What We Do & Why It Matters

Be proactive

Begin with the end in mind

Put first things first …

Since the Wausau School District made the decision to implement “Leader in Me” – a program for building leadership and life skills – a substitute teacher will find age-appropriate versions of each of Stephen Covey’s 7 Habits posted in virtually every classroom and throughout the halls of every school, kindergarten through twelfth grade. We see “Leader in Me” t-shirts on the backs of children throughout town. When teaching suffixes to elementary students, we can reference “sharpen” from Habit #7's “Sharpen the saw” and the kids have an instant reference.

When Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People was published in 1989, I was at first intrigued but was soon turned off by the hype. Everyone was referencing this book! Yet the products and material have endured. Countless lives have been touched. Clearly, I needed to revisit my opinion.

Although last week’s post did not reference 7 Habits – I wasn’t thinking of the book or its author – it does fit pretty well with Habit #3, “Put first things first.” Then, even before I went in for this week’s subbing adventures, “Begin with the end in mind” had been rolling around in my head. Looking into it, I find that Covey invites his readers to envision what those who someday gather for our funeral might say about us. Hm. Except for a youthful wish to be considered wise, I have given more thought to what I will think of my life in my twilight years. In either instance, having a vision for one’s life is what Habit #2 is about – whether one is six or sixty-six.

Do you have a vision for your life?

I used to, way back when I was a teenager and young adult, but I stopped thinking about vision once Jay* was born and I had a piano and a house. (I recognize now that I surrendered it in favor of my then-husband’s vision.) Although I’ve accomplished a number of goals in the last dozen years, I hadn’t thought about vision. Maybe it’s time.

I recall in an episode of the original Star Trek series, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” the Enterprise is caught in a battle between two powerful entities. The ship is placed in a super-speed loop from which they struggle to escape. Scotty, with his ever-quick responses, tells the captain that “at Warp 10, we’re going nowhere mighty fast.”

This may describe most of my adult life. Yours, too?

In Adam Leipzig’s TEDx talk about finding one’s life purpose, he speaks of the people he informally interviewed during his 25th college reunion. Distilling what was different about the happier ones, he asks listeners:

1. “Who you are;
2. What you do;
3. Who you do it for;
4. What do those people want and need; and
5. How they change as a result.”

He then points out that only two of the above are about ourselves. “Three of them are about other people.” Those happier people he spoke with were outward-facing. I found all of this interesting but what truly amazed me came toward the end of Leipzig’s talk. He said that when someone asks you what you do, after you’ve wondered about their motivation (or ignored it), just say your response to #5 above, about “how what you do changes the people you do it for.”

Wow.

I’m sure I don’t have this polished but here goes…

1. Who am I? Jayneann
2. What do I do? I teach, equipping and empowering people
3. Who do I do it for? School students, refugee women…
4. What do those people want and need? Someone to accompany them in their learning and who believes in them
5. How does what I do change people? They come to believe in themselves and their capacity to succeed.

Wow, again. I think this might have worked. The next time someone asks what I do, instead of saying, “Not much, I’m on medical leave” or some equally sad statement, I will say…

“I help people believe in themselves and their capacity to succeed.”


* not his real name

Facing Baggage

In recent months, I had been feeling increasingly yucky, beginning in July when a surprising uptick in fatigue left me wondering if I would have enough stamina for the Boundary Waters canoe trip. Thankfully, I felt strong and healthy then and even for a couple of weeks afterward. By early September though, the fatigue returned with other symptoms gradually increasing as well so that by late October I was getting worried. What was going on?

Finally I realized that my systems were overloaded with dead bacteria that needed help in exiting. Jarisch-Herxheimer reaction (aka Herx) is the term for the reaction one experiences as harmful microorganisms within the body die away due to treatment. In the last three years, I have observed most of the long list of Herx symptoms I found online. Again thankfully, in continuing my searches I have found similarly long lists of ways to manage Herx reactions and I include a small few of them in my weekly regimen. The problem is that, beyond this, I forget to consider Herx when my symptoms flare, as they will from time to time. For weeks, or in this case months, it does not occur to me to consider this culprit. 

