Virtual Wedding Singers

I have HAD IT!!! Starting about five years ago I began to notice a trend toward couples wanting some sort of pre-recorded music as part of their wedding ceremony. At my previous church, we did not have the technology for this, so it was easy to say "sorry, no."

But my current church does have a CD player than can play through the sound system. We purchased it primarily to be able to record sermons, choir music, etc. on CD--the fact that we could play CDs that way in the sanctuary was an afterthought.

I've worked with several couples that had some song or other they wanted to play. If it was appropriate for a Christian wedding ceremony, I agreed. Then more and more soloists for weddings were showing up with a "karaoke" track recording they wanted to use as their accompaniment.

But last night took the prize. For six months of meeting and planning, the bride's cousin has been lined up to play piano for the processional and recessional. But the bride showed up at the rehearsal last night with the news that there had been a death in her cousin's husband's family and she would not be able to play after all. They had it all covered though--she handed me a CD with pre-recorded music to substitute.

I was NOT PLEASED, but faced with the prospect of scrapping family plans to spend the rest of last night and this morning beating the bushes for an organist, (I alreay knew ours was not available), I reluctantly agreed. But I think it makes the whole ceremony feel like a tacky, early 80's music video.

I'm about to mount the dias and declare Pastor Rebel's Complete Ban on Pre-Recorded Music during weddings. (I think we could do this based on legal issues alone. Aren't there penalties for playing commercial recordings in public without permission?) Our wedding coordinator says she will back me up on this and gladly. But before issuing the decree, I thought I'd check in with you all and see how you are handling this.

One Rig to Rule Them All

My husband has a new job. Same industy, different company. For the first time ever, he will have a company vehicle. He does not get to pick: he will inherit the one that was used by the guy he is replacing who is retiring. The vehicle in question is a big, white SUV.

Now, you have to understand that for the 14+ years that I have known him, my husband has never uttered the phrase "sports utility vehicle" without a certain modifier preceding it--sometimes two certain modifiers, the first profane, the second obscene. And now it turns out he will be driving one on a regular basis.

He took it out for a trial run the other morning--to drop the kids off at daycamp enroute to dropping me off at the church and then on to a meeting of his own. After we dropped the kids off, we came to an intersection with Yield sign. We patiently waited until it was our turn because, as my hubby said, "I'm not going to be like all the other SUV drivers who think the rules don't apply to them."

"I don't know," I said. "I think it may be like the Ring of Power. You think you're different, but eventually it turns you."

We shall see.

Hard Landing

Yikes. Sometimes it doesn't pay to come home from vacation. While I was gone, three of our elderly members died and there was a major tragedy in the Presbyterian church in the next town over. Please be in prayer for that congregation. They lost three teenagers and the wife of their youth director in a terrible road accident coming back from their summer mission trip. As a veteran of many such trips, I always said, tongue in cheek, that it was a miracle that we all got home alive. Or something.

On a lighter note, both cats survived our absence, though Balrog the kitten got an eye infection from his either his mother or sibling to whose home he returned for the ten days of our trip.

Finally--Eight Random Things

I sucessfully achieved escape velocity at around midnight last night and am now officially on vacation! Now I can respond to the several of you who tagged me days and days ago for the eight random things meme.

Eight Random Things

1. I can't remember the rules to card games. Except for War, you will have to tell me how to play again every time. There is a card playing gene in my family tree that seems to get passed down in the ON or OFF position. For me it is definetly OFF. My Dad is a duplicate bridge fanatic and was quite the poker player in his youth. One of my great-grandmothers reportedly died of a heart attack after a very successful night of card playing. Me, I'm lucky if I can get through a round of gin rummy without embarassing myself.

2. I can wiggle my ears.

3. I sort of never graduated from high school. My family was living overseas and I'd attended three different high schools which all had very different programs. I had learned tons, but did not have a set of credits that added up to a diploma in any given system. So my parents hatched the brilliant plan that I should simply get my GED, tuck my SAT scores under my arm and apply to college for the next semester. I started college in January of what would, under normal circumstances, have been my Senior year in an American high school.

4. This scheme only worked because my Dad had been college buddies with the man who had become Director of Admissions at their alma mater, (which would become my alma mater as well.) So although I usually am only too willing to jump on the bandwagon when criticisms of our current president start flying, when folks start talking about how he only got into the college he got into because of who his parents knew, I keep my mouth shut.

5. I'm the oldest child in my family, but also the shortest. What's up with that?

6. There is also a neatness gene in my family tree that gets passed on in the ON or OFF position. For me it is OFF.

7. I have had twelve cats in my lifetime. I figured this out the other night when my daughter asked me how many cats I'd had. Here's to: CAT, Pussyfoots, Licorice, Gingham, Alexander, Ralph, Spider, Prince Later in the Week, Precious, Lilith, Elizabeth, and Balrog.

8. This list does not include the kittens of Licorice or Gingham who passed through the household quickly before going to new homes. It does not include various neighbor cats who were part of our lives during times when my family or I could not have a cat of our own: Orange Blossom and Black Cat in North Carolina, Marmalade from England or Souvlaki in Greece. It also doesn't include Schniklefritz and Shmuzel, my German Professor's cats who I lived with the summer I sublet her apartment while she was in Germany.

If you haven't already played this game, TAG! You're it.

Nailed

So. I finally had my first pedicure. I dealt with the guilt factor by making it a mother-daughter quality time bonding experience. (My husband and son had gone to a Dodger's game as a father's day weekend adventure, so we needed an equivalent "girl thing".)

I must say it was something like the first time I went into a Starbucks. Just as a dozen years ago I didn't know the difference between a Latte, a Breve and a Chai , I stood staring at the options/prices list completely bewildered by a foreign vocabulary. What is a Full Set Crystal and how does it differ from a Full Set Silk? What could a Pink and White Fill be? What is a Spa Ped.w/Parf.? We stuck with what we knew: a plain manicure/pedicure. My daughter chose bright blue polish.

The other eye-opening bit was the number of men in the shop. Regular looking guys--one there with his own young daughter. I guess it just makes sense in a part of the country where we all go around in sandals a good chunk of the time that everyone wants their feet to look good. And Lord knows I've seen enough guys with SCARY looking feet. Still, my inner midwesterner was exclaiming, "Well, I'll be jiggered!"

All in all an educational experience.

Now, does anyone have a copy of "Nail-Shop Lingo for Dummies?"

In which I discover my true calling

While the people at my house have been busy with "end of the school year" festivities, I snuck out to the movies. I now understand my true vocation and identity: SPIDER CAT.

The Mom of the House says she is very sorry she has not been posting much or responding to your kind "tags" for the Eight Random Things meme. She has been really busy lately. The people are going on vacation soon. I'll bet she will catch up with you then.

Off to practice my web-casting!

Balrog the Kitten

Hysterical Relief

I'm very relieved that the new passport rules have been temporarily suspended. I was this close to cancelling my plane reservations to Canada for week after next in despair that my new passport would not arrive in time. When I went on-line to print out my passport application receipt, I accidently typed in assport instead of passport.

Well, you can tell it is late Friday afternoon because my colleague and I just about expired from laughing about this and snickering about people we know whose assports need to be confiscated.
Good thing everyone else has left the office for the day.

Ambushed

Sympathy seems to be leaning toward my adversary, so I think you all need to see what I am dealing with on a daily basis.

Here I am, trying to enjoy a quiet breakfast. But Noooooooooo. I have to watch my back because that damn kitten is lying in wait on the bookshelf.

You see? What kind of a life is this?

Elizabeth the Cat

A Little TOO Ordinary, Perhaps

My sermon yesterday was a plea for folks to be open to God speaking to us in extra-ordinary ways during Ordinary Time.

Five minutes after the service was over, several sharp-eyed members noticed that we had what appeared to be a big plumbing disaster in the works. The cap of one of the outside clean-outs had blown clear off and sewage was belching out into the parking lot. Our Sunday custodian pretty much is just a set up and clean up guy--not a diagnose and repair guy. After some head-scratching and some half-hearted searching for a plumber's snake, we all concluded that the only reasonable course of action at that point was to call Rescue Rooter.

They promised to send someone within the hour. So I settled down on a bench at a discrete distance to await his arrival. I could hear the Spanish service beginning and blissed out on their singing for a while. In due course the Rooter guy arrived and I spent the first Sunday of Ordinary Time watching him run a 90 foot snake through our sewer line. Then, as if that were not exciting enough he offered to run a free camera through the line to see what was really going on down there. Roots, of course. Growing through the offset joints in our fifty year old terra cotta sewer pipes.

As I drove home two hours after our service had ended I could almost hear God chortling, "Was that ORDINARY enough for yah, Honey?"

My Turn

Hi. I'm a kitten. My name is Balrog. The Boy of the House came up with that idea for a name while he was playing his Lord of the Rings computer game. The Mom of the House said it was a good name for me because I need a fearsome name to give me confidence in facing down The Big Cat Who Hates Me.

I don't get that cat at all. Why is she so grumpy? I've done everything I know how to be friendly but all she does is hiss at me and whap me on the nose.

But just wait. The Dad of the House says he can tell by looking at my paws that one day I will be A Huge Cat. Then she will be sorry she was so mean to me.

