, obsess over how the speaker expresses his or her personal sexuality? And on the flip side, for those among the denomination’s population who are fighting to change the Book of Order’s ordination criteria, why can we not understand that our insistence on getting our way on this subject can be a serious stumbling block for other Christians? Most seriously of all, while we are embroiled in this battle, which of Christ’s flock are going unfed and untended? Is that not the primary task set before us in this life on earth? Did Jesus not tell Peter to “feed my sheep”?
And it’s sad when they sing, and hollow ears listen to the smoking black roses on the streets of Belfast; and so say your lovers from under the flowers: every foot of this world needs an inch of Belfast.
Who’s to say on whom heaven smiles; our different ways we try hard to reconcile. No more enchanted evenings; the pubs are closed, and all the ghosts are leaving. But you’ll never let them shut you down, Belfast.
Who is right in this dispute? Only God is. God is always right, the Father, along with Christ and the Holy Spirit. Jesus told us that only those without sin have the right to criticize and hurl rocks; and he also told us to go and sin no more. Those instructions pretty much cover all of us, do they not? Like the embattled combatants in the Irish conflict heading out from the pubs, not knowing whether they will make it home or be blown to bits, some are choosing to leave the denomination. Many Irish have immigrated to the United States and other parts of the world over the years; but the yearning for the “auld sod” remains in their souls. They are not whole without Ireland, and most make the trip back home on a nearly annual basis. For those who decide to abandon the denomination, they are similarly not leaving whole. Even if they manage somehow to wrest the church physical property from the presbyteries, part of the heart will stay, as will some members of the congregations whose majorities decide to go. If it’s a sizeable minority, is it fair that those who do wish to stay in the denomination lose access to their place of worship, which, by the Book of Order, is held in trust for the Presbytery for use by Presbyterians in the PCUSA? I don’t think so. Furthermore, the precedent has been set by the PCUSA to maintain a presence in the communities in which these departing congregations are located. Whether they leave with or without the physical property, the congregations who go will be shadows of their former selves. The denomination will go on, wounded, scarred, and with rebuilding to do, but not destroyed.
I personally do not want to see the Book of Order changed, and I will remain with the PCUSA. I pray daily that, regardless of the outcome of the tediously continuing debate over ordination, my particular congregation will also remain; I would find it very painful to not have this group of people as my church home. But I cannot run from my responsibility as an Elder and General Assembly Commissioner to work toward the peace, unity and purity of the denomination. It is the faith of my upbringing; it is much of my identity; it’s my spiritual DNA and a big part of the “auld sod” of my soul. I know there are some, perhaps even many, in the congregation who feel as I do about it, too. I hope we can stand together as the branch of the PCUSA in our community. I hope my colleagues on our Session will pray, re-consider, and then pray a lot more before embarking on such a decision. I likewise hope the congregation will take a similar routine of prayerful consideration. I pray that each of us confronts our own sinfulness, and that we ask ourselves why the “sin” of human sexuality is so much worse than say, the “sin” of judging people on their expression of human sexuality. The denomination has weathered such storms before; it will go through this one, too, and I intend to be right with her, working within the system to keep her on the correct path. We have too much of God’s work to do to spend any more time involved in this battle that will result in no winners.
The enemy is not at home; a jealous green streaks down this faulty diamond. No bloody boots or crucifix can ever hope to split this emerald island. And I never saw a braver place than Belfast.
Within this decade now coming to a close, a new government was installed in Northern Ireland. For the first time in many decades, it is a shared one. The parties representing the Crown sat down with Sein Fein/IRA representatives and posed for photographs with the Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom and Ireland in Belfast at its inception. All were smiling. All were poised to cooperate and work together. Historical statements of intractability were laid aside on both sides. As the Irish and British get about the business of running their countries that co-exist on the same island, we Presbyterians need to take a page from the same book of cooperation. We, like they, will not always agree, and will continue to debate matters of polity and policy for a long time. It is time for us to get about doing God’s business and stop this squabbling amongst ourselves.
And it’s sad when they sing and hollow ears listen to the smoking black roses on the streets of Belfast; and so say your lovers from under the flowers: every foot of this world needs an inch of Belfast.
So begins a hauntingly beautiful, very sad, yet simultaneously uplifting tribute simply entitled Belfast, penned by Bernie Taupin, and magnificently set to music and sung by Sir Elton John, on his recording from the 1990’s, Made in England. The piece details an Englishman’s attempt to understand and chronicle the turmoil in that embattled city, and does so with an unmistakable sense of admiration. This is a song about a city that is torn apart by a politically motivated struggle played out along religious lines, yet determined to survive and prosper. This is a fight born of patriotic nationalism on one hand, people who want to retain home rule as a unified, predominantly Roman Catholic country; and descendents of the protestant, likely predominantly Presbyterian, immigrants from the United Kingdom who have remained loyal to the crown and who have asserted their power on a small portion of the island. While not a split specifically involving religion, the battle lines have traditionally been drawn along these denominational lines - - all within Christianity.
The analogy could be drawn between the situation in Northern Ireland and that of our beloved denomination in the brouhaha over the ordination of homosexuals to the leadership or ministry of the church. The division is every bit as political, with definite religious overtones and includes those whose positions are every bit as intractable as one has historically found the two factions in Northern Ireland. To follow is a comparison drawn in my mind with Belfast representing the PC(USA).
