Of Growing Older

I spent the afternoon visiting an elderly friend while her husband went out for a couple of hours. They are both in their 80's, and he is the primary caretaker. It was a gift to both of them as well as to me. He appreciated some time for himself, and she appreciated having someone else to chat with. She did most of the talking and kept apologizing for doing so. I reassured her that I enjoyed listening, and for most of the afternoon it was a conversation.

In some ways the visit disturbed me. Walking into their living room gave me flashbacks to more than 20 years ago. At that time I did some part-time work for a friend who was a court-appointed conservator for elderly people with no relatives in the area (or at all). After a death, I would go into the house to sort through belongings, clean the house, supervise the removal of furniture, and send specified "effects" to heirs. The living room I walked into this afternoon reminded me of many of those homes--stacks of papers, magazines, and newspapers; dirty carpets and dusty furniture; and a musty smell. And this couple is still able to do most things for themselves.

I know she will tell me not to, but I worry about Mom. Especially after visits like this afternoon's. I don't want to be one of those children who doesn't have time to regularly visit their parents. I don't want to arrive at her home one day and see piles of stuff gathering dust on unvacumed floors. I know that as the older son, I will probably end up as the primary caretaker. And you know what, that's okay. I want Mom to be as independent as possible for as long as possible, even if that means I have to figure out how to find a place big enough for her, my stepfather (he might as well be...), and me.

I also worry about me. When I got home this evening, I immediately cleaned up the couple of stacks of things around my apartment. The only stack left is the "working pile" on my desk, which I go through about once a month to clear out anything that needs to be filed, tossed, or dealt with. I don't want to be one of those people living surrounded by piles of stuff. It scares me a little to think that I could easily become one. I wonder, as a single person with no children, who will take care of me when I get to that stage of life?

All of which leads me to wonder, where is the church in all of this? Isn't this one of the things we should be doing, caring for our elders, our wise ones, those who have cared for us over the years?

Peace,
Jeff

Of Being Single

I take my victories where I can find them. At this morning's writing workshop I ate none of the donuts provided for breakfast. I didn't expect transitioning back to the Eat Right 4 Your Type program to be so difficult. On the other hand, the last time I started the program I was living with someone else who was also starting it. It is much easier to do it with someone than to do it alone.

There are a lot of things that are more difficult as a single person, especially if you live in a suburban or rural area. Taking the car in for service. Arranging for service and repair people to be at your home. Getting around when you are temporarily not able to drive. Navigating through the health care maze when you are hospitalized. I don't even want to think about--though I must--being a single elder in our "western" culture, even in an urban environment.

Supervisors assume that you are always available come in early, work late, and travel more often because you have no family obligations. Church committees make the same assumption. Not to mention that church activities for singles, when a congregation does provide any, often focus on pairing us up than on our lives as single people.

As a single person, I spend a larger percentage of my income on housing and utilities. I have fewer tax exemptions. It takes as much time and energy--both labor and natural resources--to cook for one as it does to cook for two, three, or four. And where do single people turn when they lose their jobs?

Don't get me wrong, there are many things I appreciate about being single. You can handle most of the things above with a little creative planning. Most, but not all.

When people mourn the loss of the family and "family values," they most often mean the nuclear family that became the norm after World War II. Frankly, that model of family has done as much to change our society as any other social movement in the last 60 years. It dismantled the extended family that provided shelter and care for many people, and it helped erode the larger community in this country. I don't necessarily want to turn the clock back. I'm not even sure a return to the old model of the extended family would work.

Maybe it is time to look at new models of family.

Peace,
Jeff

Priest As Storyteller

This evening I've been reflecting on the role--or one of the roles--of the priest in a community. I'm "thinking out loud" here--writing helps me clarify thoughts. And discernment, we are told, is best done in community, so I post these thoughts here where some of my community can see them and perhaps ponder them with me.

Recently a friend of mine suggested I read Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, Speaker for The Dead, and Ender's Shadow. She couldn't remember the exact order of the books, but I think the two she wanted really wanted me to read were Ender's Game and Speaker for The Dead. I finished both of those two and continue to mull them over. However, Speaker for The Dead prompted thoughts about the role of the priest in community, which might be one of the reasons my friend recommended it to me.