Balrog the Kitten

Blessing the Un-confirmed

Hi all--
Have any of you developed good ways to bless/affirm/comission kids who have gone through the whole confirmation class process and choose not to be confirmed?

Because I want the youth to see confirmation as a serious commitment, I always have told them it's okay to say, "I'm not sure, or I'm not ready." Because I want to honor their God-given freedom and integrity, I've always said, "This class constitutes an invitation. You are free to say, "no".

Yet it is hard to avoid there being some stigma attached to the kids who choose not to join. Their parents and other adults in the congregation wonder what went wrong. Was it the class? The teacher? The whole idea of confirmation itself? One of the grad students that has been helping lead the confirmation group this year went on a bit of a rant at Session last night saying essentially that, "We disenfranchise the honest kids and embrace the ones that just go with the flow."

I don't agree completely with his diagnosis. There are some kids who just go with the flow and don't take the whole thing very seriously, but there are also kids who do see confirmation as a meaningful commitment--one they are making freely and joyfully. I also don't think that all the kids who say "no" are brave non-conformists. Some are, but others make that choice to disoblige their parents, or differentiate themselves from a sibling, or because the guy they have a crush on thinks Christianity is lame.

Here the heart of the question, I think. How do we privately and publicly affirm the choice of the kids who say "This isn't the right choice for me right now," yet still somehow convey to them and the gathered community that, ultimately, it DOES matter whether one chooses to be a follower of Jesus or not.

How have you worked this out at your place?

The Invasion: Day 9

1. Fellow Cat Bloggers,
2. I'm writing as well as I can with the foul stentch of KITTEN everywhere in the air. At first they kept the little ankle scratcher confined in LIttle Girl's bedroom, but in the last few days, they've let it roam loose in the house.

It has made friendly overtures, which I have most emphatically rejected. I've taken to spending most of my day outside. So far they have not allowed the furry little interloper to invade that portion of my territory. But it's probably only a matter of time. Sigh.

Elizabeth the Cat

Friday Five RGBP Meet-up edition

One of the stated goals of the RevGalBlogPals is to apply for grants to support such things as an International get together of folks associated with the ring. Today's Friday Five asks us to dream about that event.

1. What would the meeting be like? (Continuing Ed? Retreat? Outside Speakers? Interest Groups? Workshops? Hot Stone Massages? Pedicures? Glorified Slumber Party?)

Probably needs to have something other than just support groups if we are to justify the trip to our various boards/congregations. Obvious topics for workshops or speakers would be technology in ministry and issues particular to women in ministry. We probably have folks within the ring that could lead the workshops, thus eliminating high fees for outside speakers. Workshop leaders could have their registration and room fee comped.

2. When in 2008 might you be able to attend? January? Shortly after Easter? Summer? Fall? Some other time?
Could we tag it on to the beginning or end of some other even that lots of us might be going to anyway, like the Festival of Homiletics? I don't know when/where that is happening in 2008, but if the RGBP event was a two day affair just before or just after, then we'd only have to buy one plane ticket and take one block of time away from home/work. And there is already a tradition of RGBPs meeting up around that event.

3. Where would your dream meeting location be? (Urban Hotel? Rural Retreat Center? New England Camp? Southwestern Fantasy Hotel? Far away from civilization? Nearby Outlets or Really Great Thrift Stores?)

If we don't want huge shuttle and/or rental car costs in addition to registration and airline tickets, it probably ought to be an airport hotel or a city that has really good cab service or public transit to the airport.

4. Who would make a great keynote speaker? (That's if #1 leads us in that direction.)

As I said, I think we could find leadership within the ring.

Anything else?

We'll need to address the confidentiality/anonymity issue. Enough of us have had problems with individuals or congregations having strong negative reactions to discovering a pastor's blog that this will be a concern I think. Hypothetical nightmare situation: RGBP on the plane on the way home to seatmate, "Oh I was just at the most wonderful conference of clergy-bloggers. I met a woman from Xville who writes the most hysterical blog posts about the dumb things her clerk of session does. . . . " Seatmate: "That's interesting. I'm the clerk of Session in Xville." So we'll need to think about how to handle this.

Joy and Harmony

I told my seven and nine year old children that they need to set a good example for our Big Cat and the new kitten by working hard to get along and resolve their conflicts peaceably. Think they'll buy that????

Naked Acolytes

Well not entirely.

We have a rota of acolytes who light the worship candles at the opening of worship. There is also a rota of acolyte parents who are supposed to make sure the kids are robed, the lighters properly wicked, etc. before the service begins.

This past Sunday, the two acolytes were 13 year old girls who are long time veterans of acolyte duty. Given that the girls are old pros, the parent in charge decided the girls could handle things on their own. They certainly did. They made the unilateral, last minute decision that they would not wear their robes. This would not have been sooo bad, except that both of them were wearing the shortest possible skirts that one could still call skirts not handkercheifs. And since acolyte duty here involves reaching up to light the taller candles---well, I'll let your imaginations work on that one for a while.

In working through how this happened, I encountered an attitude that seems to run rampant these days--even in my own family sometimes. It goes like this, "I want my kids to come to church. They don't really like church very much, so please don't make this harder for me by requiring anything that might make church more irksome for them than it already is. " Like asking them to dress appropriately.

In my last church, I made one kid go across the street to his Aunt's house and change when he showed up in a Hooters shirt. Don't think I could do that here for a variety of reasons.

Have you run into this attitude? How have you handled it?

The Care and Feeding of Parish Luddites

How far are we supposed to extend ourselves to accomdate folks who choose not to adopt new technologies?

We have a handful of folks in our congregation who "don't do e-mail". I'm not talking about folks who can't do e-mail due to age, infirmity, or financial straights, I'm talking about active, intelligent folks with sufficient financial resources who simply don't like having "an electronic tether" as one of them puts it. The problem comes up when one of these folks is part of a group at church, (Session, Deacons, Bible Study, Committee, etc.), in which everyone but that person prefers to communicate by e-mail.

Case in point: One of our Luddites is on Committee Z. She has informed the committee chair and the committee as a whole that whenever an electronic communication is sent pertaining to the work of this committee, someone needs to call her with the info, or send a hard copy of the message if it isn't particularly time -sensitive. The chair remembers to do this about half the time. The other committee members rarely remember to do this at all. Therefore, she is often left out of the loop with regards to changes in meeting dates, background material for committee business, or quick polls regarding minor decisions that need to get made between meetings.

After church yesterday, she told me she is going to quit the committee since the rest of the group "obviously" doesn't value her input since they consistently forget to include her.

Am I way off base to think this is her problem and not ours? If you choose to opt out of a form of communication that the vast majority of folks have adopted, don't you need to take the responsibility for the natural consequences of that choice?

What do you think?

Mother's Day invasion

Oh no. I could swear I heard a tiny "mew" coming from Little Girl's bedroom. That would explain why they put me out on the patio last night with a WHOLE BOWL full of wet food. (They usually dole that stuff out a couple of tablespoons at a time, like it was pure gold or something. Sheesh.)

Excuse me while I go gag up some fur balls.

Elizabeth the Cat

Four Rev Gals go Star Stalking

Yesterday we had a couple of hours of free time in the afternoon. We had heard that some famous people live in the gated neighborhood down the hill from the retreat center, (the same gate you have to go through to get to the retreat center.) One of the staff here helped us out. She stood with us at the overlook in the retreat center garden that looks down over the canyon and pointed out who lives where. Then we changed into our sneakers to take a walk.

We walked past Mel's house. No Mel. We walked past Olivia's house. No Olivia. We walked past Brittany's house. No Brittany--but lots of not very well hidden security cameras and five City of Malibu sanitation department containers on which were written "No Trash". Giggling hysterically about this, we decided we'd had enough star stalking and headed down the back road to main highway and beach. Just as we crossed the little bridge across the duck pond, a white Jaguar passed us going the other way. The driver had his windows rolled down and smiled a big smile at us, waved, and said, "hi!".

Dick. Van. Dyke.

Prince Philip story

So, I'm at a Franciscan Retreat Center in Malibu for a couple of days. What are the Franciscans doing in Malibu you ask? Well, apparently they arrived well before the movie stars and obtained their present real estate here back when no one could figure out why anyone would want to live so far outside the city on hilly land that is essentially unfarmable.
I'm here for the penultimate gathering of a pastor-theologian group that is nearing the end of its three year, Lilly funded cycle.

Our guest theologian for this gathering will be going here in a few months. This prompted him to tell this story about Prince Phillip who, as you know, has been visiting the U.S.

A colleague of Guest Theologian was at an event at the University of Edinburgh at which Prince Phillip was also present. They were introduced. Prince Phillip, well schooled in the art of polite conversation, asked GT's colleague, "What has brought you here to the University?" "Well, " he replied, " I am a systematic theologian. I'm doing some research here."

"Ah," said the prince. "And what does a systematic theologian do?"
"We try to demonstrate how all the bits and pieces of Christian doctrine hang together."
Moment of silence from Prince P.
Then, "I would have thought the Creeds did that."

Which is either incredibly dense or bloody brilliant.

Reprieve

No kitten yet. The little fuzz balls are apparently still to young to leave their mother. But there has been a lot of cooing about "the little grayish one" and I've overheard some conversations about names. (All seem Harry Potter related).