The battle is one waged in the souls of those of us who do not, and in fact, cannot, live in the world of strict dichotomies of black and white, right and wrong, sin and righteousness. Everything’s a little grey, the lines a bit blurred. We are the segment of the population that sees both sides of the dispute, or at least cannot find a comfort level with one viewpoint to the complete exclusion of the other. Most of us probably would prefer to leave the language contained in the Book of Order intact. But, prior to the 219th General Assembly in Minneapolis, it seemed to us that neither side was actually listening to the other in our dispute; the rhetoric has been harsh, and the tactics unworthy of a Christian organization. It is based upon the worldly political battle lines of liberal versus conservative instead of along the guidelines of the peace, unity and purity that we seek. Our opposing forces struggle for control of the denomination by figuratively blowing it up, burning it down, and shooting the combatants with heated accusations of intolerance or abominations. Both are right and both are wrong, and I can only imagine our Lord weeping as the arguing continues.
Look outside; summer’s lost and gone; it’s a long walk on a street of right and wrong. And every inch of sadness, rocks and tanks, go hand in hand with madness. But I’ve never seen a braver place than Belfast.
The long walk on the street of right and wrong; it’s a daily stroll for each of us, isn’t it? At the far end of the road for all of us is our Lord and Savior. The distance in between us and the triune God is sin. We Presbyterians do not rank sin; we do not accept that God does either. We are taught that all sin is abhorrent to God; that he cannot look upon any of it. He reaches out to us, he calls to us. We get confused in our humanness and head in the wrong direction; and we do it every day. Each of us. Everyday. In different ways.
The gift of grace is just that; God’s gift to us. None of us deserve it and none of us can earn it. God even provides the gift of the impetus to seek after his Word and his example. We hear the Word, and if it is God’s will, we believe. We still sin, but we believe, and we are mindful of our shortcomings. We try to minimize the intrusion of worldly matters on our relationship with God. But we all fail. Thanks be to God that He continues to pick us up. But, if we all are sinners, why is it we can only hear the Word of God being preached, or can only tolerate the idea that it is being lived out, by persons whose sins are similar to ours? And on the other end of the argument, why is it that we cannot see that in our stubborn resolve to live our own lives, we may be ignoring the possibility that our behavior might actually be sinful? Why has the expression of human sexuality outside of traditional marriage become an abomination while other sins are simply sins? If God, through his Son Jesus Christ, can cause a murderer and terrorist to become a great apostle, if He can awaken the faith in this example of a admittedly heinous sinner, why is it so hard to believe that He could awaken faith in someone whose predominant sin lies in the way he or she expresses love and devotion for another human being? How many of us, when listening to a sermon, obsess over how the speaker expresses his or her personal sexuality? And on the flip side, for those among the denomination’s population who are fighting to change the Book of Order’s ordination criteria, why can we not understand that our insistence on getting our way on this subject can be a serious stumbling block for other Christians? Most seriously of all, while we are embroiled in this battle, which of Christ’s flock are going unfed and untended? Is that not the primary task set before us in this life on earth? Did Jesus not tell Peter to “feed my sheep”?
And it’s sad when they sing, and hollow ears listen to the smoking black roses on the streets of Belfast; and so say your lovers from under the flowers: every foot of this world needs an inch of Belfast.
Who’s to say on whom heaven smiles; our different ways we try hard to reconcile. No more enchanted evenings; the pubs are closed, and all the ghosts are leaving. But you’ll never let them shut you down, Belfast.
Who is right in this dispute? Only God is. God is always right, the Father, along with Christ and the Holy Spirit. Jesus told us that only those without sin have the right to criticize and hurl rocks; and he also told us to go and sin no more. Those instructions pretty much cover all of us, do they not? Like the embattled combatants in the Irish conflict heading out from the pubs, not knowing whether they will make it home or be blown to bits, some are choosing to leave the denomination. Many Irish have immigrated to the United States and other parts of the world over the years; but the yearning for the “auld sod” remains in their souls. They are not whole without Ireland, and most make the trip back home on a nearly annual basis. For those who decide to abandon the denomination, they are similarly not leaving whole. Even if they manage somehow to wrest the church physical property from the presbyteries, part of the heart will stay, as will some members of the congregations whose majorities decide to go. If it’s a sizeable minority, is it fair that those who do wish to stay in the denomination lose access to their place of worship, which, by the Book of Order, is held in trust for the Presbytery for use by Presbyterians in the PCUSA? I don’t think so. Furthermore, the precedent has been set by the PCUSA to maintain a presence in the communities in which these departing congregations are located. Whether they leave with or without the physical property, the congregations who go will be shadows of their former selves. The denomination will go on, wounded, scarred, and with rebuilding to do, but not destroyed.
I personally do not want to see the Book of Order changed, and I will remain with the PCUSA. I pray daily that, regardless of the outcome of the tediously continuing debate over ordination, my particular congregation will also remain; I would find it very painful to not have this group of people as my church home. But I cannot run from my responsibility as an Elder and General Assembly Commissioner to work toward the peace, unity and purity of the denomination. It is the faith of my upbringing; it is much of my identity; it’s my spiritual DNA and a big part of the “auld sod” of my soul. I know there are some, perhaps even many, in the congregation who feel as I do about it, too. I hope we can stand together as the branch of the PCUSA in our community. I hope my colleagues on our Session will pray, re-consider, and then pray a lot more before embarking on such a decision. I likewise hope the congregation will take a similar routine of prayerful consideration. I pray that each of us confronts our own sinfulness, and that we ask ourselves why the “sin” of human sexuality is so much worse than say, the “sin” of judging people on their expression of human sexuality. The denomination has weathered such storms before; it will go through this one, too, and I intend to be right with her, working within the system to keep her on the correct path. We have too much of God’s work to do to spend any more time involved in this battle that will result in no winners.