"I should have gone to him,"Ela said again.

"Yes," the Speaker said. "You should have."

A strange thing happened then. The Speaker agreed with her that she had made a mistake that night, and she knew when he said the words that it was true, that his judgment was correct. And yet she felt strangely healed, as if simply speaking her mistake were enough to purge some of the pain of it. For the first time, then, she caught a glimpse of what the power of speaking might be. It wasn't a matter of confession, penance, and absolution, like the priests offered. It was something else entirely. Telling the story of who she was, and then realizing that she was no longer the same person. That she had made a mistake, and the mistake had changed her, and now she would not make the mistake again because she had become someone else, someone less afraid, someone more compassionate. [p. 212]

In sharing her own story and having it reflected back to her, Ela grew and changed. A Speaker is not a priest in Card's world, but I see some of what a priest does here. A priest encourages someone to tell their story, to share it. A priest listens. A priest reflects.

The Bishop nodded slowly. The Speaker had done a monstrous thing... Yet Peregrino had felt the power of it, the way the whole community was forced to discover these people that they thought they knew, and then discovered them again, and then again; and each revision of the story forced them all to reconceive themselves as well, for they had been part of this story, too, had been touched by all the people a hundred, a thousand times, never understanding until now who it was they touched. [p. 269]

Here the Speaker wove together individual stories he had been told about a person and then retold the story to the community. In a sense, he told the community its story through the story of the person about whom he was Speaking. A priest is a storyteller--the community's storyteller.

As a priest, it will be your task to proclaim by word and deed the Gospel of Jesus Christ... You are to preach... to share in the administration of Holy Baptism and in the celebration of the mysteries of Christ's Body and Blood...[BCP p. 531]

My omissions from the Bishop's address to the ordinand are intentional. These words from the church's own consecration ritual point toward the priest's role as storyteller. What is the Eucharist but the retelling of how we became God's people? The priest leads us through and into the Eucharist, the participatory story that defines us as Christians as much as the Passover Seder defines those of God's people who are Jews. What is the Gospel, indeed all of Scripture, but a collection of stories to be told and retold? Stories that change us in the telling and are changed in our retelling.

Our retelling. The priest may be the community's primary storyteller, but not the only one. There are times when it is quite clear to me that there is a reason for the myriad of voices in our Scripture. A community is not one voice. It is the coming together of many voices. That coming together is done through telling each other our stories and listening to each other's stories. Which means that the priest is also the community's "master" storyteller, the one who teaches the community how to tell their own stories and the stories of the community.

There is more here, but my thoughts begin to go in circles. This is enough for now.

Peace,
Jeff
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Where Am I?

After a week of waiting, having had a hint but not wanting to say anything until I received official word, my discernment committee let me know that they were recommending me for postulancy. The committee filled out the required form, which I had to read and sign the statement at the end:

I have read and understood the response. If the Nominee wishes to respond to this statement please attach a separate sheet.

Well, I did read it. And I did understand it. I'm just not sure it ought to go forward in its present form with my application to the Diocese. Mom's initial reaction was, "Where's Jeffri in this?" My concern is that they seem to say that I should be admitted to postulancy because I've persevered through a rather tortuous process--some 16 years of it. Maybe the long process has colored how I see their responses. They still concern me.

I approached this discernment committee differently than the previous two. I went in assuming it would be a safe place. I went in prepared to speak what I felt without censoring or editing my thoughts before they left my mouth. I went in knowing that I had to be totally open with these five people. Yet I have to wonder if they listened and heard all that I shared with them. Where is the sense of my ministry among them? In the congregation? In the community?

Some of this I can respond to by attaching the "get thee to a nunnery" letter from Bishop Coleridge and outlining my conversations with Bishop Smith. Some will be expanded upon in the spiritual autobiography I must write to go with the application. And some of it I can respond to directly, as outlined in the statement I signed. It may be that someone (Me? Lois?) needs to request that they provide more in-depth responses. And prayer will be involved.

In the meantime, I have financial information to document, transcripts to request, a spiritual autobiography to write, and some theoretical projections to make. Not to mention coming up with $600 as my third of the application fee.