So what shall it be comrades? A call to claws? A cuddling strike? Litter box non-compliance? What resistance strategies have you found effective?

Elizabeth the Cat

P.S. I had thought of asking my Royal namesake, who I understand is in country this week, for assistance. But all reports are that she is a dog person. Hmmph.

Friday Funny

How to tell if a Catholic is driving too fast . . .

There oughta be a law---

----- that if it is even one minute past 9:00 p.m. you cannot say, "I think we need to have a discussion about our real purpose as a Committee . . ."

I'm just sayin'. (Yawns. Reaches for the coffee pot.)

If you need me, I'll be in Bermuda . . .

A member of my church just forwarded this to me.

When Doug Smith went to Bermuda this month, he left preaching duties to his favorite substitute: his PowerPoint program. Smith says he felt better leaving the sermon to his PowerPoint than to his youth pastor, who has "made controversial remarks" in the main service before, or his associate pastor who will be busy with other important Sunday morning duties like stuffing bulletins.

Smith programmed the PowerPoint to deliver a 25-minute sermon, slide by slide. It included a closing prayer which some staff members found sterile. "If he can’t trust me to sub for him once a year, why do I work here?" said one pastor who asked not to be identified. After worship time, Smith’s PowerPoint presentation began and the congregation sat quietly, reading each new screen and taking notes. The PowerPoint even told a few jokes, spinning in the punchline. Smith says he worked hours to get the timing right and programmed his pauses down to the quarter-second. "Not to boast, but I have a way with PowerPoint," he says. "It’s like an instrument. When you play it well, people notice." The final slide read, "Go with God! See you next week!"

People were mostly surprised that the sermon felt like Smith was actually there. "Everything he preaches is with PowerPoint anyway," says one member. "The only thing we were missing was him standing up there pressing the button. Maybe we should just hire the PowerPoint." •

Their out to trick us fer sure

Didn't we all say early daylight savings time would be bad news?

Quick Poll

For weeks my kids have been telling me about the great things their classes are preparing for Open House night at their school. Son's class is making fantastic art, daughter's class is doing a musical playlet about rainforest creatures in which she is playing a python with a solo.

I wanted to be sure I didn't schedule a meeting for the same night, so about ten days ago I asked my daughter's teacher, "Now when is Open House?"

"The last Wednesday of May," she told me. Whew! Safe. No meetings scheduled on May 30th.

Aha! BUT--today the May school newsletter came home announcing that everyone should save the date for Open House on -------wait for it-----May 23rd. See--there are five Wednesdays in May this year. Ms. Teacher got mixed up and said "the last Wednesday" because in most cases the fourth Wednesday of a month would be the last Wednesday, but not this year.

May 23rd is Session night. Do I a) ask 18 other people to reschedule, b)ask our Associate Pastor to moderate the meeting, even though there are a few things coming up on the docket that I feel queasy about not being there for, c)miss Open House?

Does This Ever Happen to You?

You have a hard time getting to sleep Saturday night. All the moving parts of the coming Sunday morning are chasing around in your head. The ones that have been well thought through and carefully planned now seem heavy with potential for catastrophe. Your overactive brain also surfaces a dozen minor details that have not been attended to and will need emergency triage the instant you arrive at church the next morning. It's all you can do to stop yourself from getting up to phone the people who will need to help salvage the situation. If it's really bad, you may get up and send panicky e-mails in hopes that folks will read them upon awakening. The sermon that seemed adequate when you pushed the print button this afternoon is now revealed to be the worst sermon ever in the history of preaching. Or perhaps you decided to go with an old sermon from another time and place. While this decision seemed utterly reasonable last Wednesday, you now realize that you are, in fact, the laziest pastor in Christendom, entirely unworthy of your pay. You should go back to waitressing in a BBQ joint. At least there you did an honest day's work.

When you finally fall asleep, it is to several hours of anxiety dreams: you oversleep, you can't find a clock with the correct time, you forget to get dressed before leaving for church, you can't find your sermon, you forget the important meeting before worship, the car is behaving strangely--it won't make that left turn to get to the street the church is on, you can't find your office key, you need to call someone from church but you can't get the phone to work properly, worship has begun but no one is paying any attention, you are standing in the pulpit totally nude--has anyone noticed?

You wake up exhausted and anxious and it's only 6:30 a.m.

Not that this ever happens to me. Nope.

Urgent Miaow for Assistance

Psst. Shh. I have snuck to the computer to send you all an URGENT message. My family have been saying the 'K' word. Yes, k-k-k-kitten. That babysitter lady, who I thought was my friend, has a passle of the horrible creatures at her house. They are going to see them later this afternoon. See. Yeah, right. Like, "Warning: Coming Soon to Your Personal Feline Territory, one usurping, fluffly little intruder."

My fellow cat bloggers. You must come to my aid. Bend all your psychic cat energy toward preventing this from happening. Or, if that fails, help me escape.

Elizabeth the Cat

Half Jewish

Somehow I missed this book when it was first published. I stumbled across is recently and would definetly recommend it as an enjoyable read for anyone who, like me, is half Jewish. The authors are an intermarried couple raising a half Jewish daughter. They concede right up front that according to Jewish law there is no such thing as being half Jewish. You either are--because your mother is Jewish or you converted--or you aren't. However, they argue passionately that culturally, psychologically, genetically, even spiritually there is absolutely such a thing as being half Jewish. I have to agree.

My Dad was born Jewish, survived the Holocaust, then after a brief stint in what was still Palestine at that point, he and his Mom came to the U.S. My grandmother packed him off to Catholic boarding school and changed their fairly recognizably Jewish last name to an Italiantized variation. (She was Russian, but had lived in Italy for a long time before my Dad was born.) About ten years later my Dad met my Presbyterian Mom and the rest, as they say, is history.

When I was growing up my Dad was active in the Presbyterian churches we attended. At home we celebrated Christian holidays, not Jewish ones. However, for a good chunk of my childhood, we lived in small southern towns where Jews were few and far between. Even though my Dad had converted, the Jewish families we knew often included us in their holiday celebrations. We weren't exactly kosher, but at least we knew what Homentashn were and why a joke about the president of the college where they all worked that involved the words "schlemiel" and "tuches" was hilarious. When my high school class read The Diary of Anne Frank one of my classmates pointed out, "Hey, she looks just like you!" She didn't. Not really. She just looked Jewish. And I did too.

Sometimes when church life gets really unpleasant, either locally or nationally, I hear a little voice in my ear that sometimes sounds like my grandmother and sometimes like Moses himself. It whispers, "Hey. You don't HAVE to hang out with these crazy-ass Christians. You've got another option." In fact, several people in my life have asked if I couldn't just as readily be Rabbi Rebel rather than Pastor Rebel. And I always say, "Jesus and shrimp curry. That's all that keeps me on this side of the line."

Break a Leg

Yesterday was opening day for the production of The Wizard of Oz in which my daughter plays a munchkin. As I was driving her to the theater early in the morning, I was trying to explain the custom of saying "Break a Leg!" to an actor about to perform.

She didn't get it. "But why would breaking your leg be good luck? Who would do your part if you broke your leg?" I let the matter drop.

When I picked her up that afternoon, she was near tears. While eating her lunch backstage, she had lost a tooth--then literally lost the tooth. She had enlisted the help of castmates to search for it, but to no avail. She was distraught, because she has the other teeth she's lost collected in a "tooth safe" she was given by her school when she lost her first tooth in kindergarten. When we got home, we dumped out the contents of her lunch bag and sifted through carefully. There, in the crumbs at the bottom of her bag of pretzels, was the missing tooth. Great relief.

I think from now on, the good luck wishes for those in our family with theatrical aspirations will be, "Lose a Tooth!"

Fencing the Font

It happened again. A member of the congregation called asking about baptism for their grandchild. The grandparents are relatively active in our church. The parents of the beloved grandchild are not members of any church. The young family will be visiting next month. Could we baptize the baby?

According to Presbyterian polity, no. We can't. The Book of Order says:

When a child is being presented for Baptism, ordinarily the parent(s) or one(s) rightly exercising parental responsibility shall be an active member of the congregation. Those presenting children for Baptism shall promise to provide nurture and guidance within the community of faith until the child is ready to make a personal profession of faith and assume the responsibilities of active church membership.
A session may also consider a request for the baptism of a child from a Christian parent who is an active member of another congregation.

I've been known to stretch this pretty far. I've baptized children whose grandparents have been bringing them to Sunday school and other church activities. Since these kids are in town, the grandparents can undertake their "nurture in Christian community" and church members will know them and have opportunities to fulfill their part of the baptismal promises.

But kids who live hundreds of miles away and whose parents aren't part of any church? Even an extremely broad reading of the BOO doesn't stretch that far, as I read it.

Yet the grandparents are always upset. I've had one set of grandparents leave the congregation over this years ago in another place. "How can you deny baptism to this precious infant--regardless of what their parents do or don't believe?" "What if the wonderful spiritual experience of having their child baptized would be the one thing that would draw this young couple back into the life of the church?" At this point the grandparents are usually not willing or able to hear an exposition of the Presbyterian understanding of baptism, they are just pissed off. Especially if they've already started planning the christening party before they called me.