The enemy is not at home; a jealous green streaks down this faulty diamond. No bloody boots or crucifix can ever hope to split this emerald island. And I never saw a braver place than Belfast.
Within this decade now coming to a close, a new government was installed in Northern Ireland. For the first time in many decades, it is a shared one. The parties representing the Crown sat down with Sein Fein/IRA representatives and posed for photographs with the Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom and Ireland in Belfast at its inception. All were smiling. All were poised to cooperate and work together. Historical statements of intractability were laid aside on both sides. As the Irish and British get about the business of running their countries that co-exist on the same island, we Presbyterians need to take a page from the same book of cooperation. We, like they, will not always agree, and will continue to debate matters of polity and policy for a long time. It is time for us to get about doing God’s business and stop this squabbling amongst ourselves.
And it’s sad when they sing and hollow ears listen to the smoking black roses on the streets of Belfast; and so say your lovers from under the flowers: every foot of this world needs an inch of Belfast.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
IN THE PRESENCE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT
It is probably presumptuous of me to think that many people read this blog, but it is serving as an outlet for my thoughts and feelings. It has virtually nothing to do with my employment, or “day job”, as I refer to it. It has everything to do with the rest of my life.
For most of my adulthood, I have sought for the truly spiritual experience, but looked for it in places where the spirits encountered might not necessarily be ones I should have been seeking. Somehow, religion and family were all tied up together, and for too long, I was in a slow process of rebelling against all of it to find my own way. I lived across the country from family, although I went through the motions for a while, and even attended a church. I allowed myself to be elected Deacon of my congregation, but it didn’t take long before I realized I wasn’t ready for that responsibility, hit the eject button and jettisoned myself out into the world of the so-called New Age movement. I spent hours in now closed Shambhala bookstore on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue, reading about Eastern Christianity, astrology and mysticism. I took meditation “classes” and learned about “out of body experiences”. It was all interesting, even fun sometimes. I kept myself active with places to go, things to do, and people to see, except when I had nowhere to go but the living room couch, never changing out of sweats with the remote and whatever food I was using to try to fill up the huge hole in my soul, and with nothing to do but numb my brain with television or music. Those would be weekends where I said nothing to anyone. Sometimes, on Friday nights, I’d light my candles or even light a log in the fireplace, put Pink Floyd or Moody Blues on the stereo, turn the ringer off on the phone, extinguish the lights, and just stare into the flames while the music carried me away somewhere in my mind.
I’m probably lucky that each of those following mornings, I found myself back on the couch or lying on the living room floor where I had gone to sleep when the stereo cut off and the log or candles burned out. Of course, then it meant I would have to face another boring Saturday with myself for company. If I did anything at all, it usually meant grocery shopping; or maybe down the block for some bagels, sometimes to the Safeway. Sometimes I dated, but the relationships wouldn’t last long, and I finally decided it would be o.k. if I stayed single, and decided to just be comfortable. I wrote silly poetry about dreams I had, commemorating the deaths of each. My manufactured existence evolved into my thinking I was actually successful, and I even fancied myself to be happy. After all, I WAS living in one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Certainly, there was something about the area keeping millions of people - - myself among them - - resident there when the entire nine-county area is built upon a maze of dozens of seismically active faults! It has taken me a while to realize that it was the city itself that I loved - - the hills, street patterns, landmarks and, of course, the fog - - rather than its people; the “prestige” of having that San Francisco address and actually adoring my flat, rather than feeling particularly great about my job or about the neighborhood, its six Irish pubs in walking distance notwithstanding. I just never envisioned myself leaving; I had become a Californian. It took a 7.1 upheaval to literally shake those realizations into my head; when I became aware that just as easily, I could have been on the Bay Bridge or on the Nimitz Freeway, or out at Candlestick Park, or in the Marina District. Instead, I was safe and sound in my office, listening to the shattering windowpanes, and watching my little knick-knacks falling off the shelves and the lateral file drawers opening and closing. Some fifteen months later, when my plane flew north over the “bay” and I looked out the window to the west, locating Highway 101 in the street light pattern and looking a block and half past it to where “my” flat was located, I sobbed, weeping for a good fifteen minutes before I finally stopped and decided that sleeping would be a better use of the “red eye” flight. I tear up even now just thinking about it. That was nearly twenty years ago, and I haven’t been back. Part of me is still there; whether it is my heart or not is debatable, but it was a little bit of something valuable, I think.
By the time that flight landed in Charleston, South Carolina, I had managed to reapply my happy face, and assured my folks that I was just tired; that they didn’t call them red-eye flights for nothing. Over the next couple of years, my spoiled-brat-kid issues with my family dissolved, and we forged the intense, rock solid bond we now have. Initially to make them happy, but later because I really loved it, I started attending worship services at the Presbyterian church in which my folks were members. Over time, some of the other singles in the congregation and I joined with some from other churches in the area, and attended various and sundry events and activities together. My philosophy by this point was to get a group together to do stuff I liked to do. If I met someone to date, great; if not, at least I got to have a good time. No surprises, I met my husband there and following our wedding, came to Virginia. Our life here has been pretty happy, on balance; we all have good times and not-so-good times.