Prayer will be involved.

Peace,
Jeff
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Of Parents and Children

Over the past few months there has been a lot of buzz on some of my email lists about Tim Schenck's What Size are God's Shoes: Kids, Chaos, and the Spiritual Life. So when a copy arrived at the office in a "preview" box from Church Publishing, I figured I should probably read it. For the most part, I read it on the train going to and from the City. Often, I put it aside to read something else. This evening I finally finished it.

It is not a book I would join a study group to discuss. It is not a book I would read again. As I contemplated why a book that generated so much interest in my colleagues across the church didn't speak to me at all, I realized it was, for the most part, because it focused on his kids. That was a little bit of a shock. The Associate Program Officer for Children's Formation in the denominational headquarters of the Episcopal Church had trouble with a book because it was about kids? What does that say about my ministry there? Have I allowed myself to be placed into the wrong job? (And believe me, lately it has been a job more than a ministry, but that's for another time.)

After further reflection I figured out that it wasn't the fact that the book focused on his kids, it was that Schenck wrote about his kids and his relationship with them as a parent. I also realized that I'd found his segues from the parent/child relationship to God's relationship with us to be annoying, if not cloying at times. And while I've been a child, I have never been a parent.

That's not new, and I've read other books written by parents about their relationships with their children and about parenting. I've liked many of them, and disliked others, but I don't remember any being so annoying. Perhaps it is because at 11 months shy of 50, there is a finality about the fact that I never will be a parent. It is one of the the few things I regret about my life. Brian and I had a chance to adopt a baby. We spent long hours discussing the possibility. It was a revelation to me that Brian, who never wanted children, considered it at all, much less as seriously as we did. In the end, we decided that it was not fair to bring a child into the family and place her in daycare. We both felt one of us should be home full-time, at least until she started school, and at that stage of our lives, we couldn't afford for one of us to stop working.

Never say never. I know that. However...

I know a couple who adopted an infant when they were 50, but I just can't imagine teaching a teenager to drive when I'm eligible to collect Social Security. I know someone else who fathered a child at 60, and my first thought was, "He may not live to see his child graduate from college." Even now, spending time with my brother's 10-year-old can wear me out!

At the same time, I do not have to be a parent to work with and for children. I do enjoy being around children, and children seem to enjoy being around me. I can advocate for them, teach them, learn from them, minister to them, and be ministered to by them.

And I don't have to like every book about parent/child relationships.

Peace,
Jeff

Asking for Prayers

Tomorrow morning five people I have come to know and care for deeply will meet together to make a decision that affects the direction of my life from this point forward. We have spent many hours together answering questions together and sharing our stories. Their job tomorrow is to sift through what they have heard from and learned about me and decide whether or not they believe I am called to ordained ministry. Whatever their decision, I know that these five people will continue to support me as I take the first steps into a new life.

It has been a long journey reaching this point. I cannot say that I won't be disappointed--and very likely upset--if their decision is "no." However, I do know that the journey does not end with a "no" answer. It just means attempting to discern where my gifts can best be used in the church. It will also mean some serious reflection on my current job at the Episcopal Church Center and whether or not I can, or wish to, remain employed there. If, on the other hand, the answer is "yes," I will once again raise my eyes and shout out to God, "What are you thinking??!!!??"

Pray for Leona, George, Kim, Ryan, and Diane as they gather.

Peace,
Jeff
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An Oasis Of Crosses

Working for a church organization does have its advantages. We can have a Christmas party in December. We have the opportunity to attend Morning Prayer and a noon Eucharist every day. Employees don't have to worry about displaying symbols of their faith. One of my colleagues is Native American. She decorated her cubical with some sacred objects and beautiful artwork with Native spirituality themes. I have my prayer corner.

I do not perform any work in this corner of my cubicle. This is where I pray, meditate, and reflect. You can see a Book of Common Prayer, a Bible, prayer cards, pictures of sacred sites, and of course, my collection of crosses--though not all of it.

I bought this "Elements Cross" in the bookstore at the retreat center where the Evangelism & Congregational Life Center had it first retreat together after the reorganization. The carved designs represent the four elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.

