Eternal Communion

Last Sunday was my last Sunday to administer the sacraments at West End.  I love the liturgy, so rich with history and meaning.  I love the elements—yes, the official Welch’s Grape Juice, and if the Family Stamps home baked bread isn’t available, then I can settle for Great Harvest’s or even a King’s Hawaiian loaf.

I love the breaking of the bread and the lifting of the cup.  I think about Christ’s sacrifice—the body broken, and the blood spilt.  I relish the reconciliation, the re-membering of the members of the body of Christ.  I ponder the crushed grains and grapes taken for us to share, given for us to share.

Best of all, I love the connection.  I cherish looking into your eyes and calling you Beloved, if not your first name.  I try to let my hand linger just for a moment on yours, just in case you need a human touch.  And then—to watch the gently nibbling, or the quick gobble as the bread is consumed; and the tiny sips or the full knocking back the little shot glass brimming with the juice.

I’m feeling all the ‘last’ moments with you in these final days at West End, but the best news of all is that we have indeed eaten together.  If you remember that sermon from five years ago—one I will share during my first Sunday at Christ Church in Charleston as well—we have eaten together, and that makes us family.  We are the communion of saints—past, present and future.  I will re-member you every time I eat or drink at the Lord’s table.

Grace and joy,

Julie

Gifts of the Uncomfortable Feelings

For the longest time, I have done my darnedest to avoid uncomfortable feelings—hurts like sadness, anger, loneliness, fear, shame, guilt and hurt itself.  People-pleasing became my mantra.  I was oblivious to the gifts of those feelings, but I am learning to embrace them instead of shunning them.  Compassion for others, and self-compassion, call for listening to the messages within the pain, addressing them, and continuing the journey.
 

I’m grateful, for instance, that I can feel pain, so that when I accidentally touch my hand to a hot burner, I will quickly remedy the situation to keep from doing major harm.  The same goes with these painful feelings—they tell us there’s something wrong that needs attention.

I don’t like the pain I am feeling when I think of the friends I am leaving behind here in Nashville.  But thank God for the pain!  It tells me that I am leaving people who are valuable to me, whom I love dearly, who have made an important impact on my life.  And the flip side of that coin says, like Chip Dodd proclaims, I hope at my funeral, people come in throngs to wail, beat their chest from grief and cry aloud because they will miss me!  It will mean my life has had meaning and purpose, that I mattered to folks!

Chip, who wrote The Voice of the Heart, and my precious friend and professional helper Janina Tiner, introduced me to this understanding.  Here’s a small bit of his wisdom:

Hurt is the emotional and spiritual experience that tells us we are feeling emotional and spiritual pain.  In healthy relationships there is a willingness to allow someone to feel their own pain, because we have genuine regard, concern and love for that person.

 

Harm, which we often confuse with Hurt, occurs when we emotionally and spiritually wound another in order to prevent feeling the pain in our own hearts.  It is most often exhibited when we cross the boundaries of another without genuine regard, concern or love for that person.

Sadness speaks directly to our need to grieve when someone or something is lost.  Through grief, we find comfort and deeper wisdom, and in the acceptance of the loss, we find healing.

Self-pity, on the other hand, which feels similar to Sadness, is a way to escape the pain of sadness by trying to make others feel sadness for us.

Anger is possibly the most important feeling we experience as emotional and spiritual beings, because it’s the first step to authentic living.  It helps us pursue full life by exposing the substance, desires and commitments of our hearts with passion for justice.  Authentic anger means you really care.

Rage, however, is a toxic acting out with an intent to harm, lashing out at others, based in fear, by the perpetrator, who wants to avoid taking responsibility for their feelings by blaming others.  Anger is based in concern and caring, believe it or not!

And so it goes.  These are the eight feelings in a nutshell: Hurt, Loneliness, Sadness, Anger, Fear, Shame, Guilt and Gladness.  Yep, only one obviously positive feeling.  I also bet you’re asking “Where’s Love on this list?”  Love is an entity unto itself, as it is both feeling and action.  Love = Gladness + Compassion.  You can’t have Love without the mixture combining awareness/acceptance and action, and yes, it’s the solution to every hurt, every disagreement, every estrangement.  It’s simply too big to fit on a simple feelings list!

I’m extremely enamored with this paradigm, and I plan to write a lot about how this psychological understanding, which has evolved from a long line of great teachers, blends so beautifully with Christian spirituality.  I would cherish your prayers in this endeavor, and expect to put pencil to paper soon from a mountaintop near Charleston, the new view from my desk to come!

Grace and joy,

Julie

PS—West End’s copies of the July-August edition of The Upper Room arrived today.  Check out the devotion for July 16.  You might recognize the author!

Those Awkward Tweens

 You know that time.  That in-between time.  That awkward in-between time.

Sue Monk Kidd says it this way:

It was the in-between time, before day leaves and night comes, a time I’ve never been partial to because of the sadness that lingers in the space between going and coming.