In all things, God works for good for those who love him and keep his commandments.
During my husband’s very serious illness a few years ago, I had my first real tangible, conscious experience of the Holy Spirit - - I know you were wondering what all this has had to do with the Holy Spirit - - when people and circumstances aligned in such a way as to be absolutely perfect for the situation at hand. These were not those experiences where one looks back at them and says, ‘oh yes, that must have been the Spirit at work’; no, I felt, I KNEW it while it was happening. And yet, I could say nothing; how can one explain it when one cannot perceive something with the five senses? I couldn’t articulate it because it was all too startling, too perfect to simply be the coincidences that other people might argue they were. The Spirit is the only explanation for what is otherwise a mystery.
The same sense of awe surrounds the process we commissioners went through last week at the 219th General Assembly. We disagreed agreeably; we worshipped collectively and prayed in small, table enclaves, usually as presbytery groupings; we frequently sang hymns or stopped for prayer as we moved through the items of business. Questions were simply that, questions. Generally speaking, stands for or against motions were expressed in terms of the ideas’ merits, and never degenerated into personal attacks against those who made the motions in the first place. Even the protest group that briefly interrupted the Assembly on Friday afternoon was peaceful, and was treated with respect. If not by the Holy Spirit, how else were the emotions of the 700-or-so -commissioners kept in check while discussing the “hot button” issues? How else could we disagree with each other in one breath, yet hold hands in prayer the next? In nearly each and every decision made, whether at the committee or plenary level, common ground was vigorously sought. How else could that have happened? We dealt with highly charged, passion-eliciting issues! I’ve tried to explain it in my mind as good planning, as it was; good moderating, as it certainly was; the orderly nature of our polity, well maybe; or was it the unshakeable duty to stay united in spite of, or perhaps even because of, our differences? Sure, and it was all of these, joining in what - - a marvelous set of coincidental occurrences? I know better. Each of them absolutely played an important role, to be sure. But the Holy Spirit is the love binding us to God through Jesus Christ. I know this because I am a Presbyterian, an elder commissioner and a true believer. The 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) was visited by the Holy Spirit last week in response to our invitation; and out of our hearts the rivers of living water will flow as we glorify the everlasting and all powerful triune God. May the LORD be with you!
For most of my adulthood, I have sought for the truly spiritual experience, but looked for it in places where the spirits encountered might not necessarily be ones I should have been seeking. Somehow, religion and family were all tied up together, and for too long, I was in a slow process of rebelling against all of it to find my own way. I lived across the country from family, although I went through the motions for a while, and even attended a church. I allowed myself to be elected Deacon of my congregation, but it didn’t take long before I realized I wasn’t ready for that responsibility, hit the eject button and jettisoned myself out into the world of the so-called New Age movement. I spent hours in now closed Shambhala bookstore on Berkeley’s Telegraph Avenue, reading about Eastern Christianity, astrology and mysticism. I took meditation “classes” and learned about “out of body experiences”. It was all interesting, even fun sometimes. I kept myself active with places to go, things to do, and people to see, except when I had nowhere to go but the living room couch, never changing out of sweats with the remote and whatever food I was using to try to fill up the huge hole in my soul, and with nothing to do but numb my brain with television or music. Those would be weekends where I said nothing to anyone. Sometimes, on Friday nights, I’d light my candles or even light a log in the fireplace, put Pink Floyd or Moody Blues on the stereo, turn the ringer off on the phone, extinguish the lights, and just stare into the flames while the music carried me away somewhere in my mind.
I’m probably lucky that each of those following mornings, I found myself back on the couch or lying on the living room floor where I had gone to sleep when the stereo cut off and the log or candles burned out. Of course, then it meant I would have to face another boring Saturday with myself for company. If I did anything at all, it usually meant grocery shopping; or maybe down the block for some bagels, sometimes to the Safeway. Sometimes I dated, but the relationships wouldn’t last long, and I finally decided it would be o.k. if I stayed single, and decided to just be comfortable. I wrote silly poetry about dreams I had, commemorating the deaths of each. My manufactured existence evolved into my thinking I was actually successful, and I even fancied myself to be happy. After all, I WAS living in one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Certainly, there was something about the area keeping millions of people - - myself among them - - resident there when the entire nine-county area is built upon a maze of dozens of seismically active faults! It has taken me a while to realize that it was the city itself that I loved - - the hills, street patterns, landmarks and, of course, the fog - - rather than its people; the “prestige” of having that San Francisco address and actually adoring my flat, rather than feeling particularly great about my job or about the neighborhood, its six Irish pubs in walking distance notwithstanding. I just never envisioned myself leaving; I had become a Californian. It took a 7.1 upheaval to literally shake those realizations into my head; when I became aware that just as easily, I could have been on the Bay Bridge or on the Nimitz Freeway, or out at Candlestick Park, or in the Marina District. Instead, I was safe and sound in my office, listening to the shattering windowpanes, and watching my little knick-knacks falling off the shelves and the lateral file drawers opening and closing. Some fifteen months later, when my plane flew north over the “bay” and I looked out the window to the west, locating Highway 101 in the street light pattern and looking a block and half past it to where “my” flat was located, I sobbed, weeping for a good fifteen minutes before I finally stopped and decided that sleeping would be a better use of the “red eye” flight. I tear up even now just thinking about it. That was nearly twenty years ago, and I haven’t been back. Part of me is still there; whether it is my heart or not is debatable, but it was a little bit of something valuable, I think.