There are also Presbyterian churches who totally ignore this rule and go ahead and baptize in these situations. I've had that thrown in my face several times: "Well the Smiths go to Down the Road Pres. Church and they had their little grandchild baptized last month--so we know that you COULD do this if you really WANTED to. . ."

What do you do about baptizing grandchildren at your place?

Dorothy at Last

This week my daughter is in a production of The Wizard of Oz. She is one munchkin among dozens. She hoped, hoped, hoped to be one of the Lullaby League munchkins, but though she progressed through several auditions, she did not make the final cut.

This follows my own Wizard of Oz experiences as a child. I was in two productions of Oz in two different towns where my family lived. The first time I was hoping for Dorothy, but was cast as the Good Witch of the North. The director explained that I was very good, but they felt more confident having an older girl play Dorothy. Fast forward four years and we are living in a different place. Once again I audition for Oz, hoping for Dorothy. This time I am cast as the First Winkie--a big demotion to my mind. Once again the director explained that they felt that Dorothy should go to a more mature actress. (I'll say she was mature. When she showed up at the cast party wearing skin tight leather pants and the skimpiest of sweaters, the little munchkins' eyes just about popped out of their heads. She is now a lounge singer. But I digress).

I confess that I am sure that, spiritual calling aside, some small part of what pushed me into the preaching life was a desire for vindication. I really can carry the whole show. Every week. So there you idiot Children's Theater directors. When I step into the pulpit on Sunday, somewhere my inner ten-year-old raises a fist and says: Aha! Dorothy at last!

You know vacation is over when . . .

You get back to the office and discover that the ONE person whose name would be the absolutely worst name in the world to have inadvertently left off the Easter bulletin's list of musicians playing in the service, did, in fact, inadvertently get left of the list.

This family has been mad since just before Advent. Now . . . oy.

Not good.

Pilgrimage

It is spring break, my sister is visiting, and I have taken a couple of days of post-Easter vacation time. So yesterday we went on pilgrimage. Oh. My. God. That's all I'm going to say about that, except that my daughter was in raptures and expressed a desire to live there. Also that my son helped carry away certain merchandise that was purchased there. It takes a very manly guy to walk down the streets of L.A. carrying an American Girl bag.

We also visited the La Brea Tar Pits, which are in the same general part of town.

But my favorite part of the trip had to be spotting this bumper sticker.

High and Low

The high point of Easter worship for me was the duet "O Death Where is thy Sting" sung by a teenager in our church, who has just been diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, and her father.

The low point began when our Children's Ministry director launched her Children's Moment with the question, "Where does new life come from?" I immediately thought, "Oh no. This is not going to end well--and there is an excellent chance that my son will be the reason this does not end well." She showed the kids seeds, which look like pebbles but spring to life when the rain hits them. She showed them lily bulbs which look like ugly onions, but when buried in the earth, transform into glorious flowers. Then she held up and egg and said, "Now who could imagine that any kind of life could come from this hard, cold thing?" Whereupon, just as I'd feared, my son piped up, "Well, first you have to send the hen to meet the rooster. . ." Needless to say, no really heard the wrap up about these things being Easter symbols because they remind us of Jesus, who was dead and rose again and that Christ is the true source of new life for us all.

Inner Calvinist Emerging

It's official. I'm totally depraved.

The Academic Suburb Community Good Friday Service was held at the Episcopal Church this year. I probably appreciate high church liturgy more than many Presbyterians. I enjoy introducing certain high church elements into our worship from time to time when it seems appropriate. However, when I find myself among folks who take all that stuff utterly seriously, my inner Calvinist emerges--and not it a good way.

Yesterday the Rector at St. Stuffierthanthou was detailing for us how the Eucharist would unfold. "After each communicant has received the host, the Chalicifer will come forward and . . ."

And I evilly whispered to the Congregationalist pastor sitting next to me: "Chalicifer? Wasn't that the cat in Cinderella?"

I think the Rector heard me. Maybe I should wash my mouth out with sherry.

Hippa Strikes Again

Last week it dawned on me that I hadn't seen Retired Missionary Couple at church in a while. I asked one of their friends if they were out of town. She said, "Oh my! No! Mrs. Missionary broke her hip last month. She was in the hospital for three weeks! They just moved her into the full nursing care portion of Our Retirement Community until she is well enough to be back in their apartment."

Of course, no one called the church office about this. I went to visit Mrs. Missionary the next day, but she was at Physical Therapy when I got there. I went back today and finally made contact. I apologized for not having visited sooner, but explained that we had not known she was in the hospital. She looked at me like I was not quite bright and said, "Well, I was in the hospital for three weeks. Didn't you see my name on their list?"

With a deep sigh, I explained that due to the Health Information Privacy Protection Act, clergy no longer have access to any "list". If no one tells us that someone is in the hospital, we won't know unless we literally trip over that person in the hospital hallway on the way to visit someone else.

I'm not sure she believed me.

AURRGGHHH!

An addition to the family--maybe

No. Not THAT kind of addition. The nursery coordinator at our church has a cat who just had four adorable kittens. My kids desperately want one. I'm not opposed to being a two-cat household, but I'm concerned that our current cat, who has been solo cat around here for all of her seven years with us, might react violently to any kind of threat to her vast empire.

Advice on adding a new cat to a currently one cat household?

Let the Sun Shine In--Maybe

This morning the chair of our Properties Committee and I met with a rep from this company to start a coversation about the possibilty of installing solar panels on the roof of the church.

Have any of your churches "gone solar"? Could you share experiences, caveats, warnings, success stories and ideas for financing such an effort?

Oh How Many Feet you Meet

Our Assoicate Pastor is turning 50 this weekend. She is taking herself to a spa for the day. She has signed up for various luxury body treatments, but NOT for a pedicure because, she explains, she feels wierd about people touching her feet. As we discussed this, I explained that I've never had a pedicure either. I don't have a problem with people touching my feet, but I have a problem spending money on my feet. (This is entirely illogical as I frequently waste money on overpriced restaurant meals and books I won't read.)

I'd like to test a theory. RevGals who love pedicures are more likely to do footwashing on Maundy Thursday. RevGals who have some kind of psychological barrier to pedicures tend focus on Communion or do a Tennabrae service.

How bout it? Anything to my hypothesis???

What's in a Name

A nice thing I've noticed about living in an area with many Spanish speakers is that they pronounce my last name right. My last name is not Spanish, it's Italian--or rather, it is an Italianized version of a Jewish last name (and therein lies a story). We lived in pretty white-bread places during my childhood, so I grew up having my name misprounounced by clueless grown-ups and mocked by classmates who knew exactly what they were doing. But Spanish speakers get it right the first time almost every time. It's kind of refreshing.

I Just Smite

My nine-year-old son was experiencing wierd ankle pain today. I'm pretty sure he just played too hard and over extended something, but he was limping and moaning so he stayed home from school and I made a late morning dr.'s appointment for him.

Prior to the Dr. Appointment, he accompanied me to the monthly gathering of the Academic Suburb Interfaith Council. The meeting began with someone offering a reading from Exodus 12 and some thoughts on our work together in these days leading up to Easter and Passover. This text records God's command to remember the great thing that is about to take place: God will smite the first-born of the Egyptians and pass over the first-born of the Hebrews.

My son has certainly heard the story of Moses, Pharoah and the Exodus before--but I'm not sure he's ever heard it read straight from the bible rather than mediated through paraphrased, cheerfully illustrated Sunday School curricula.

As we drove from the meeting to the Doctor he remarked:

"You know that part of the bible that guy was reading at first? That part where God says he's going to smite all the first-born sons in Egypt?"

Yes? I said.

"Well . . . . don't you think that's a little dark for Him?"

Wait till he reads Revelation.

A Long Range Hunch

Thanks for all the input on the Introvert's Coffee Hour Dilemma. Check out this blog for a sustained exploration of the topic of introverts in ministry.

I avoided the coffee hour yesterday because we had a Newcomer's Orientation right after worship. This is a new experiment: something between that first "thanks for visiting" letter and an invitation to attend new member classes. Just bagels and coffee and a chance to learn more about our congregation without being pressed to commit to anything. After members of the Evangelism Comm. gave brief presentaions, we asked if there were questions. One woman wanted to know if there was an evening Circle meeting. One guy wondered if we would repeat a particular adult ed class that he'd missed. Then one man said, "Yes, I'd be interested in seeing your long range plan. What kind of goals are you working toward? What's your strategy?"

See, I've always read those, "Come Up With The Whiz Bang Long Range Strategy that will Catapult Your Church into the Stratosphere of Wonderfulness" books with a mixture of awe and guilt. Awe because they are so energetic, logical, and confident. Guilt because I don't work that way. I usually have a general sense of the direction things ought to go. I'm good about facilitating conversations about what should be the next steps we take along that path. I do urge folks to make decisions and be clear what they are trying to accomplish. But I don't tend to spend much time developing The Big Plan. I'd have to say I work with Long Range Hunches rather than Strategic Goals and Benchmarks.

Do you suppose this has to do with an NF rather than an ST approach to ministry? Do we need a blog called The Intuitive Church?