That’s where I am, and will be lingering, for the next month and a half, until I leave for Charleston, West Virginia, where I’ve been appointed as Associate Pastor to Christ Church United Methodist, a few blocks from the State Capitol.  It reminds me a lot of West End, and they’ve welcomed me with open arms and a warm, hospitable spirit.  I’ll be responsible for Parish Life.  How’s THAT for an all-inclusive job description!  I’m extremely blessed.

But you know the space—the almosts and the not yets.  Sad and grieving to be leaving friends here.  Excited and challenged to consider new adventures yet to be.  I’m grateful to have time to say goodbye (the root of which is ‘Go on your way with God’ which doesn’t ring with finality).

I will not be one of your pastors anymore, but I will always remain a friend.  My home is already assigned to me (four bedrooms, fenced backyard for Bella, on a mountaintop).  I’ll share my address if you email me for it.

Some of you have asked what you can do to help.  Here’s my short list:

1)       Pray for me, Christ Church, and my ministry there for God’s pleasure.

2)       Pray for Nancy Hawthorne as she assumes her appointment here at West End.

3)       Pray that my house sells quickly (and to all our realtor members, I had to pick a name out of a hat    because I simply couldn’t decide among you).

4)      Share any moving boxes with me that you may need to get rid of. I promise I will pay it forward!

Not so inspirational this week, I fear, but occasionally we have to cover nuts and bolts.  My favorite quote is one by Dag Hammerskjold, which I have probably shared with you before (and I always do when I marry a couple), but it rings true again and again for the gifts and lessons I’ve gained from my time at West End:

For all that has been, we say Thanks.  For all that will be, we say Yes.

Thanks be to God for our time together, and for our remaining days of preparation.

Grace and joy,

Julie

Gearing Up for Mother's Day

For the first time in years, I'm going to spend Mother's Day with my mom.  We'll get dressed and head to her church, where I assume there will be some mention of the special day, like handing out flowers, or cards or somesuch. 

Mother's Day Sunday can be a tricky wicket for pastors, however.  We want to honor the mothers in our midst, but we don't want to offend women who aren't.  Whether by choice or circumstance, the second Sunday in May can be painful for non-moms.

I stumbled upon a delightful blog by Amy, messymiddle.com which addresses the conundrum.  Her words are prayer-ful, and worthy of a pastor's time.  And to Amy, who describes herself as in that messy middle, caught between Already and Not Yet, I give my thanks and solidarity!

To those who gave birth this year to their first child—we celebrate with you
To those who lost a child this year – we mourn with you
To those who are in the trenches with little ones every day and wear the badge of food stains – we appreciate you
To those who experienced loss this year through miscarriage, failed adoptions, or running away—we mourn with you
To those who walk the hard path of infertility, fraught with pokes, prods, tears, and disappointment – we walk with you. Forgive us when we say foolish things. We don’t mean to make this harder than it is.
To those who are foster moms, mentor moms, and spiritual moms – we need you
To those who have warm and close relationships with your children – we celebrate with you
To those who have disappointment, heart ache, and distance with your children – we sit with you
To those who lost their mothers this year – we grieve with you
To those who experienced abuse at the hands of your own mother – we acknowledge your experience
To those who lived through driving tests, medical tests, and the overall testing of motherhood – we are better for having you in our midst
To those who have aborted children, we remember them and you on this day
To those who are single and long to be married and mothering your own children, we mourn that life has not turned out the way you longed for it to be
To those who step-parent, we walk with you on these complex paths
To those who envisioned lavishing love on grandchildren, yet that dream is not to be, we grieve with you
To those who will have emptier nests in the upcoming year – we grieve and rejoice with you
And to those who are pregnant with new life, both expected and surprising –we anticipate with you

This Mother’s Day, we walk with you. Mothering is not for the faint of heart and we have real warriors in our midst. We remember you.

To women everywhere, I pray for grace and much joy,
Julie

Parable of The Pencil

The news was fascinating this morning, as a reporter interviewed teachers and students regarding the future of keyboards.  Many of the students argued they could text faster with two fingers than ten using a QWERTY keyboard.  The teachers argued for the necessity of typing skills.  I'd have to say I agree with the adults, but then, keyboarding is in my muscle memory and my fingers tend to be to big and clumsy for texting with any speed whatsoever.

I remember John Gaines this morning, who would point to the pencil in his pocket to say it was the best "computer" he had, and there was no arguing with him.  If he were here today, I would share with him this parable, which would make him laugh I'm sure, but he would understand completely.  And I thought I'd better share it with you before pencils and paper become obsolete!

The allegory comes from South Africa, and was shared with me by Irish priest James Feehan:

The inventor of the pencil addressed his finished product.  "Pencil," he said, "I want you to remember four things.

"First, your goodness and true worth is within you.

"Second, you'll need to be sharpened as you go through your life.

"Third, you'll be in someone else's hand, otherwise you'll make an awful mess.

"Finally, you'll be expected to make a mark."

As for me, I'm glad God invented us "pencils," and I'm particularly glad God is in charge of the eraser, when we make that available.  Otherwise, as broken pencils, we'd be pointless, eh?