When I finally put the pieces together a week ago and started treating the Herx more aggressively, symptoms slowly subsided and I began to feel better. With my head clearing, I am thinking that I may be at a place in my healing journey where I need to shift the treatment balance. While continuing to battle bacteria (though perhaps less intensely), it may be time to work more intentionally on removing the dead bits of bacteria which I have learned can continue to do damage for years after bacterial death.

If your eyes glazed over with all of that, here's a different picture. In a dream on Saturday morning, the hose of my vacuum clearer – nicknamed the TurtleBug years ago by my daughter – was so jam-packed full of junk that it could not draw air. When I opened its access door, the bag was so full that it exploded, spewing colorful paper and plastic junk all over the floor. Notice a pattern?

So, here's my epiphany. This same sort of thing happens in other facets our lives as well, in our relationships, and in society as a whole. It’s no surprise that residuals from past disagreements can continue to interfere with our connections with others. We might talk it out, forgive, and think that we have let it go yet still be hindered by frustration, grief, or pain. (Our nation – if we can figure out how to heal the breaches that seem to have become insurmountable – will face similar challenges.) I use things like charcoal and clay, infrared sauna and Epson salt soaks to help my body rid itself of the bacterial byproducts that can leave me feeling sicker. Until last week, I had not made the connection that just as I will shift the balance of treatment for my mind and body, I would do well to apply this practice to other areas of my life. One, by working to dismantle the resistance that keeps me from accepting things I cannot change. Another, by trying to shift the balance in how I connect with other persons.

Even when we have no active conflict, I would like to be mindful of what is driving my part in our interactions. Relationships are really important to me. With friends and family, acquaintances and even people I dislike, I can walk away from our conversations feeling better about my part when I pay attention to the baggage that might be influencing me without my noticing. I’m going to try to work on this. Wish me luck!

when it comes to faith, what really matters?

I was a good student, especially of English. Unlike my children, I loved literary analysis. I could delve into theme and motif and metaphor with the best of them. I learned what all the big classical symbols meant. … I just always thought they applied to fiction, not real life stories. ~ Karen, journal entry, November 2007

I know the writer only through others' stories and her writing. The first time I read her autothanotography (an account of thoughts and reflections on living and dying in the days and months following her cancer diagnosis), I recall thinking that she and I were alike in a number of ways – except, while I was a good student and loved language, literary analysis baffled me. When an English teacher asked, “What was the author thinking?” my inner response was “How could I know?!”

Funny thing, once someone explained that much of the Bible is metaphor (and reminded me what metaphor means), this set of books made so much more sense. Since my teen years, my literal way of interpreting had clashed with my science-loving mind. A growing understanding that these writings reflect the ways that an earlier people made sense of God, the world, and their connections to both as well as to each other did wonders for my views of the Holy. Written during good and bad times, they reveal their context as well as the joys and sorrows, hopes and fears of the writers and the people they served.

Armed with new knowledge, I could find comfort in some of the psalmists’ words:

Lead me to the rock that is higher than I am

      because you have been my refuge (61:2-3)

without being incensed by others:

A blessing on the one who seizes your children

      and smashes them against the rock! (137:9)

Not everyone appreciates my Biblical interpretation. Even though I toned it way down, it was a thorn in the sides of some of the folks in the churches I served. And I think a colleague may have used one of my recent posts to support their decision to move to the Global Methodist Church.* Yet, to quote Martin Luther, “Here I stand, I can do no other.” No longer pastoring, I can speak my truth without masking. And it’s a relief.

While I now attend churches of other denominations and find that they too have both conservative and liberal, one of the things I’ve long appreciated about The United Methodist Church is its “large umbrella” which welcomes many ways of believing. While the jury is out as to whether that welcome will someday include all the people God loves, it’s still my hope. I lament the harm which continues to be perpetuated on those for whom this welcome is only lip-service. At the same time, I remind myself that churches – and denominations – are as imperfect as the individuals who fill their ranks. Maybe this is a cop-out. I’m too close to say.

My former husband used to tell me that I took things too seriously (and I did). I think he meant to suggest that I lighten up – and I’m working on it, slowly – but I’m one of those people who believe that, while some things aren't important, some are not being taken seriously enough. Like caring for the most vulnerable, human and otherwise.