Elvis has left the building

Yesterday I went to visit Retired Seminary Professor who has health issues that are keeping him mostly homebound right now. We chatted for over an hour and at one point he gave me an unsolicited critique of my first year at Academic Suburb Church. He said very nice things about my preaching and worship leadership and commented that his wife, who is on our session, appreciates the way I run meetings. Then he remarked,

Of course your big weakeness is your demeanor on the patio after church. You're an introvert and after two hours of teaching and preaching you've clearly burned all your gas and don't have the energy to "work the crowd".

He suggested that I might want to just "disappear" after worship rather than hanging around looking like a wrung out sponge. (He didn't actually say wrung out sponge, but that's what he meant).

How bout it, fellow introverts: How doyou deal with the after church mingle time? This isn't the type of atmosphere we're most comfortable with anyway and Retired Seminary Professor is correct that between Sunday School and Worship we do tend to run clear through our extroversion energy by the time coffee hour arrives. But I'm not sure "leaving the scene" is the best solution.

A Group worth joining . . .

From one of those collections of "church bulletin bloopers" :

Dedication and commencement of Ecumenical Stud Groups on the theme “Growing Together.”

from a church newsletter, Greater Manchester, England (They meant to write “Study Groups.”)


Hat tip to my sister for bringing this to my attention.

Walk On

So after a week of silence, here is my keen, penetrating question about contemporary church life: walker storage.

Like most mainline congregations, we have many elderly members. Actually, we may have more than most because there are three big retirement communities in our town. A number of these folks use walkers and bring them to church. Often, they sit at the end of a pew and "park" their walker in the aisle next to them. This 1) creates an obstacle for people who arrive later and 2)is a hazzard in case of the need to evacuate the sanctuary quickly in an emergency.

What to do? One suggestion was to create a "walker parking area" near the back of the sanctuary and then encourage walker users to sit in the back few pews. But this results in the ghettoization of walker users and also forces folks who likely have vision and hearing problems as well to sit in a place where those problems will be exagerated. Someone suggested putting the parking area at the front of the sanctary, but this forces walker users to walk the length of the sanctuary before they can sit down, ( our sanctuary is long) and also puts them "on display".

Another idea is to have this parking area at the back and then have ushers escort walker users to and from their chosen seats. But this is time consuming for our ushers, some of whom are older themselves and probably not the best folks to be assisting those with walking difficulties. I would expect resistance from the ushers on this. I'd also live in fear of the day one of the ushers would stumble while escorting a frail walker user and the usher and the walker user would both go down and break bones.

Yet another idea is to install some walker hanging racks at intervals down the wall of the side aisle of the sanctuary. This would allow walker users more options of where to sit and insure that their walker would be nearby when the service is over. But someone pointed out that this assumes that walker users are able to fold their walkers and lift them up to the hanging racks on their own, which probably isn't realistic in most cases.

So, we are on the verge of "appointing a committee to study the matter". Have any of you discovered a good solution to this problem?

My Day Off So Far

It's my day off, but I agreed to a morning Starbucks gathering with two other clergywomen to brainstorm about a presentation we are giving together next month. A fourth clergywoman was supposed to join us, but she declined to meet on what it turns out is also her day off.

The gathering began with the convener going on a bit of a rant about clergywoman #4 and her refusal to meet with us on her day off. Speculative comments about her character ensued. Opinions about her job not being really all that demanding were floated. Me and my other colleague listened to this awkwardly and then changed the subject quickly. We are both invited to the bris tomorrow for the newborn son of the Cantor at the local synagogue. Neither of us has been to one before so we were comparing our ignorance of what to expect and wondering whether we should bring a present for the baby.

Grumpy Convener listened to us twitter about this for five minutes or so and then said rather loudly,
"Well, to change the subject from penises to the reason we're here this morning . . ."

So how is your day going???? And btw are you supposed to bring a baby present to a bris?

Great American Melting Pot, Part II

Yesterday my daughter was invited to the birthday party of a classmate. We arrived at the birthday girl's home at the hour noted in the invitation and discovered that this party was only partly for the friends of the birthday girl: the house was already full of her extended Filipino family. The invitation had not mentioned an end time for the festivities, so I asked the girl's mother. Her face wrinkled in concern, "You're not staying?"

"Well----my son has a baseball game that starts in twenty mintues . . ." (and the invitation did not mention anything about parents staying)

"Oh. Okay. Well, you can come back in a few hours."

Pressing for specificity I said, "So, around 5?"

"Sure." said the Mom.

So I went off to the baseball game, (they won!), and reappeared back at the birthday house at, I thought, the agreed upon departure time. I was actually about five minutes "late". By the time I got there I joined a group of about five other Anglo parents who were all bemused and/or downright irritated to discover that the party was still in full swing. The mother of the birthday girl, on the other hand, looked genuinely surprised to see us all there and confused that some of the parents were actually instructing their children to gather their belongings in preparation for departure.

"But we haven't had the cake! We haven't done the pinata!"

At this point, a couple of us got it that we were witnessing a multi-cultural learning moment. Anglo-American birthday parties begin and end at a set time. Parents hang around only if specifically invited to do so. A good host begins gently preparing the kids for the party's end so that they are ready to go when the parents arrive at the pre-appointed departure time. Polite guests arrive and leave on schedule.

Filipino parties, apparently, are all day affairs that don't have set start and end times. Everyone comes and hangs out. They end when everyone is ready for them to be over. Only rude people would appear at some arbitrary time and insist that their kids leave right away.

Someone needs to write an inter-cultural guide to party manners.

The Great American Melting Pot

For Christmas I got my kids the DVD collection of Schoolhouse Rock. It's taken them some time to figure out why they should be interested in this thing, other than their Mom's sentimental attachment to memories of the Saturday mornings of her childhood. But they're starting to get into it more. My son especially likes the "America Rocks" section, the one with the Preamble to the Constitution and No More King and The Shot Heard Round the World.

Last night I came into the family room in the middle of The Great American Melting Pot. I came in just as the group of cartoon characters were enthusiastically singing:

"What great ingredients! Liberty and immigrants!"

Dang, I miss the seventies.

Solitude Deficit

I think I'm figuring out at least part of what is going on. After one whole year at this job and in this life reality, I'm running a serious solitude deficit.

My first five years in ministry I was single. Though my job as a Youth Pastor was insanely busy, when I got home, I was alone. I fretted about this a lot, worried that this would be a permanent condition, that I would never have a family of my own to come home to--but underneath all that fretting, was the deep relief of diving into the clear, cool pool of quiet that waited for me inside the doors of my apartment.

Then there were three and a half years of first-stage marriage. This was an adjustment, but two adults living together are not always in each other's faces and my husband's job took him on the road fairly often. I still had the apartment to myself on a semi-regular basis, plus I was commuting twenty minutes to my job, so I had that solo car time to decompress.

The infant/ toddler years were crazy, of course. But the sleep deficit so dominated my consciousness, that the solitude deficit didn't even register much.

During the six and a half years that I was working part time in a small church, my work hours were mostly alone time. There was no one in the office but me. The phone did not ring off the hook. There weren't that many "walk-ins". I had to be focused and productive during the hours of the day my kids were at pre-school, but much of that time I was by myself.

But now---the church is a bee hive of activity. There is a constant parade of church members and other staff popping their heads through my office door to discuss stuff. There is a steady stream of phone calls and e-mails all day. About 4:30 I break from this to begin my portion of the family kid schlepping duties: soccer, piano lessons, play rehearsal, aikido practice. Then the mad rush to produce and/or consume dinner after which I'm either headed back to church for meetings, or playing designated homework parent. When the evening's activities are finally over and the kids are tucked in and sleeping, my husband sidles up to me and lets me know in subtle and not so subtle ways that it's "his turn".

I think this would be exhausting even for an extrovert, but as an introvert I feel like I'm going nuts. I'm getting grouchy with colleagues and family. Sex feels like just another invasion of my personal space. The blogosphere, which I've experienced mostly as a source of support and comfort is beginning to feel like just another group of folks who expect my presense and attention.

Anyone been in this spot? What did you do about it?

Still here

Yes, I know I've been fairly quiet lately. One big reason for this is I've made it a Lenten discipline not to blog at the office. At all. Not even quick peeks during the odd ten minutes between appointments. Not even as five minute (I swear just five minutes!) stress breaks. Too many of these were turning into half hour or more time sucks from which I'd emerge unfocused and feeling guilty. I'm doing really well on this Lent thing, but--surprise, surprise--when you don't blog at the office there's much less opportunity to do it at all.

Otherwise, I don't know, I'm just feeling kind of dry in the interesting things to blog about department. How many stories about the kids, the cat or the folks at church does the blogging world really need to hear, anyway?

Anyway--I'm still here. No major crisis or anything. I'll speak up when I've got something worth saying.

Do I have to turn in my Rebel credentials?

I've been invited to join the local chapter of a Respectable International organization. I was invited to several of their meetings, then two members of the church who are also part of this group took me to lunch to give me the full court press on joining. It appears that every Pastor but one from our congregation has been a member.

I'm inclined to say yes. Not because of the sales pitch, but because I know this organization somewhat. Fifteen years ago, another chapter sent me on a young professional adult exchange to Europe for a whole month. I know they do good stuff in local communities and internationally. I also figure I'll meet people from our town that I would never meet at church or on the soccer field sidelines, the two places I seem to be spending 90% of my time lately.