Grace and joy,
Julie

Bishop Mueller's Comfort and a Shared Prayer

This has been quite a week.  Numerous deaths of people I admire, especially Brennan Manning, who I give thanks for daily by adopting his name for us ragamuffins in my personal email address, ragamuffinjulie@gmail.com.  Then Boston, West, Oklahoma, and numerous other tragedies have fallen like unrelated but communal dominoes.  Words cannot fully express the sadness, the hope, the heroism of these days.

My friend and former North Texas Conference colleague, Bishop Gary Mueller, wrote the following, and I cannot improve on his sentiments this day:

God, where are you?

It’s been a week of tragedies. Some - like the Boston Marathon bombing - have been intentional in order to bring death, chaos and fear. Others - like the explosion of the fertilizer plant in West, Texas – may have been caused by human error, but people would have done anything to stop it if only they had known. Still others - like the storms in Oklahoma last evening - are simply and sadly the results of humanity being in the path of nature. And, then, there are the countless daily personal tragedies - like the death of children from starvation, sexual abuse, addiction, the breakup of families and terrible illnesses - that never make the news. When any tragedy strikes, you probably ask, “God, where are you in all of this?” Although some people may argue that God is responsible because God allows it to happen, God’s not responsible for any tragedy. God’s not punishing sinful people. God’s not concocting some large-scale teachable moment. God’s not instigating suffering to bring about some greater good. But just because God’s not responsible does not mean that God is not present. Because God is. Fully present. Personally present. Actively present. And this God is inviting you to experience God’s transforming love in the most unexpected ways as love defeats hate, hope replaces despair, healing occurs in the midst of brokenness and life emerges out of the ashes of death.

Thank you, Bishop Mueller.

A prayer that many clergy will be using this weekend is one written for times such as these by Laurence Hull Stookey.  Will you pray it with me today?

Prayer in Times of Great Distress

God, our help and our hope in every time of life:

We bow before you in distress and confusion.

Devastation and death seem to rule your world today.

We know not where to turn, nor even how to pray.

Assure us that you know our thoughts before we think them,

that you accept

petitions that have no words,

prayers that are inarticulate anguish,

even anger in the face of events we do not understand.

Remind us of your presence with Jesus

in his hours of agony,

in the face of abandonment by many whom he trusted,

in the pain of crucifixion,

and even in death itself.

Enable us to know that you do not desert us

but in times of need stand even closer than before.

Comfort those who mourn.

Give hope to those who seem to have lost all hope.

With your healing power, touch any who are injured;

to all medical and rescue workers

give patient endurance, wisdom, and skill.

As you give us opportunity to serve those in need,

grant also generous spirits

and the wise and efficient use of our abilities

in offering aid.

If today our words of praise are mute,

if today we find it easier to curse than to bless,

point us to the empty tomb,

which lies beyond the cross.

Remind us that it may be Friday now,

but in your Providence Sunday’s coming,

and your love will see us through

every darkness,

every doubt,

every desolation.

For you, O God, are our hope and our strength,

an ever present help in time of trouble;

to you we pray through Jesus Christ

who triumphs over all things. Amen.

Written by Laurence Hull Stookey, This Day: A Wesleyan Way of Prayer, Abingdon Press: 2004.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

If I didn’t believe it before today, the only thing worse than waiting at the DMV is waiting at the Comcast Service Center.  At least at the DMV you get to sit down while waiting for your number to appear on the big screen, and they sometimes give you an approximate waiting time.  At Comcast, we had to stand in line, holding unwieldy equipment to turn in, and listen to rude comments from the other side of the counter.  I agreed with my new 5-year-old friend Harmony who stood behind me, wishing we could hear the Loonie Tunes show instead.  At least it was Wylie Coyote, and we could laugh even though we couldn’t hear the explosions or the beep-beeps.

Now I could have chosen to let that ruin my day, but instead I remained curious.  I was curious why a trio of men were trying to turn in equipment which didn’t appear to belong to them; I was curious about the fellow wearing a zoot suit, complete with shiny saddle oxfords and fedora, walking down West End; I was curious about the fast food cashier who remained in excellent humor even though some of her customers were being difficult at best; and I’m even curious as to why I’ve procrastinated working on my taxes until now and will be stuck inside this afternoon rather than outside in this glorious Spring weather crunching numbers.

When all else fails, my mantra these days is “stay curious.”  Within a state of curiosity, you don’t have to judge—by all means, judging negates curiosity every time.  Besides, “curious” makes my eyebrows rise, which usually gets a smile rising from others in the room probably thinking the same thing!  And I’m convinced that the outer edges of my eyebrows are connected to the muscles on the outer corners of my mouth, because I almost always smile too.

It was Paul’s curiosity about Jesus that led to his great faith.  I suspect the curiosity of the disciples and other followers of Christ did the same. It’s often been my curiosity about people of great faith that has led to my own faith journey’s twists and turns.  My curiosity toward just about everyone has bubbled up many conversations about faith journeys, which also opens a path for me to share as well at the points in our paths which intersect.

As we focus the next few weeks on Witness, I encourage you to use your “curious” tools.  It always takes the scary edge off “witness” that sometimes lurks in the shadows.  Trust me, curiosity will open your eyes, your heart, your mind and your doors.  Works every time.

Grace and joy,

Julie