By the time that flight landed in Charleston, South Carolina, I had managed to reapply my happy face, and assured my folks that I was just tired; that they didn’t call them red-eye flights for nothing. Over the next couple of years, my spoiled-brat-kid issues with my family dissolved, and we forged the intense, rock solid bond we now have. Initially to make them happy, but later because I really loved it, I started attending worship services at the Presbyterian church in which my folks were members. Over time, some of the other singles in the congregation and I joined with some from other churches in the area, and attended various and sundry events and activities together. My philosophy by this point was to get a group together to do stuff I liked to do. If I met someone to date, great; if not, at least I got to have a good time. No surprises, I met my husband there and following our wedding, came to Virginia. Our life here has been pretty happy, on balance; we all have good times and not-so-good times.
In all things, God works for good for those who love him and keep his commandments.
During my husband’s very serious illness a few years ago, I had my first real tangible, conscious experience of the Holy Spirit - - I know you were wondering what all this has had to do with the Holy Spirit - - when people and circumstances aligned in such a way as to be absolutely perfect for the situation at hand. These were not those experiences where one looks back at them and says, ‘oh yes, that must have been the Spirit at work’; no, I felt, I KNEW it while it was happening. And yet, I could say nothing; how can one explain it when one cannot perceive something with the five senses? I couldn’t articulate it because it was all too startling, too perfect to simply be the coincidences that other people might argue they were. The Spirit is the only explanation for what is otherwise a mystery.
The same sense of awe surrounds the process we commissioners went through last week at the 219th General Assembly. We disagreed agreeably; we worshipped collectively and prayed in small, table enclaves, usually as presbytery groupings; we frequently sang hymns or stopped for prayer as we moved through the items of business. Questions were simply that, questions. Generally speaking, stands for or against motions were expressed in terms of the ideas’ merits, and never degenerated into personal attacks against those who made the motions in the first place. Even the protest group that briefly interrupted the Assembly on Friday afternoon was peaceful, and was treated with respect. If not by the Holy Spirit, how else were the emotions of the 700-or-so -commissioners kept in check while discussing the “hot button” issues? How else could we disagree with each other in one breath, yet hold hands in prayer the next? In nearly each and every decision made, whether at the committee or plenary level, common ground was vigorously sought. How else could that have happened? We dealt with highly charged, passion-eliciting issues! I’ve tried to explain it in my mind as good planning, as it was; good moderating, as it certainly was; the orderly nature of our polity, well maybe; or was it the unshakeable duty to stay united in spite of, or perhaps even because of, our differences? Sure, and it was all of these, joining in what - - a marvelous set of coincidental occurrences? I know better. Each of them absolutely played an important role, to be sure. But the Holy Spirit is the love binding us to God through Jesus Christ. I know this because I am a Presbyterian, an elder commissioner and a true believer. The 219th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) was visited by the Holy Spirit last week in response to our invitation; and out of our hearts the rivers of living water will flow as we glorify the everlasting and all powerful triune God. May the LORD be with you!
Monday, July 12, 2010
LEAVING CAMP MINNEAPOLIS
written Saturday, July 10, 2010
Well, General Assembly has concluded its business sessions, the final worship service was held and our group of commissioners has scattered. It was almost eerie, the speed with which everyone cleared out, retrieving stored luggage and boarding the buses for the airport. I was able to finally share a meal with my brother and sister-in-law, after only being able to sort of hug them in passing during this week. In an unexpected way, I think we were all sort of sad to see it end. And it reminded me of the countless retreats and summer church camps I attended as a youth in Birmingham - - perhaps due in part to seeing a couple of folks who were also at those camps!! But now that I’m at the airport, at loose ends for a little while until my plane actually boards and heads back to Virginia, I’m noticing some of the emotion has given way to a sort of nostalgia. A wistfulness, perhaps.
My brother, who has attended a lot of General Assemblies over the years, said that this one was among the best, if not THE best he has ever attended or heard about. Over lunch, he shared some of the behind the scenes stuff that goes on at these events, that contribute to the make up of the positions taken by some of the factions - - and no, I’m not going to share them here in this forum. Gradye Parsons quipped that he was considering writing all of the 173 presbyteries to request that the same commissioners and delegates be sent to Pittsburgh in 2012. Our moderator and vice-moderator were just spot-on when items were potentially getting contentious or perhaps worse, repetitious. And when we were disrupted by a protest group, Moderator Bolbach reacted perfectly. So many divergent factors combined to bring about the right decisions at the right times, that I cannot think that it was anything but the Holy Spirit working through all the hands that worked to make this event happen.
The names are entirely too numerous to list. They begin, of course, years in advance, and in the office of the General Assembly. GA staff works with the Committee on Local Arrangements, or COLA. And, oh, what a COLA we had! From the moment I emerged from the aircraft, made it to the baggage claims area, these volunteers were there en masse to assist us in finding our way through the airport which, for me, was unfamiliar. My fellow passengers and I were escorted through the hallways, to the tram and out to the buses; today, the process was essentially reversed, with the friendly folks wearing smocks with the Presbyterian Seal on the front and back and always, always a smile right there to bid us safe journeys. I could go on and on.
