Precious - Present - Presence

Endings and transitions heighten my tendency for reflective pondering - for looking at events (recent and historic) in terms of patterns and meanings - seeing the detail and larger story, and wondering how it all fits into bigger pictures.  Into the meta story.

Truth-naming.  Meaning-making.  Story-telling.  Dream-seeing.  Reality-accepting.   Life-living.

Process.

And as the focus of this current ending and transition is vocational - ministry - much reflection right now involves my pastoral identity and experience.  I sit with memories, recent experiences, questions and assumptions, and ponder what it means to be an effective and successful pastor (while simultaneously wondering if words like effective and successful are even rational descriptors for ministry).

In the midst of  all this reflection, two powerful experiences came into focus:  One is a memory, and the other, an unexpected moment of grace.

The memory:  It is my Service of Installation as Pastor, and Teacher here at Boise First.  At one point during the liturgy, I passed into an experience of non-ordinary reality - I was simultaneously standing in the installation service at every church I had served as Pastor.  Decades of time and thousands of miles separated these experiences, and yet there was a unity - a oneness - about the experiences, even though each one was distinct (yet simultaneous).   It was a powerful moment that rendered me speechless, and the resonance of that moment remains to this day.  The memory returned as I sat during morning prayer and reflected on the meaning of ministry.

The moment of grace:  As I savored this precious memory, my thoughts then turned to my ministry as a pastor, and my mind was flooded with all the categories I (and society) use to evaluate ministerial "performance"- all the markers that are so easily used to determine whether or not ministry is successful.  As my mind raced through an evaluative matrix of quantitative and qualitative metrics (it was as awful as it sounds), it was as if my mind accelerated enough to finally slip out of orbit, and I found myself - suddenly and unexpectedly - in a very quiet and peaceful place.

And in my arms was the baby I baptized last Sunday - his parents were beside me.  And I heard the voice of Wisdom say:  If this were your only act of ministry at Boise First, would it be enough?  Without hesitation, I answered "yes."

And then I was in my previous church, looking into eyes of a teen who spend many hours talking to me about painful matters of the heart.  And the voice asked again:  If this had been your only act of ministry in this church, would it be enough?  Of course.

Slowly, I revisited each church I had served, and in each case there was a face - a person - a story of a time I had entered into the reality of life with someone entrusted to my care.  And each time, I could see that this one experience, even if it had been the only experience, was enough.  It was not about how many of them had happened (quantitative) nor was it about the outcome of these encounters (qualitative). The power was the encounter - the presence of God inspiriting our presence with one another.

As these faces and stories filled my heart, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that ministry happens in moments of presence and care, and that the world of quantitative evaluative metrics is rubbish when applied to ministry.  It is like trying to create a subtle water color painting using neon spray paint and sledge hammers.  You can create a painting - but the tools do not allow you to capture the essence and soul of the desired experience.

Ministry is lived and celebrated in the moments - with individuals, families and communities.  God inspirits and abides in these moments.  It is where God's realm opens and where love lives - Holy Ground.

The witness of Rabbi Jesus throughout the gospels is one moment after another of encounters - of a ministry of presence -  meeting people in their present moment and creating space for healing and wholeness - for honesty and transformation.  It was always one moment at a time - with real people and all the messy and complicated stuff of life.  

Ministry is like a beautiful strand of precious beads - cherished one bead/one person/one encounter at a time -  strung together in love and held in a reality encompassing but greater than the present moment - part of something greater than itself - held in very heart of God.  This is my pearl of great price - worthy of the sacrifice.

Thank you, loving God, for the gift of remembrance and refreshment.  Tonight I will rest, and then joyfully continue my trek through the wilderness.

With a song in my heart,
Kim

Water and Honey from the Rock

"The Spiritual Life is a life in which we wait, actively present to the moment, expecting that new things will happen to us, new things that are far beyond our own imagination or prediction.  That, indeed, is a very radical stance in a world preoccupied with control."
                           - Henri Nouwen, "The Path of Waiting"

Today was a day of refreshment, as I stumbled on both water and honey from the rock.  Both were needed, as the previous week's journey had me quite parched.  And hungry.  Sustenance was in short supply last week - a very difficult stretch of wilderness was crossed (slowly) one step at a time.  When the red-wings gathered this morning to sing me awake, they found me very tired from my journey.  But they never waiver - always cheering me on to the next step on the path.  They sang and called while I showered and dressed, and then commented incessantly as I took one last look at the sermon and filed it in my backpack.  They chattered and clamored as I settled into my car, and sang me on my way into the unknown that is Sunday worship.