Still. It feels very middle class. Like I'll need to forge a secret identity as a nude punk-rocker or something just to counter-balance the stodginess factor.

How about you all? Any of you done the Kiwanas, Rotarian, Lions Club, Optimists thing? How has it been for you? A good thing ministry-wise? Personally?

We've Got our Theme . . .

An article on the history of VBS states:

Vacation Bible School was the idea of Mrs. Waler Aylett Hawes, a doctor's wife. Her goal was to get children off the streets of New York. In 1898 and 1899 Mrs. Hawes rented a beer hall in New York's East Side to conduct her Everyday Bible School. In 1900 Mrs. Hawes' pastor, Howard Lee Jones, insisted that the Bible school move to the church building, Epiphany Baptist Church. After two weeks it became clear that children from the East Side would not attend at the church, so Mrs. Hawes moved the school back to a site near the beer hall.


I've GOT IT!!!!!!!!! Our 2007 VBS theme will be ....... VBS On Tap!

It'll be time before you know it

We're talking about VBS around our place. This is the time of year to select curriculum, set the dates, etc. Last year's VBS was relatively successful. I say relatively because there were more kids involved than in the year or two that preceeded it, (around 30 kids), but far fewer than what folks remember from the golden days when we maxed out the available classroom space and had to set up marquee-style tents on the lawn to accomodate everyone.

I'm encouraging our CE folks to think outside the box on this. To my mind, the five weekday morning VBS model, more than any other church program, reveals our refusal to acknowledge that it it 2007. I'm a working Mom. I have to scramble to figure out what my kids are going to do for the rest of the working day after VBS ends at noon. We're going to do VBS because it would look bad if the Pastor's kids weren't there. But if I were in some other line of work, I might just decide the hassle wasn't worth it for my kids to learn Bible songs and make popsicle stick crafts.

As I see it, the original motivations for creating VBS were three-fold: To reach out to kids who were not part of the congregation's regular Sunday-school program, to take advantage of summer's more relaxed atmosphere to allow church kids to engage the Bible in ways more creative and sustained than their Sunday a.m. classes, and to provide a safe, affordable way to keep kids off the streets during summer break. Now the main motivation seems to be, "We have to VBS because that is what churches DO in the summer, and if you can't manage to field a good VBS, you'll lose market share to a congregation that can."

How do we get back to those original goals in ways that make sense in a community with majoriy two-career families, a Bazillion day-camp offerings, and a lot of indifferece to church involvement?

Have any of you done wonderful, creative things in this area? Is there such a thing as Emergent VBS? Please share.

Hmmmm

I've been reading with interest about the New Wineskins Convocation in Florida and the decision by some of those congregations to become part of new, provisional Presbytery being established by the Evangelical PResbyterian Church. One much discussed topic is whether or not the EPC will be supportive of ordained women--elders and pastors--who wish to become part of this movement. Apparently the EPC is not in agreement about the ordination of women, so each presbytery determines whether that will happen within its bounds.

Does anyone but me find just the tiniest bit ironic that many of the churches that are leaving the PCUSA for the EPC are doing so, in part, because of a suggested "local option" compromise on an ordination issue about which faithful members of the PCUSA disagree, (the ordination of practicing homosexuals) yet they are going into a denomination which operates with just such a local option on an ordination matter about which members of that denomination don't agree, (ordination of women)??

Would you like salt with that?

Today the kids are out of school. We went to Costco and they somehow persuaded me that the Mondo Variety Pack of chip snack bags was a good investment. They each had a bag and then I put the rest up on a high shelf.

Later, while I was occupied with something else, they decided they needed another hit. My first clue was the sound of glass shattering. In their attempt to reach above their heads to get to the pack of chip bags, they managed to dislodge a three quarters full bottle of Tequila which crashed to the floor, splattering glass shards and Tequila all over the kitchen floor, counters and wall. After twenty minutes of cleaning, the whole house still smells like a Mexican bar. Want to make bets on how many church members will drop by in the next 24 hours??

Re: How far we've come

In light of our recent discussions, you might be interested in checking out the podcast of an interview with Margaret Towner, first woman ordained in the Presbyterian Church, available on the Covenant Network website.

The Perfect Storm

All day session retreat---Saturday
Performing Arts Concert hosted by the Church in our sanctuary---Saturday night
Annual Meeting---Sunday morning
Ordination of former member---Sunday afternoon
Kids out of school---all day Monday
Brief but far from finished manuscript deadline--Tuesday

Me: sick with the cold from hell.

May Day!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyone seen the stats on this?

There has been quite a bit of discussion sparked by Besomami's musings about the progress--or lack thereof--in clergywomen becoming Senior Pastors of bigger churches.

Here's a statistic I'd like to see researched: Regardless of gender, is there a correlation between age at ordination and likelihood of becoming a Head of Staff type pastor. My completely unscientific mental review of pastors I know or know of supports the theory that most Heads of Staff were ordained in their twenties or early thirties.

Anyone seen any research on this?

Yes, there are three big retirement communities in our town . . .

You know you have a lot of senior citizens in your congregation when:

In the middle of worship, a sudden loud squealing sound erupts (later to be diagnosed as an Organ pipe malfunction) and 1/3 of the people present immediately stick their finger in their ear to see if it is their hearing aid that is causing the offending noise.

You could almost hear them saying, "Is it I, Lord?"

Last requests

Mostly it is a blessing when someone has taken the time to write out what s/he would want for their memorial service ahead of time. It lets you know their favorite hymns, their most cherished scripture, their thoughts on burial vs. cremation and where to direct memorial gifts.

Sometimes, however, these plans include impossible or at least compliated requests. For example:

The former pastor of the church should officiate at the ceremony
A solo should be sung by a former memeber who left the congregtion in a huff 2 years ago
A particular song should be sung by the whole choir, (the whole choir is not normally present for funerals.)
A very difficult song that the designated soloist does not know and does not have time to learn before the ceremony is requested

Etc.

Since these requests are in writing from someone dear to them who has just passed, family members can be extremely sensitive about any hint that the request(s) may not be possible or advisable. The requests seem to thm almost to have the weight of law--especially when they are in the same envelope as the will.

Have any of you all run into this? Any creative advice?

The Rebel Announces a Recipe Contest

The other night I had dinner with a member of my congregation while my family ate at home without me. When I arrived home, we compared notes. They reported that they had sent out for Chinese takeout. They asked what I'd had to eat.

Well, I said, I had the pot roast and D. had the chicken pot pie.

At this, my seven year old daughter started to giggle uncontrolably.

What? I said. What's funny?

I didn't know there was such a thing as chicken butt pie! she squealed.

Then we all started laughing. Finally we recovered and explained that she had misheard me.

But then I got to thinking: Really, there should be such a thing as Chicken Butt Pie. The world would be a richer, fuller place. So I invite you all to suggest recipes in the comments. Final awards will be made after the cook-off we will certainly schedule at the long hoped for RGBP conference.

Bon Appetite!

Finally, someone speaks the truth

Next Sunday our church will host the ordination service a man who was a member here when, at mid life, he began discerning a call to the ministry. He has been serving a small church as a solo, student pastor for the last two years so he has more of an idea than many new ordinands what he is letting himself in for.

Yesterday we all received our official invitations in the mail--which included this marvelous typo:

You are cordially invited to the Service of Ordination of John Doe to the ministry of WORK and Sacrament.

At last--the truth comes out.

Think I should tell them??

Hee Hee. I met with the Big Butts couple. We had to play phone tag a few times to get the meeting set up. Each time I called, a different song played before their voice mail picked up. I think they must have their phone somehow linked to the shuffle function on their ipod.

Get this: they are both cute, young charismatic Christians. The church they are part of meets in a high school gym, which is why they contacted us with our beautiful sanctuary. Their pastor was married here a while back, (maybe before he became charismatic.) They hope this pastor will be involved in the ceremony.

I dutifully made a note of that and then kept a very straight face as I asked the next question on my standard "initial meeting with a couple" question list: Are you planning any special music as part of the ceremony?

Keys

Well, I should have spent yesterday rejoicing in the success of our Sunday with guests from the Temple. The combined choirs sang gloriously, the rabbi gave a good sermon, the kids were enthralled by the Torah scroll he brought to show them during the Time with Children. Also WE WON the canned goods competition! Really a lovely morning.

However. Though we had spent lots of time working on just how the service would go, there still ended up being last minute details that had me racing around moments before worship began getting stuff out of various closets and classrooms. Just as church was starting, I realized that I still had my keys clutched in my hand. I don't like to have keys in my pocket when leading worship because I jingle and jangle everytime I move. So I quickly stashed the keys on the little shelf just below the lectern. Problem solved.

Except that when the service was over, I completely forgot that I had done this. I mingled through our expanded coffee hour, visiting with our guests. I introduced people to my parents who are visiting for the week. I closed a few minor church business deals in side conversations with a few key members. After 45 minutes or so, we were finally ready to think about heading home.

It was at this moment that I remembered that my keys, including house and car keys, were on the shelf in the lectern. Did I mention that my husband is away at a trade show in Texas? And since it had taken me so long to recall this little detail, the Spanish speaking congregation with whom we share our building had already begun their service. To retrieve my keys I would either have to barge into the middle of their worship, or wait till they were done.