Of course, in a scant few hours, I will be on the ground back in Virginia. I’ll be reunited with my husband, and eventually, our dogs. I hope to attend church in Warrenton tomorrow and I’ll go about various and sundry chores. I’ll return to work this week, catching up with the goings on that occurred while I was away. I’ll need to write a report about the week, it’s events and my experiences. I can say now that I want to be more ecumenical and open to other faiths; I can say I need to confront my fears on certain issues, and perhaps my prejudices with others. And I can say that I want to go back again, and hope to have the opportunity again before too long.
Well, General Assembly has concluded its business sessions, the final worship service was held and our group of commissioners has scattered. It was almost eerie, the speed with which everyone cleared out, retrieving stored luggage and boarding the buses for the airport. I was able to finally share a meal with my brother and sister-in-law, after only being able to sort of hug them in passing during this week. In an unexpected way, I think we were all sort of sad to see it end. And it reminded me of the countless retreats and summer church camps I attended as a youth in Birmingham - - perhaps due in part to seeing a couple of folks who were also at those camps!! But now that I’m at the airport, at loose ends for a little while until my plane actually boards and heads back to Virginia, I’m noticing some of the emotion has given way to a sort of nostalgia. A wistfulness, perhaps.
My brother, who has attended a lot of General Assemblies over the years, said that this one was among the best, if not THE best he has ever attended or heard about. Over lunch, he shared some of the behind the scenes stuff that goes on at these events, that contribute to the make up of the positions taken by some of the factions - - and no, I’m not going to share them here in this forum. Gradye Parsons quipped that he was considering writing all of the 173 presbyteries to request that the same commissioners and delegates be sent to Pittsburgh in 2012. Our moderator and vice-moderator were just spot-on when items were potentially getting contentious or perhaps worse, repetitious. And when we were disrupted by a protest group, Moderator Bolbach reacted perfectly. So many divergent factors combined to bring about the right decisions at the right times, that I cannot think that it was anything but the Holy Spirit working through all the hands that worked to make this event happen.
The names are entirely too numerous to list. They begin, of course, years in advance, and in the office of the General Assembly. GA staff works with the Committee on Local Arrangements, or COLA. And, oh, what a COLA we had! From the moment I emerged from the aircraft, made it to the baggage claims area, these volunteers were there en masse to assist us in finding our way through the airport which, for me, was unfamiliar. My fellow passengers and I were escorted through the hallways, to the tram and out to the buses; today, the process was essentially reversed, with the friendly folks wearing smocks with the Presbyterian Seal on the front and back and always, always a smile right there to bid us safe journeys. I could go on and on.
Of course, in a scant few hours, I will be on the ground back in Virginia. I’ll be reunited with my husband, and eventually, our dogs. I hope to attend church in Warrenton tomorrow and I’ll go about various and sundry chores. I’ll return to work this week, catching up with the goings on that occurred while I was away. I’ll need to write a report about the week, it’s events and my experiences. I can say now that I want to be more ecumenical and open to other faiths; I can say I need to confront my fears on certain issues, and perhaps my prejudices with others. And I can say that I want to go back again, and hope to have the opportunity again before too long.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
THE RIVER OF LIVING WATER
It is Friday night, and I have just packed my suitcase for the return trip to Virginia tomorrow. General Assembly has concluded the majority of its business, and as with most assemblies in recent years, some of the decisions we made were received well, while some were not. We will close as we began, in worship. Then we will depart and begin the real work of our jobs as commissioners.
By now, it is possible that you have read some accounts in the secular media about our work here. I am told we made the front page of the New York Times. The decisions we made might be questionable in your thoughts. I urge you to withhold making judgments about our work until you can talk directly to us, the commissioners. The secular press tries, God bless them, but unless they’re Presbyterians, they probably do not understand our processes. Unless they had listened to the testimonies in the open committee hearings, participated in the prayers and the Roberts Rules explanations, it is unlikely they understand it all well enough to write our story. It’s hard enough for us to explain what happened here. We are the church, and while religion editors of newspapers want to get these sensational headlines, we are called to be holy, set aside to glorify God, and not be conformed to the modes of secular society. We are the PC(USA) and our General Assembly speaks to the PC(USA) with regard to how we are to live, even as we are in the world. We are not to be of the world.
What I am taking away from the last few months of reading, and the past six days of intense deliberations and more reading, has been the experience of the undeniable presence of the Holy Spirit in our midst. There were impassioned pleas, there were stands taken, and yes, there were tears shed; there were also a lot of prayers for the gift of discernment, lots of hugs given, information imparted, friendships rekindled, laughter shared and other light-hearted moments such as the “Plenergizers” taught to the assembled adults of all ages by the Young Adult Advisory Delegates on Thursday and Friday afternoons. One was called “Istanbul” and the other was called the “Ants in your Pants Dance”. These young people are the present church, as well as the future, and we are truly, truly blessed to have them!
Our worship services were glorious. The opening service incorporated the music of a combined choir from the Twin Cities’ area, interpretive dance from different cultures - - a theme repeated on Friday morning - - and throughout the service, a “performance artist” creating a painting on black fabric, utilizing some type of paints in swirls of blues, golds, greens and whites; it was completed a little bit after the service was completed and once dried, was hung in the plenary hall for the remainder of the week.