We’ll never all agree and that’s okay, maybe even good. We’re better when we live amongst, and dialog with, people who see the world differently than we do. It's uncomfortable but we grow. What we need is to relearn how to engage in civil discourse. To initiate the new conversations and commit to stick with them even when we’d prefer to get up and leave. 

I don’t mind if you believe in a 6-day creation (God rested on the seventh day) or in reincarnation, I just ask that you recognize that (as I express it) God loves everybody – in fact, all of creation. The queer and the straight. The fundamentalist and the progressive. The intellectual elites and the red-necks. The Muslim, the Buddhist, and the Christian. And also the bees and coyotes, magnolias and kudzu.

Be well.

* The Global Methodist Church is an offshoot denomination of the United Methodist Church (effective May 1, 2022) for those who believed that the only way to live their belief in the wrongness of homosexuality (and other sexuality/gender differences) was to form their own Church.

to what purpose?

I could tell you didn’t have many years left when I moved into the house that June. The grass under a mature crab apple tree is usually a cool and welcome relief from the summer sun but your shade was… dappled at best. Your leaves were sparse and small.

When I saw the arborist and the botanist talking together after church one Sunday, I asked for their opinions but they were already well into their own topic and their responses were brief: it could be anything. Finding the fungus growing up from a root while mowing that summer and later observing the woodpeckers that attacked your bark as they sought the bugs within, my suspicions only grew.

Your trunk is large with an equally large stump removed years ago, perhaps after a heavy rain caused it to crack and split. If I’d been around when you were younger, I’d have pruned you differently – to show off the beauty that your kin reveal. This single straight trunk seems out of place.

And yet you are beautiful, especially in May when you are bedecked with blossoms, their fragrance filling the small backyard. Soon afterward, petals carpet the grass in pink. In rain, your inner bark turns a rosy hue that contrasts handsomely with the brown outer layers. For five winters, I’ve watched eagerly as chickadees, finches, cardinals, juncos and woodpeckers visit your branches. Other times of the year, I watch and listen for your visitors. Who haven’t I noticed before? Last year, it was a cedar waxwing!

Is old-age beauty enough of a purpose?

For three years, I’ve been working toward healing. For two, I lived in near isolation, mostly for fear that Covid-19, if I caught it, would make the Lyme disease so much worse (as it has for others). But I have felt so useless. If I had a purpose, I couldn’t see it. Again and again, I threw my question into the void, toward the waves, at the darkness, “What am I supposed to do?” Strangely, surprisingly (even for one who once earned a living encouraging people to listen to that still, small voice), I heard the whisper. “Heal.” And again, “Heal.”

So I took that as my (hopefully short-term) purpose. Grimacing as I downed Japanese knotweed and cordyceps powders in an herbal tea that is recommended for rebuilding collagen. Imbibing more alcohol than I ever had before in the form of a dozen herbal tinctures. Swallowing tens of pills, morning, afternoon and evening. Soaking in Epsom salt baths. Taking far-infrared saunas. Journaling, making my peace with the past. Meditating, working at living in the now. Practicing compassion and gratitude (each of which has done wonders for my morale). Healing is s-l-o-w but it’s happening, body, mind and spirit. Someday my ears may quit ringing; I may go into remission. (Or not?)

In the old movie Ben Hur, the lead character meets a young woman who cannot walk who tells him about Jesus visiting her village, healing people and teaching them. Why didn’t he heal you? he wonders. She explains that he did. She used to be bitter, eaten up by her anger at the life she was forced to live. Now she sees the beauty, the love, in the world and the people around her. She recognizes that, for her, this is the healing that matters.

I’m aiming for remission yet I can honestly say that my life is really good, right now, today. And tomorrow will be too. What does this have to do with my old crab apple?

Most of us have been trained to measure our worth by how much we accomplish, how clever we are with numbers, how many books we read or items we sell. What if that’s not really our purpose? What if we could measure our worth by the quality of the lives we touch, the beauty we observe around us and share, the web of support we weave for each other and for all the world?

In the end, we may be not so very different from the old tree. One that lifts its arms to its neighbors as if to say, “Take a weight off and rest a moment.” That for one week out of the year blesses all who witness it with an unrivaled beauty.