Not everything hanging in this corner is a cross. To the left of this cross you can see half of a medallion depicting St. Brigid of Ireland. If you look closely at the picture of my corner, you can find a pewter coyote, a pair of beeswax candles, and a small crystal a friend brought back from her time with John of God in Brazil.

I found the cross on the left, along with another small one, in my desk drawer when I began working at the Church Center. One of my colleagues said they were leftover giveaways from some part of previous Episcopal Youth Events. The middle ceramic Celtic Cross I bought during my first trip to Ireland. I usually try to buy work by local artists when I travel, and I brought several back to give to friends. On the far right is a "Preaching Cross" I purchased at General Convention 2006 in Columbus, OH. I haven't yet worn it when preaching.

A couple of years ago I participated in an ecumenical gathering of educators to work on an antiracism/multicultural curriculum for children. During our closing worship, each of us received one of the small crosses here on the left.

Bishop Riah, the previous Bishop of Jerusalem, gave me the olive wood Jerusalem Cross at "Will Our Faith Have Children?" in February 2003. That was the conference when everyone was afraid we wouldn't be able to get to Chicago in February. Instead, we got stuck at the end of the conference because a major snowstorm hit the East Coast.

My colleague Ruth-Ann gave me this ceramic crucifix during our first trip to the Dominican Republic for a meeting of the Episcopal Council for Christian Education. It was at that meeting enough people spoke to her about applying for the Staff Officer for Children's Ministries & Christian Education position at the Church Center. She served in that position, which made her my boss, for one year--until the reorganization. Now she is a valued colleague and a dear friend.

Because of my corner, colleagues often bring back crosses when they travel. This simple wooden cross came back from the Philippines when my colleague and friend Angie visited her family there after attending an Asian Ministries conference in Taiwan. She also brought back a traditional shirt, which I hope to be able to wear by the time Summer begins.

This large mosaic cross was made for me by a member of the Episcopal Council for Christian Education as a "thank you and farewell" gift after the reorganization took me out of Children's Ministries. By the time she brought it to me my boss had moved me into the Children's Formation position, so it became a "welcome back, we missed you" gift.

If you look to the right of this one in the picture of my corner, you'll see one made of Tinker Toys (the new plastic ones). We made them during a meeting of the Episcopal Council for Christian Education on Long Island a couple of years ago.




The latest addition to my collection is this small Ethiopian Cross. My colleague Clay brought it back from his pilgrimage to Ethiopia at the end of January. He has wonderful stories, and we are all waiting for his written "report."

This cross was cast in silver alloy using the lost wax method. It is designed to go on a staff, but as it's only about 6" tall, it isn't a Processional Cross. Although, I've seen some on the Internet that aren't much bigger called "Small Processional Crosses," and looking at pictures of Ethiopian priests carrying crosses (that are not the hand crosses), you can see a wide variety of sizes.



Peace,
Jeff
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Worth Reading

Tom Brackett is a relatively new colleague at work. He serves as the Program Officer, Church Planting and Redevelopment for the Episcopal Church Center. He currently lives and works in Asheville, NC, until the Church Center sets up its the Regional Office planned for somewhere in the Southeast. Tom is soft spoken and has a ready smile. It was a genuine pleasure to see him during our recent In House Days.

He is also the only person outside of the readers of this blog who saw my "Musings On Grace Episcopal Church" before I rewrote it for the February issue of the parish newsletter.

I recently discovered Tom's blog, Church Planting Central, via a comment on another colleague's blog, Father T Listens to the World. I've been pondering Tom's two most recent posts: "What have we here ... is this really 'emergent'?" and "Letting Go." However, I do want to share this particular quote from "Letting Go," which speaks to me both in my position as the Associate Program Officer, Children's Formation at the Episcopal Church Center and as a member of Grace Episcopal Church:

So, right then and there, I made a commitment to God with that cardinal watching as my witness. You might call it a covenant; it’s a pact that I don’t mind making public. I committed myself to seek life, to forsake cynicism, to open myself to what Verna Dozier called “the dream of God.” I committed myself to “let go” of the old ways that no longer serve us. I committed myself to look for and support others who are living into that commitment, as well. In my public life, in my work, it is my dream that we plant and nurture new ministries that are willing to let go of the old behaviors and ego-driven squabbling so that we might embrace God’s call – that Kin-dom that longs to emerge through each of us!