You also need to know that yesterday was the day our Hispanic brothers and sisters were bidding farewell to the interim pastor who has been with them for three years. They have called a permanent pastor so their interim can finally retire. Given that it was a special day for them, I decided not to interupt their worship to get my keys. I figured, hey it's already 11:45--their church gets out at 12:30. It's not that long a wait. My kids and my parents weren't thrilled with this development, but they accepted my decision.

I decided that, since I was there, I would slip into the back pew and be a quiet part of the service. I got there just as our Executive Presbyter was getting up to preach. I was so impressed that she can preach in fluent Spanish, since I have known some EPs who were hard pressed to preach fluently in one language let alone two. I don't speak Spanish much, so I was mentally patting myself on the back for having figured out what text she was preaching on and the (very) basic gist of her first point when our Associate Pastor appeared at my side and said, "You may want to check on your family."

My parents had decided to go sit in the car and listen to the radio. My kids had hooked up with the son of our Christian Ed coordinator. Her son and my son had stolen my daughter's stuffed animal and were making preparations to string it up on a tree. She was screeching at them in anger and frustration while they tossed Seal back and forth like a football.

Meanwhile, the service was not drawing to a close at it normally would have at that hour. Saying good-bye to the pastor strechted longer and longer and longer. Then when they finished up with that, the women's association had to say good-bye to the pastor's wife. All told, we were stuck for much closer to two hours before I was finally able to rescue my keys from the lectern. My kids were fit to be tied by that time. (Really, I was going for the rope to tie them up.) My parents would have been furious too, except that they know very well where my key-losing genes come from as we locked ourselves out of the house regularly when I was growing up. In fact, I reminded them of the time my Dad went to an academic conference in another state and accidentally took both sets of house/car keys with him. That was especially festive in those days before Fed Ex next day air.

And how was your Sunday?

Hold the Phone . . .

Suppose you are going to call a church in your area to inquire about having your wedding there this summer. Suppose the pastor is away when you call and you have to leave a phone number where she can reach you later. Suppose you have options about which phone number to leave: your home, your cell, your work, your fiance's home, cell, work etc. etc.

Wouldn't you take the time to consider that you might NOT want to leave the phone number that plays 15 seconds of "I like Big Butts and I cannot lie . . ." before your voicemail kicks in?

I'm just sayin . . .

Ugh

Ugh. Ever since Thanksgiving there have been small and big things about which I have said, "I/We will deal with that AFTER I/we get through Advent and Christmas. Well, Advent and Christmas are over as well as my post-Christmas travels and now all of those things are prowling around me like a bunch of hungry tigers.

One of the more friendy tigers is the upcoming annual pulpit exchange with the Temple in town. Their rabbi will preach at our church the last Sunday of this month and I will preach at the Temple the first Friday of February. In addition, the two congregations have challenge one another to a friendly competition to see which group can collect the most bags of canned goods for the local food bank during the month leading up to the exchange. When I suggested this, our Interfaith Relations Committee agreed, but warned me that the Temple would beat the pants off us as they are larger and better organized. Our folks have been responding well, but I've made sure that each announcement about the challenge includes language on the order of, "It's not really about beating the Temple, it's about providing food for hungry people."

Yesterday as we unloaded the car after a Costco run, my daughter and I were setting aside the canned goods we had purchased to be our contribution to the effort. As she stacked up the cans of soup and tuna, my daughter said, "It's not all about beating the Temple, but we still WANT to."

Right.

Let us raise our glasses high

Late, late, late last night, when there were only a few of us left in the hospitality room drinking red wine and sharing stories, someone suggested that we raise a final toast to those we remember who made great sacrifices so that we could receive our faith and our call. We went around the circle. When it came to be her turn, one of the newest, youngest members of the group said,

I would raise my glass to the woman who was my pastor when I was ten, the first Presbyterian woman minister in That State: St. Casserole.

I didn't blow her cover, of course--but I thought the rest of you would like to know that our beloved St. Cass is known and loved way beyond our circle.

On the road again

Once again I send hurried greetings from on the road. It's the mid-point of my week with the lectionary study group I meet with every January. I've been part of this group for 13 years and it has manifested God's grace in my life in different ways at different junctures during that time. This year, I'm realizing what a gift it is, after nearly a year with brand new people in a brand new place, to spend a week with folks who have known me a long time. I hadn't realized how starved I was for that. What a blessing to have just eaten lunch with the pastor I worked with when I was 25 years old and newly ordained after 10 months of having to introduce myself to people and tell them all about myself. Or to have another friend say, "I knew what you were thinking when so and so said such and such," because she's been privy to at least some of my thoughts for more than a decade.

God is good.

Back

Hey all,
I'm back from the Prairie. It was fun, mostly. Aftern 13 years, I still don't
"get" some of the dynamics in my husband's family, but I guess that's okay. Once again, my mother-in-law's midwestern cooking has me struggling to button my jeans. We did get our managable snowfall--three inches after almost everyone had gone home. One sister-in-law and kids stayed an extra day so as to avoid the bad driving conditions, much to the delight of my kids. Cousins and snow--what more could a kid want??

Now I have two and a half days to finish two papers for my annual lectionary study group gathering next week. I had hoped to do more work on this during the vacation than I did. It was impossible to find a quiet corner to work in. My husband, his nine siblings, their spouses, their kids=nearly forty people in a not-all-that-big house doesn't add up for that. And then when we were finally the only ones left, my kids moped around whining that now that all the cousins were gone there was nothing to DOOOOOOOOOO, so I ended up playing endless games of mancala and Scrabble instead. Oh well--I used to do the old multiple papers in 48 hours trick all the time back in college/seminary. Let's hope I haven't lost my touch.

Greetings from the Land of Jello Salads

Hurried greetings from Little Town on the Prairie whither we have travelled for my Mother-in-law's 75th birthday celebration. All ten of her children will be here as well as most of her grandchildren. My California children are dreadfully disappointed that there is no snow on the ground. However, they are enjoying their numerous cousins and other relations. If we could get just a small, manageable snowfall AFTER the party is over, but before we have to drive out of town again, that would be lovely.

Bing---This year, I REALLY get it . . .

The sun is shining, the grass is green
The orange and palm trees sway.
There's never been such a day
In Beverly Hills L.A.

But it's December the twenty-fourth, and I'm longing to be up north . . .

Icons of the Incarnation

I firmly believe that children's Christmas pageants are icons of the Incarnation, vivid reminders of both the frailty and beauty of the human flesh in which the Spirit of God was pleased to dwell.

In our pageant this past Sunday we had:

One teenage chorister who nearly lit himself on fire by backing into the advent wreath

One very small angel who ran up to her Mom while she was directing the youth choir, yanked on her skirt and demanded to be taken to the bathroom RIGHT AWAY!!!

Two shepherds engaging in fisticuffs while processing down the aisle behind Mary and Joseph and

One third grade shepherd whose hat thingy kept slipping down over his eyes and getting more tangled and disheveled the more he messed with it. Finally people started laughing which so enraged this shepherd that his mother had to sneak up and take the hat away from him between musical numbers. (Ahem, this shepherd was my son and the mother sneaking onto the chancel to intervene was me.)

How about you? What have been your favorite Christmas Pageant Misadventures?

Grave Thoughts

There was a very awkward moment at the cemetery yesterday, one which I've experienced once before with another bereaved family. Everybody listen up now:

Cemeteries: You simply MUST explain clearly to bereaved families that if they wish to be present when the casket is lowered, this has to be pre-arranged. I know this is not standard operating procedure and it is more work for you, but believe it or not, there are still people who want to accompany their loved ones to the very end of their earthly journey and do not want to be antiseptically whisked away after the pastor's final words. The family I was with yesterday really, really did not need to be informed by your representative that viewing the interment was not included in the "package" they selected.

Pastors: Double check on this with both the family and the rep from the cemetery before the graveside service begins. The family may tell you that they intend to be present when the casket is lowered, but that does not mean that they have cleared it with the cemetery. They may just assume that this is what always happens. (Because that's the way it is in the movies.) And you also need to explain to them that, while the movies include a grizzled old man standing by with ropes and a shovel, in contemporary life what will happen is that two young Mexican guys will drive in with a winch and a back-hoe and toss around the pieces of astro turf that were artfully concealing the fact that there is a real grave beneath that attractive platform.

Otherwise--much distress and anguish

Committee Jigsaw Missing Pieces

I rashly stated at our November Session meeting that I planned to announce at our December Session meeting the names of those folks who had agreed to chair various Comittees at our church for the next year.

Turns out, this is a more complicated puzzle than I'd imagined it would be. After four weeks of consulting, conversing, and cajoling, I still have some Big Holes. There are the folks who would do a great job but have said "No" because they are too busy. There are the folks who are eager to chair a very particular committee that they have had their eye on but who are manifestly unsuited to do so, and then there are the folks who are open to going wherever you need them, but who you don't really know well enough to foresee if they would be a Huge Success or a Total Disaster.

I'm ready to put Committee names in a hat and force everyone to draw one. Any wisdom from those of you who've put this puzzle together successfully??

Lift up your heads

The parrots were back again this morning. Instead of just buzzing the neighborhood as they did yesterday, they actually landed in the trees and on the high wires.