And there I found unexpected honey and water for my journey.  The water flowed as the congregation stepped in to help a young mother sing a prayer to her precious newly baptized baby boy, and the honey sprang forth from the rock when a young boy proudly declared that he was autistic (and cute, too).  I watched truth, love, and tenderness held by this congregation, and all the while I could see God's arms holding the entire moment in tender embrace.  Holy ground.

Refreshed, I journey on.  It would be dishonest of me not to admit that I would love to have GPS coordinates for my current location in the wilderness, as well as clear google map directions to where this journey ends.   But this journey brings neither.  Instead, it provides sustenance when least expected, and from unlikely sources.

The sun is still up, and it is a beautiful spring day - even here in the wilderness.

Walking on,
Kim

Two Geese, a Roof Ridge, and Settling in for the Long Haul

"I wish there were shortcuts to wisdom and self-knowledge:  cuter abysses or three-day spa wilderness experiences.  Sadly, it doesn't work that way.  I so resent this."  Anne Lamott, "Stitches"

*****

I was once told that it wasn't technically an experience in the wilderness if it looked familiar and came with a roadmap...or a Starbucks drive-thru.  That simply experiencing discomfort, or putting half of a foot outside of the beloved comfort zone doth not a trek into the wilderness make.

Pity.  I could sure use some landmarks right now.  And that was my second clue that I had crossed into a thin space that holds the possibility for transformation.  The first clue was the inner desire to run screaming in the opposite direction toward what is familiar and known.

Definitely thin space.  Liminal space.  Misty.  Foggy.  Steeped in possibility.  All I have to do is breathe deeply and settle in for the journey and stop fighting it - stop focusing on the feeling of panic rising deep in my brain that connects immediately to my gut and pumps up the adrenaline and sends me running toward where I think the exit might be -  but it is misty - foggy - and I can't find the exit, so in a panic I start looking for signs of the familiar...signs to lead me back to what I know...

...and that is not helpful (stop).   I remember this from prior experiences in the wilderness - you can exhaust yourself trying to run back, and waste heaps of time in the process.  And going back is not really your heart's desire.  So you stop looking for signs that take you back, and instead (after a rest), start making peace with the wilderness.  I remember - you do not leave until after you have settled in for a stay.  Sadly, Annie is correct - there are no three-day spa wilderness experiences.

The journey is lonely, so I've asked John the Baptist to keep me company - whether he does so as a saint, story or root metaphor is up to him.  I want an experienced traveling companion as I get acclimated to this wilderness, and he seems to know his way around.  He is not afraid of the real - in real time - and has no need to pretty it up.  He lets it be - and takes it right back to the basics.  Repentance - change of direction - change of heart - metanoia.  He is not so interested in hearing me carry on about why I find this time in the wilderness to be distressing - after all, I signed on for this.  It is the desire of my heart to deepen my relationship with God - to live more fully in Spirit - to reflect more deeply that which is Christ.  That happens here.

I feel the fear - that is real.  And trust me, I hold no judgment against the people of Israel as they looked back over their shoulders and longed for Egypt - I get it.  But as I let those feeling pass - and they do - I start to settle in to the stark beauty of this place of passage.  And I know that all is well.

Time to look and listen from my heart - and to allow this to unfold, in its own time, and in its own way.  (Which means I am not in control - and I truly hate that).  But I do have control over some very important choices:

- I can choose to release the panic and stop racing towards the exit
- I can choose to settle in to this place of transformation, even though it is so - so - wild
- I can choose to put into practice all I have been learning about a balanced, contemplative life, and
     allow these lessons to sustain me on this journey
- I can trust the process, and stop searching for the map leading out of this wilderness - I will
     emerge when it is time
- I can open my heart to the many ways that God lovingly "gentles" me through this time of passage
- I can be.  Now.