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a tiny Easter rant

During 10th hour resource on Thursday, the last hour of school for the week, an eighth grader called to me, “What are you doing this weekend?” 

It was a small group, not like the forty-five of the previous hour. No need to maintain order, so I simply responded, “Nothing. What are you doing?” 

“Having Easter.” She turned back toward her friend. 

Oh, yeah, Sunday is Easter.

When I texted Kay a moment ago about topic ideas, she replied: “It is Easter… I’ve been thinking about Lent and celebrating and lack thereof. Particularly how insignificant Easter feels if one doesn’t observe Lent.”

I haven’t been observing Lent. Oh, I got ashes. A palm leaflet is wedged behind the thermostat above the piano. I stuck my hand into the water in the font – "Remember your baptism and be thankful" – after a Holy Thursday service. 

But I gave up giving up things for Lent years ago. Far better, I reasoned, to work on something that might help me better live God’s way. Did that happen?

During Holy Week, the 5 gospels accounts (for me) are:

• Matthew;
• Mark;
• Luke;
• John; and
• Tim Rice & Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Jesus Christ Superstar.

They all have good source material, but Rice and Webber have the added advantage of music theater on their side. Saturday afternoon, I listen. The first half is enjoyable – I note the singers’ voices and styles – but somewhere around “Gethsemane” it becomes torturous for a fully attentive listener. I'm sure it was intended to be. (A pastor at a church I once attended preached on Palm Sunday that it’s impossible to fully experience the joy of Easter without first having gone through Holy Thursday and Good Friday. How can we celebrate resurrection if we have not walked through death?)

I didn’t go to church Friday because I couldn't bear to hear anything resembling traditional atonement theory. Atonement. You know, the reasons theologians came up with in the centuries after Jesus’ torture and execution for explaining why it had to happen. The ones that have gained traction in the last couple hundred years propose that:

• God needed a sinless Jesus to die as a sacrifice for our sin, yours and mine;
• Jesus was born for this purpose. To be a bridge, if you will, between us and the Holy;
• God is so good that having sin near God is impossible. Jesus has to wash us clean with his blood.

I won’t go on except to say that these ideas repel me. If this is god, it’s not a god I want to know or follow. Let's try instead that:

• Jesus died because religious leaders felt threatened and conspired to bring him down, working with a vicious Roman oppressor who was only too happy to do their dirty work;
• Jesus died because even though it was clear that powerful people were out to get him, he would not turn from teaching that, and treating every person as if, God loved them just as they were;
• Jesus died because he held up a mirror to people and while many saw God’s acceptance and their inherent worth, others saw that their lives were warped by one thing or another – by hatred or even the Law that they loved – and they could not bear it;
• Jesus died because people are fickle?
  We welcome the wholeness he offers us but depart without so much as a "Thanks!
  We say we'd die for him on Thursday, then deny him.
  We shout “Hosannah” on Sunday but Thursday we join the crowd for safety. We don’t want to die so we say, “Crucify him!” on cue, whether it’s two thousand years ago in Jerusalem or today when someone who looks or lives differently from us gets pulled over, seeks an abortion or escape from their hell, or…

Following Jesus is so easy. Just love everyone and everything. No buts. No exceptions. 

And that’s so hard.

Thankfully, we don’t have to get it perfect. What we need to do, what our “neighbor” needs from us, what the earth needs from us, is to be and do what we can in this moment without skimping (repeat ad infinitum). Some moments will be better than others. But you know what? That’s okay.

God makes us human. That means God makes us imperfect. And God is okay with that, loves it even. The only atonement that’s needed is for us to let God draw us in (that’s the real at-one-ment).

Blessed Easter

following Jesus is more complicated than we might suppose

You have searched me, Adonai.
    You know me.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I escape your presence?  Psalm 139:1, 7

I don’t pray much anymore, not with words anyway. I hope I’m not fooling myself but I’ve concluded in recent years that God is less interested in wordy prayers or even I-Thou gazing than in our leading lives of prayer – trying to be and do as we are led by the Holy.

Sometimes I miss prayer times but in honesty I seem to be in a post-Christian part of my life. There I said it. Almost two years ago, I left my pastoral role at a local United Methodist Church and while I’ve made peace with not going there – did you know UM clergy aren’t allowed to attend a church where we served? – and am attending First Universalist Unitarian, I do not have a church home. While grieving this loss, I’m beginning not to miss it.