I'll tell you what: It was something else to see all those jaded southern Californians standing outside in their robes and pajamas, looking up into the sky in astonishment and wonder.

Lift up your heads for your redemption is drawing near . . .

Green skies overhead

The parrots DID come back. I woke up this morning to the sound of a great commotion that I gradually gained sufficient consciousness to recognize as avian in nature. I got up, pulled on my robe and dashed to the patio just in time to see literally hundereds of parrots flying high overhead. Soon the kids came outside too and ran in and out for the rest of the time before school reporting various parrot sightings.

You know what you call a flock of parrots??? A Pandemonium of Parrots.

Comfort Ye My People

Hard, hard week. A mother of three in our congregation dropped dead of an apparent heart attack this past weekend. Her oldest child found her slumped over the computer in her home office. (Let this be a caution to us all . . .) She was exactly my age and her two older children are exactly my kids' age. We didn't know the father very well: she came to church on her own with the kids. It's emerging that there are serious questions about his ability to cope on his own as a single dad. Please keep the whole extended family in your prayers.

On a lighter, almost surreal note: We have Parrots! Yes, really. This morning our preschool director came running in to tell us that a flock of wild parrots had landed in the trees near the playground. Unbeknownst to me, Southern California is home to thousands of wild parrots, descendants of pet parrots who flew the coop, so to speak. No one in the office could remember seeing them here in our town, though. They are bright green and red. Very Christmasy. I saw at least a dozen. By afternoon, they seemed to have gone. Maybe they will come back.

The Friday Five Christmas Carol Referendum

This morning's Friday Five from RevGalBlogPals encourages us to reflect on Christmas music good, bad and ugly.

1. A favorite 'secular' Christmas song.
Rebel Jesus by Jackson Browne or Home By Another Way by James Taylor

2. Christmas song that chokes you up (maybe even in spite of yourself--the cheesier the better)The last verse of It Came Upon a Minight Clear

For Lo, the days are hastening on, by prophet bards foretold
When with the ever circling years comes round the age of gold
When Peace shall over all the earth her solemn splendors fling
And all the world give back the song that now the angels sing.

3. Christmas song that makes you want to stuff your ears with chestnuts roasted on an open fire.
O Holy Night sang by a warbly soprano or tenor who really should know better.

4. The Twelve Days of Christmas: is there *any* redeeming value to that song? Discuss.
The theory that this is a coded catechism is intruguing. Even if it's only a legend, it's stil fun. The Partridge in the Pear Tree is Jesus. (Mother Partridges apparently will sacrifice themselves for their chicks by leading predators away from the nest.) Two Turtledoves are the Old and New Testament. Three French Hens=The Trinity, Four Calling Birds=the four gospels, Five Golden Rings=The Pentatuch, Six Geese a Laying=the six days of creation, Seven Swans a Swimming=the seven gifts of the spirit, Eight Maids a Milking=the eight beatitudes, Nine Ladies Dancing=the nine fruits of the spirit, Ten Drummers a Drummin=the Ten Commandments, Eleven pipers Piping=the eleven faithful disciples,(minus Judas)and Twelve Lords a'leaping are the twelve points of the Apostles Creed.

5. A favorite Christmas album
Still have to go with my childhood fave: A Captain Kangaroo Christmas

Happy St. Nicholas Day

Yes, I know St. Nicholas Day is not on the Presbyterian calendar. But I might be more into Saints than your average Presbyterian. I think it started years ago when I read something C.S. Lewis wrote. He said that if one really believes in the Communion of the Saints, that the church is made up of Christians across space and time, then why wouldn't you consider asking both the living and the dead to intercede for you when you are in need of prayer? This made sense to me. I'm more likely to go to one of my grandparents or beloved, departed members of congregations I've served--but every once in a while, I'll call on one of the official Saints whose story I've found inspiring or who I know is a patron of the type of person or situation I'm concerned about.

Day before yesterday, I lost my calendar. I know your guts are all clenching in anxious sympathy. At first I wasn't too worried. I'm an absent-minded person where stuff is concerned. I lose things all the time. Usually the lost thing surfaces within a couple of hours. But my calendar was gone for two days. Two. Whole. Days.

I was awake at 3:30 a.m. stewing about this. I had a sense that I have several appointments and meetings on Thursday and Friday, but I couldn't remember exactly what they were. It occurred to me to ask St. Anthony for help. St. Anthony is the patron saint of lost items and also the saint for whom my husband is named. A formerly Roman Catholic member of one of my former congregations years ago taught me the traditional prayer Catholic children are taught to pray when searching for something they've lost: Tony, Tony! Look around. Something's lost that must be found!
Couldn't hurt, might help, I thought. And so I prayed.

After about ten seconds, I heard a voice in my head say, "Look in the trunk." And then I went to sleep.

This morning I got up, went to the garage, popped open the trunk of my car and sure enough--there in the trunk was a box of books I had decided to tranfer from my office back to the house, and perched on top of the box was TA DA!!!! My calendar!

I'm not headed for Rome any time soon, I'm just tellin' ya what happened.

Update: As I was doing a little research on St. Nicholas for staff devotions today, I was reminded of a unique part of his story. Nicholas was made Bishop of Myra even though he was a layperson, not a priest. This was highly unusual--irregular even. Now I'm asking: who believes that laypeople should be the ruling elders of the church? Uh huh, that's right: Presbyterians!!! St. Nick is OURS, baby.

Invade my Privacy---Please

It's official. The world has gone mad.

My daughter and I finally negotiated a Birthday Celebration plan we both could live with. All that remained was to invite the chosen classmates to the event. My kids' school has a strict rule forbidding the distribution of party invitations on campus. I totally understand and support this rule which tries to spare children the life-scarring trauma of being one of the non-invited ones.

HOWEVER, starting this year, due to concerns for confidentiality, safety, privacy and liability the PTA decided not to publish a student body directory. Also, the office and individual teachers are not to release a student's address or phone number without the parents' written permission.

In other words, one may not distribute invitations on campus and one is also prevented from obtaining the information whereby one might deliver invitations by phone or mail.

Crazy, yes? If it were only a birthday party inconvenience, I'd let it ride. But there are so many small ways this breaks down a school community. How can you call a friend to get homework when you're out sick? How do parents arrange carpools? How do you call three or four other Moms to see if they share your concern about _________that is going on at the school?

And this confidentialy thing is also profoundly affecting how churches care for people who are in the hospital. Back in the old days, (late 1980's) when I was starting out, pastors would swing by the local hospital(s) a few times a week and check the New Admits list to see if there was someone from the church in the hospital that s/he did not know about. One would also discover on that list folks one knew from the community who were not, strictly speaking, church goers but who nevertheless appreciated a pastoral visit in a time of need. Church members who worked at local hospitals would often call the church to alert the staff to late breaking pastoral care crises.

Now, of course, you have to know that a specific person is in a specific hospital and arrive armed with that person's correctly spelled, full name before the volunteer at the front desk will divulge the room number in which that person might be found. And with insurance companies shortening hospital stays ever more drastically, the chance that you will get this info before a person is discharged grows smaller every day. And any member working at a hospital who calls the church and releases this confidential info could lose his or her job.

It's a good thing I'm not a conspiracy theorist, because if I were I would have to conclude that the Powers and Principalities of this world want us all to be as isolated and disconnected from each other as possible so that there will be no possibility of Organized Resistance to anything they want us to do, think or be.

But that would be crazy, wouldn't it?

And Jesus Races for the Cat Dish . . .

Check this out . . .


Update: Tell the folks at Left Behind Games you are not impressed.

Cosmic Justice

I am pretty sure the incident described below is cosmic justice for this incident in my past:

It is the spring of my freshman year in college. I have just signed up to be a reporter for the college newspaper. I am seventeen years old.

The editor, a preppy/conservative guy who was also vice-president of the Young Republicans, sized me up and sent me off to interview the woman who was visiting campus that week as Theologian in Residence. I had never heard of her, but since the senior religion majors were pronouncing the name Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenze in hushed tones, I figured she might be Someone Important.

In those days I was much given to dressing in fanciful, New Wave inspired ensembles. I buttoned up my Adam Ant pirate shirt, sharpened my pencil, and knocked on the door of the guest house at the edge of campus where Prof. Fiorenze was staying. She received me politely, but without the affable mid-western friendliness that was the dominant culture on that campus. Thinking to warm up the tone of the conversation, I gushed: "Oh gosh Dr. Fiorenze! I'm so honored to be here! This is my first interview for the Small Presbyterian College Gazette!" Rather than warming things up, this outburst seemed to deepen my subject's reserve.

Undaunted, I whipped out my freshly sharpened pencil and asked my first keen and penetrating question: "Dr. Fiorenze, could you highlight some examples of women's liberation that you see in the Bible?"

She answered my questions for another twenty minutes or so, then invoked a pending appointment and sent me on my merry way. I went back to the dorm and wrote my article, which the editor promptly buried on the inside of the back page.

As I say, cosmic justice.

Stay tuned for our next episode when, in her sophmore year, Yet-to-be-Reverend Rebel accompanies her sort-of boyfriend as he drives guest lecturer Phyllis Trible back to the Cleveland airport and peppers her with sophomoric questions. More cosmic justice may be needed.