Go and read Tom's blog.

Peace,
Jeff
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The State Of The Church

There has not been much, if any, angst coming out of the Primates' meeting in Alexandria, Egypt. Of course, I haven't gone to read David Virtue's site, or that place I refuse to read. I will not go read those blogs. I will not go read those blogs. I will NOT go read THOSE blogs! I won't even provide links. Colin Coward of Changing Attitude has been blogging from Alexandria. I recommend you go and read his reports.

Meanwhile, back here in the States, we at the denominational headquarters of the Episcopal Church are once again mired in the budget process as we deal with follow up from last week's Executive Council meeting. We've been at this for six months, and we probably will not be finished until the first Executive Council meeting after July's General Convention. As with churches across the country, declining revenue is taking its toll on our budget. More on that when I have something I can say publicly.

Grace will probably be closing its doors in two years.

The diocese wants $1,800 for an application for the Nominee Application Process for Holy Orders. $600 from the Nominee, $600 from the parish, and $600 from itself. And that's just the tip of the iceberg should I be put forward. The church seriously needs to rethink its system for educating clergy.

Prayer. That's about all I can do right now.

Peace,
Jeff

Musings At The Beginning Of The Week

Yesterday this blog turned two years old. For the last six months it has been private--only those invited people may read it, for reasons I've written about before. After I took it private, I posted to it much less frequently, but for the past five weeks or so, I've been writing fairly regularly. Last Thursday I wrote my 400th post. It becomes a discipline, writing regularly, that is. It forces me to organize thoughts and write clearly (I hope) to communicate what I've been thinking about.

Last week was the beginning of my attempt to return to Eat Right 4 Your Type. A few years ago Mom and I followed the program for a while. I felt pretty good when I followed it, and I'm not sure why I stopped. This time I figured I'd move back to it gradually, starting with wheat and dairy. I did pretty well until Friday. This weekend has been a disaster food-wise. But I did manage four-and-a-half days. Maybe this week I can do five, or even six. It's a start.

The other thing that FINALLY sank in this week is that I have to exercise in the evening. I keep telling myself I'm going to get up in the morning early enough to do it before leaving for work. What part of I'm not a morning person don't I understand? (A friend of mine gave me a button that reads "Not a morning person... Doesn't even begin to cover it!") To make a schedule that includes exercise in the morning just sets me up for failure. A half hour exercising most evenings isn't going to kill me. In fact, it's going to do just the opposite.

Late this afternoon I went to the Barnes & Noble in Westport. I browsed, did some research on a project I'm working on, and then spent the evening in the Cafe reading Orson Scott Card's Ender's Game, which a friend recommended I read. I've never been fond of Card's writing. I started two or three of his novels and put them down after a chapter or two. For some reason Ender's Game gripped me. There were so many things that I wanted to note that I ended up buying a copy along with one of those little Hold That Thought! packets of sticky notes. Sermon and blog fodder perhaps...

This morning my Discernment Committee met for the last time with me. They will meet next week to decide whether they feel I have a call to ordained ministry. I have been truly blessed by this group, and I asked, if their decision is that I am not so called, that they consider continuing to meet with me to determine what it is I am being called into. I was deeply touched when they said that they would continue to support me with group meetings no matter what the outcome of their deliberations was. More than that, we discussed meeting as an ongoing group simply because we have all learned much about each other and ourselves during our conversations, becoming a community of faith ("emergent church" anyone?). We also discovered a common interest in genealogy and are seriously considering starting a group that might meet at Grace Church.

Tomorrow those of us employed at the Episcopal Church Center will hopefully get some kind of indication of the direction the 2010-2012 Triennial budget is taking. By the time we get through General Convention, we will have been involved in the budgeting process for about a year. There has to be an easier way to do this, but then I'm not in charge, and it's hard to change an institution!

Peace,
Jeff
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