Ever since Constantine converted in 312 CE and subsequently declared Christianity to be the religion of the Roman Empire (from England to Turkey, the Holy Lands and northern Africa) Christianity has kept company with empire. Hear that. For all but the first 300 years after Jesus’ life and death, Christianity has been the religion of empire. Among other things this means that Jesus’ message of radical love for the other was compromised in favor of an easily measurable “say-the-right-words” religion.

Although some hold onto the word Christendom to mean the body of all Christian believers, its historic meaning was more about the power of the Church – in Europe, particularly – after it aligned itself with governments, and the ways that this power was wielded.

(When I write Church with a big C, I’m speaking of the Christian Church as a whole. For a thousand years, we were (almost) all one Church. Then for another five hundred, we were two branches of the same faith tree. That’s most of Christian history. Don’t give in to the luxury of thinking this isn’t about you.)

Christendom led to lots of wars. It encouraged colonization, the usually violent conquest of peoples for their own spiritual good (and to line Christian pockets). Even when atrocities were committed without the express support of the Church – and usually, it was right there in the thick of things – it seldom condemned the genocide, murder and rape. Kings were believed to be chosen by God. They sought and received blessings from their bishops before every endeavor.

When we find ourselves despairing about people’s religion today, we want to remember that, along with examples of faith, our spiritual ancestors offer us a long history of oppression and white supremacy. This history of treating peoples as if they are “less than” while also instructing them to seek atonement for their very existence is what we must own and for which we must repent. Last week, Pope Francis did so in regard to Canada’s boarding school horror. Historic white Christian supremacy fuels homophobia, xenophobia, and misogyny. White extremism is build on the premise of Christendom.

In recent years, I’ve felt helpless to confront the hatred that’s exhibited in the name of Christianity. After saying I was Christian I'd taken to adding, “not that kind of Christian.” But saying this leads me into an “us” versus “them” mentality that I don’t want to perpetuate.

Maybe you’ve had similar thoughts. I’m aware that many of the folks with whom I ministered at Appleton: First UMC left after the denomination’s governing body could not agree that our LGBT+ siblings are as fully beloved of God as anyone, ought to be able to marry in our churches and to be ordained if they feel so led and that leading is affirmed by those charged with guiding them.

What are we to do?

When I used to meet with individuals toward the end of their Confirmation classes, I tried to impress upon them the importance of resting with the questions and not accepting easy answers. Most thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds haven’t gained the maturity to understand that important questions require spiritual wrestling in order for us to grow into answers we wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. (Sadly, many adults never allow themselves to do this either and spiritually stagnate.)

All of this to say: I don’t have an answer. I try to resist hiding in my own silo but admit that exposing myself to another’s anger or ridicule is scary. Still, I believe that as a Jesus-follower (what I call myself), I need to love the haters as much as the outsiders, not feeling-wise but with words and actions. It’s hard. But when following Jesus is easy, there’s a good chance we’re doing it wrong.

Take care.

one little book changed everything

Think of something that, when you were young, shaped your life in a significant way.

When I was a teen, my dad was head usher at our church. As such, he – and we, his family – arrived at church on Sunday well before just about anyone. I spent most of those Sunday morning half-hours in the small, dark-paneled church library. Often I’d flip through a concordance, going down a rabbit hole about whatever term caught my attention. (Bible concordance were huge books that, before the internet, offered alphabetical listings of words and phrases indicating where they occur throughout all the Biblical books.) I wasn’t a Bible nerd. I simply found this information cool in the same way I found the etymology in dictionary entries to be cool.

On days when I wasn’t looking at the concordance, I'd pull down and look at a book that caught my eye. Today’s post is about one such book. 

I was about fifteen when I found it, a small, adult picture book illustrated simply with line drawings. Details – both of the illustrations and the story itself – are lost to memory. They’ve been replaced with what I needed that book to contain. I read it only once perhaps forty-seven years ago...

A young woman, standing outdoors, began to build a wall around herself. One brick each day, sometimes two, she built it. And brick by brick, it grew. At first there were only two courses of bricks in a half circle in front of her, nearly within arms reach of her (and the reader) but slowly the wall grew as day by day she added more bricks – waist high, then higher still until eventually the wall was taller than she was.