We will finish our business meetings in the morning, and I’ll head out for the airport, where I will say “so long” to the Twin Cities and catch the flight back to Virginia. I think I will be leaving behind something of my self here, but hope I have put on something special here. I’ll get back to my routines next week, but I don’t think I’ll ever be quite the same again. This has been a life shaping experience. As surely as I poured the waters dipped from the confluence of the Rapidan, Robinson and Rappahannock Rivers into the pitchers that were poured out at the beginning of each worship service and each business session, rivers of living water will pour from my heart, because I am a believer. I am a Presbyterian
It is Friday night, and I have just packed my suitcase for the return trip to Virginia tomorrow. General Assembly has concluded the majority of its business, and as with most assemblies in recent years, some of the decisions we made were received well, while some were not. We will close as we began, in worship. Then we will depart and begin the real work of our jobs as commissioners.
By now, it is possible that you have read some accounts in the secular media about our work here. I am told we made the front page of the New York Times. The decisions we made might be questionable in your thoughts. I urge you to withhold making judgments about our work until you can talk directly to us, the commissioners. The secular press tries, God bless them, but unless they’re Presbyterians, they probably do not understand our processes. Unless they had listened to the testimonies in the open committee hearings, participated in the prayers and the Roberts Rules explanations, it is unlikely they understand it all well enough to write our story. It’s hard enough for us to explain what happened here. We are the church, and while religion editors of newspapers want to get these sensational headlines, we are called to be holy, set aside to glorify God, and not be conformed to the modes of secular society. We are the PC(USA) and our General Assembly speaks to the PC(USA) with regard to how we are to live, even as we are in the world. We are not to be of the world.
What I am taking away from the last few months of reading, and the past six days of intense deliberations and more reading, has been the experience of the undeniable presence of the Holy Spirit in our midst. There were impassioned pleas, there were stands taken, and yes, there were tears shed; there were also a lot of prayers for the gift of discernment, lots of hugs given, information imparted, friendships rekindled, laughter shared and other light-hearted moments such as the “Plenergizers” taught to the assembled adults of all ages by the Young Adult Advisory Delegates on Thursday and Friday afternoons. One was called “Istanbul” and the other was called the “Ants in your Pants Dance”. These young people are the present church, as well as the future, and we are truly, truly blessed to have them!
Our worship services were glorious. The opening service incorporated the music of a combined choir from the Twin Cities’ area, interpretive dance from different cultures - - a theme repeated on Friday morning - - and throughout the service, a “performance artist” creating a painting on black fabric, utilizing some type of paints in swirls of blues, golds, greens and whites; it was completed a little bit after the service was completed and once dried, was hung in the plenary hall for the remainder of the week.
We will finish our business meetings in the morning, and I’ll head out for the airport, where I will say “so long” to the Twin Cities and catch the flight back to Virginia. I think I will be leaving behind something of my self here, but hope I have put on something special here. I’ll get back to my routines next week, but I don’t think I’ll ever be quite the same again. This has been a life shaping experience. As surely as I poured the waters dipped from the confluence of the Rapidan, Robinson and Rappahannock Rivers into the pitchers that were poured out at the beginning of each worship service and each business session, rivers of living water will pour from my heart, because I am a believer. I am a Presbyterian
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Children of Abraham
In this my second entry in my PCUSA General Assembly journal, I turn to committee deliberations. As I think I have mentioned, I was assigned to the Ecumenical and Interfaith Relations Committee. When I received this assignment, I was somewhat ambivalent, neither pleased nor displeased. We would not be discussing the “hot button” issues, and for that, I was both disappointed and relieved. But, I am nothing if not Presbyterian, owing my very Christian existence to what in 1983 became the PC(USA), and probably could rightly be accused of a sort of snobbery when it comes to Protestant Christian denominations. So, ecumenism? Me?
Well, as it turns out, yeah! There is merit to engaging with our Christian brothers and sisters in dialogue and action where no issues of deep conviction compel us to act separately. This is included in a document from the 1950’s conference in Lund, Sweden, that has come to be known as the Lund Principle, and that was recommended in an overture. We dealt with 11 overtures, reports and recommendations involving these interactions. One, in which the behavior of the Evangelical Presbyterians was studied, the reports of the EPC “recruiting” congregations of the PCUSA to disassociate with the PCUSA and connect with the EPC were determined to be mostly unfounded. We heard inspiring reports from the newly formed World Communion of Reformed Churches, in which the body moved from a loosely allied group of Reformed Churches to a covenented body of Reformed Churches! This represents a much strengthened bond among our brothers and sisters of the Reformed tradition. Hopefully, Calvin would be proud!
We then moved into the three overtures that would serve as the “meat” of our discussions. We reviewed recommendations and an overture involving two reports, or papers, one involving Christians and Jews, and the other about Christians and Muslims. We heard impassioned pleas from Middle Eastern Presbyterians who bemoaned their exclusion from the deliberative process that went into the composition of these reports. Simply put, they were hurt and resentful that these reports were written without their input, yet understanding that the reports' publication would have direct impact on the day to day lives of Palestinians, whether Jew, Christian or Muslim! The Presbytery of San Francisco had made overture to General Assembly, asking that the two reports not be forwarded, but be retained for further study. Our committee delved into each of the papers, ultimately forwarding for approval the paper involving Christians and Muslims, but referring the paper on Christians and Jews back to the Office of Theology and Worship and Interfaith Relations for further input from the Middle East Presbyterian Caucus and any other stake-holding group. (“Stake-holding is my characterization).