The early morning drive to church was beautiful, with an amazing rosy sky before me, and my head full of thoughts.  "Will I know what to do, or where to go?  Will I know which way to go?  Will I see clearly?"  As these thoughts raced on their familiar circuit through my brain, that quiet voice in my heart told me to look to my left.  Off to my left was a hotel - and high on top of the roof ridge stood two Canada Geese, surveying all that was before them.  And the voice said, "when it is time, you will see clearly."  And I laughed -  these two webbed creatures on top of a hotel roof ridge taking it all in - picking the right next spot to land.  The voice said, "you've got this."  I took a deep breath and said, "I've got this."  Then I added, "we've got this" -

- this is not a journey to make alone.

Resting for the night,
Kim

Lenten Road Trip

One of the few characteristics I shared with my father was a love of long distance driving.  My mother hated riding in the car, and made sure that she could survive within a 10 block radius of home.    Dad, on the other hand, loved the open road, and very much wanted to be a long-haul trucker (mom said no).  In later life he settled for short-haul, and a tow truck.  He let me drive the tow truck once - I loved it.  I'm not sure if one can have a genetic predisposition for such things, but this is one of the only characteristics from dad that I can celebrate.

I felt dad keeping me company today on my long drive into the unknown, especially during the unexpected snowstorm ("Sissy, keep going - if you stop you'll just get stuck").  On the one cross-country trip I took with dad, he used the same approach to deal with a flash flood and tornado - he scared me half to death, and dined on that story for decades!  And we didn't get stuck - we just kept going.  Every time I hear the country song with the refrain "When you're going through hell, keep on going" I think of that trip, and dad - who never had the sense to stop (which was his undoing as often as it was his salvation).

Almost any day is a great day to be under the big Western sky.  I love the West!  I may have been born in Buffalo, New York, but my soul belongs to the Rockies.  Recently I have been wound "as tight as a coiled spring," and this drive was just what was needed to start the process of unwinding.  A plane flight doesn't provide the same soul medicine as hours of sagebrush and wide open spaces.  Even hitting that unexpected snowstorm did little to dampen my mood.  Although hours of country music would please dad, I remembered to bring cds and let Joni, Pema and Croz keep me company (Joni has written the soundtrack for most of my life, Pema is an incredible teacher, and Croz gives me hope that one's creativity can improve with age - and in his case, sobriety).  The first half of Pema Chodron's new teaching was wonderful, but I put it on towards the end of the trip, and had to turn it off when I found myself relaxing way too much - back on went the loud country station!  Dad was once again happy, and I became re-acquainted with the seven deadly sins as reinterpreted by Nashville.

A "discernment road trip" is a unique way to begin the Lenten journey, but you play the card's you're dealt (so says a country song).  Just yesterday on Ash Wednesday I meditated on Chaplain Scott Clark's reflection on the following Franciscan blessing:

"The Blessing of Discomfort - May God bless us with discomfort - at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we may live deeply and from the heart."

I shared his words at our Ash Wednesday gathering, and found that they were still rumbling inside my heart today as I drove those "miles of endless highways."  Although a large part of the vocational discernment process involves sensing whether or not a congregation and I might be a good match,  that sensing is best done by the heart (assisted by the head).  Church profiles, statistical breakdowns, mission and vision statements, only tell part of the story.  The mind is gifted at seeing patterns and trends; the heart is attuned to essence and Spirit.  In past vocational decisions my mind has made the decisions (either/or); this time, mind is in service of heart (both/and - with heart encompassing mind).  Ouch - I feel a pinch even as I write those words - discomfort over departing from the familiar as I enter unknown territory.  Let the "Lenten Discomforting Process" begin!

My Lenten disciplines this year?  There are several that relate to being a good steward, but the most important one involves intentionally living deeply from my heart - listening through my heart - speaking through my heart - trusting my heart - sharing my heart - learning from my heart.  I can think of no better way to follow in the footsteps of Rabbi Jesus, who lived deeply from his heart, and thus was led deeply into the heart of God.

To be - to dwell - to rest - in the heart of God.  Could that be the ultimate destination of our Lenten Road Trip?  Of our human experience?

If you haven't set out on your Lenten journey, don't wait.  Set out now, in your own way, with your own wonderings.  Make use of the many great resources available to us.  Allow God to set the itinerary and to be both your travel companion, and your destination.  Notice those places of discomfort, let them be your teachers, and see how they might lead you through your own heart and into the heart of God.

Blessings for the journey,
Kim

PS - Most "memorable" stretch of paved road:  The right lane from past Burley, Idaho to Snowville, Utah - a marvel of multi-level/multi-texture pavement.  Best avoided in heavy rain.