Why did we “split the baby”, as it would seem that we did? It’s actually pretty simple. The recommendations accompanying the paper on Christians and Muslims presented it as an introductory study; a well written first step requiring and inviting further input and interaction among the groups. In fact, the recommendations directly addressed that need. On the other hand, the paper on the Christians and Jews was presented as a completed document, and we were concerned about the absence of input from the Middle East Presbyterian Caucus in the paper’s composition. So, in summary for this matter, we agreed with the portions of the San Francisco Presbytery's recommendation that the document involving Christians and Jews was not ready for widespread use, but disagreed that the paper on Christians and Muslims needed to be retained. We felt it was ready for use as introductory material and “conversation starter”, and therefore removed it from the San Francisco overture.
It is important to remember that Jews, Christians and Muslims trace their origins back to Abraham. It is vital to remember that Ishmael also benefits from a covenant with God; and we recognize (I hope) that the Jews’ status as the “Chosen People” was not “trumped” by the covenant in Jesus’ death and resurrection. It is also important to remember that all have claims on the land area roughly defined as Palestine, where the nation state of Israel was established in 1948, but where Palestinian Arabs had been living for hundreds of years. Some of these Arabs are Christian - - and many, perhaps most, of the Christians are Presbyterians! And yes, many of the Palestinian people are Muslims. Palestine has no world recognition as a nation with land and borders. As we know, the land is but one point of contention, but it is a huge problem; one that has often degenerated into violence and bloodshed, with outright warfare breaking out several times in the past fifty-plus years of my life. The two papers were written from different perspectives, with the Christians and Jews paper focusing primarily on the similarities between our faiths, while the paper on Christians and Muslims highlighting the areas of disagreement between us.
Am I still ambivalent on the subjects of ecumenical and interfaith relations? No. It is possible to engage, individual to individual, and group to group, in the spirit of welcome and with the intent to understand each other. One might think of it as a step toward the ultimate family reunion as descendents of Abraham!
Well, as it turns out, yeah! There is merit to engaging with our Christian brothers and sisters in dialogue and action where no issues of deep conviction compel us to act separately. This is included in a document from the 1950’s conference in Lund, Sweden, that has come to be known as the Lund Principle, and that was recommended in an overture. We dealt with 11 overtures, reports and recommendations involving these interactions. One, in which the behavior of the Evangelical Presbyterians was studied, the reports of the EPC “recruiting” congregations of the PCUSA to disassociate with the PCUSA and connect with the EPC were determined to be mostly unfounded. We heard inspiring reports from the newly formed World Communion of Reformed Churches, in which the body moved from a loosely allied group of Reformed Churches to a covenented body of Reformed Churches! This represents a much strengthened bond among our brothers and sisters of the Reformed tradition. Hopefully, Calvin would be proud!
We then moved into the three overtures that would serve as the “meat” of our discussions. We reviewed recommendations and an overture involving two reports, or papers, one involving Christians and Jews, and the other about Christians and Muslims. We heard impassioned pleas from Middle Eastern Presbyterians who bemoaned their exclusion from the deliberative process that went into the composition of these reports. Simply put, they were hurt and resentful that these reports were written without their input, yet understanding that the reports' publication would have direct impact on the day to day lives of Palestinians, whether Jew, Christian or Muslim! The Presbytery of San Francisco had made overture to General Assembly, asking that the two reports not be forwarded, but be retained for further study. Our committee delved into each of the papers, ultimately forwarding for approval the paper involving Christians and Muslims, but referring the paper on Christians and Jews back to the Office of Theology and Worship and Interfaith Relations for further input from the Middle East Presbyterian Caucus and any other stake-holding group. (“Stake-holding is my characterization).
Why did we “split the baby”, as it would seem that we did? It’s actually pretty simple. The recommendations accompanying the paper on Christians and Muslims presented it as an introductory study; a well written first step requiring and inviting further input and interaction among the groups. In fact, the recommendations directly addressed that need. On the other hand, the paper on the Christians and Jews was presented as a completed document, and we were concerned about the absence of input from the Middle East Presbyterian Caucus in the paper’s composition. So, in summary for this matter, we agreed with the portions of the San Francisco Presbytery's recommendation that the document involving Christians and Jews was not ready for widespread use, but disagreed that the paper on Christians and Muslims needed to be retained. We felt it was ready for use as introductory material and “conversation starter”, and therefore removed it from the San Francisco overture.
It is important to remember that Jews, Christians and Muslims trace their origins back to Abraham. It is vital to remember that Ishmael also benefits from a covenant with God; and we recognize (I hope) that the Jews’ status as the “Chosen People” was not “trumped” by the covenant in Jesus’ death and resurrection. It is also important to remember that all have claims on the land area roughly defined as Palestine, where the nation state of Israel was established in 1948, but where Palestinian Arabs had been living for hundreds of years. Some of these Arabs are Christian - - and many, perhaps most, of the Christians are Presbyterians! And yes, many of the Palestinian people are Muslims. Palestine has no world recognition as a nation with land and borders. As we know, the land is but one point of contention, but it is a huge problem; one that has often degenerated into violence and bloodshed, with outright warfare breaking out several times in the past fifty-plus years of my life. The two papers were written from different perspectives, with the Christians and Jews paper focusing primarily on the similarities between our faiths, while the paper on Christians and Muslims highlighting the areas of disagreement between us.
Am I still ambivalent on the subjects of ecumenical and interfaith relations? No. It is possible to engage, individual to individual, and group to group, in the spirit of welcome and with the intent to understand each other. One might think of it as a step toward the ultimate family reunion as descendents of Abraham!
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