It was quiet behind her wall. Peaceful. Safe. There was no pain or anger. No confusion. There was also no wonder or delight but this didn’t trouble her, shielded as she was from those other things. And for no one knows how long, not even the young woman herself, she remained there, content in her solitude.

But one day as she stood in front of her wall, soaking in all the ways that it protected her, she was surprised when a flower landed at her feet. It had dropped from above, from the other side of the wall she had built for her own protection and well-being. A token from someone she could not see and did not know. 

The young woman stood contemplating this gift from the unknown stranger. How long she stood there, I don’t know. Maybe days, months passed as she thought about the flower and what it meant.

And then one morning, the woman began – one brick at a time – to take down her wall. It had taken her many months, maybe years, to erect. It would take at least as long to dismantle.

Earlier, I invited you to think of something that shaped your life. This book is one for me.

I didn’t recognize that the story was a parable. I understood parables only as stories Jesus told to get his point across. That other people might employ the same device didn’t occur to me.

The concept of metaphor also eluded me – well into adulthood – but when I read this story I knew the author was writing about my life. Already, I had begun building a wall to protect myself from the confusions and hurts that were (I later realized) a regular part of growing up. I didn’t know how to cope with them or with the emotions which seemed to be triggered too easily. Describing my reaction to the story in today’s vernacular, I’d say – “OMG, that’s me!”

I’m a loner who craves the company of others – but not too much – and only of a select few.* Still, I need them as much as I need green trees and a piano. Yet connecting is hard. Before learning about my Asperger’s, I’d noticed that innocent remarks could leave people offended. I thought there was something wrong with me

This book presented itself at just the right moment. I’ve never seen another copy. If I had missed it, another learning opportunity might have presented itself. (They have a habit of doing that.) What I know is that my world changed that Sunday. Though it’s still difficult every time I speak to a new person, or ask something new of a familiar one, I risk it, opening myself to possibilities. Another person might look at my thin circle of friends and say that I’ve failed. But I know what my life might have been like if I’d never read that book.

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*  The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) identifies me as a gregarious introvert. I like 16 Personalities for learning more about each of the 32 types – the 16 original types each split into two subtypes. My daughter Kay who has delved deeply into the MBTI for character research in writing her novels tells me that this site’s assessment is the best (free one) she’s found.

“A song of peace for their land and for mine”

The National Flower of Ukraine

Driving across the bridge, past Interstate Park and into Taylor Falls on my way to United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities, I regularly passed a small group of people standing at a street corner with placards. Returning home the next day I would see them again. Always at the same spot. It looked like a memorial, all cement with a raised dais. Maybe there was a plaque at the top of those three steps. Maybe they had good reason for choosing this place to stand and sometimes call out to passing drivers. These few individuals were protesting an invisible war that leaders of our nation had decided to wage in someone else's homeland. Maybe that spot was a memorial to those who had served and fallen in a previous war. Their “never again.”

As I passed I thought, our nation’s leaders probably think they have good reasons for the war. But what I was learning, and would learn, while in seminary left me skeptical.

Until seeing a film at UTS recreating the “recruiting” of boys to serve in El Salvador’s civil war, until reading The Massacre at El Mozote and more in preparation for traveling there with a class of 14 others in January 2010, I had believed I was a pacifist. After that, I knew better. If my child was threatened, I would do anything to keep them safe. And for me, as apparently for Glennon Doyle, “There is no such thing as other people’s children.”i

To see 11-year-old children lying still and silent on the corrugated metal roofs of their homes so that recruiters would not claim them made my heart sick. To watch as each boy taken had to choose, while a gun was to the back of his head, whether or not to “serve” left me sick and angry.

Though I mentally supported those protesters I passed in Taylor Falls, I would forget them by the time I was climbing the hill on the other side of the river. My mind and my time were full. I was pastoring three churches while also attending seminary a couple days a week. I was parenting a teenager. I was... Well, isn't that the way it is? We have so many reasons to excuse ourselves from doing more of what we know is right.

Maybe my reasons were valid. I don't know. What I do know is that seeing those protesters – week in and week out – I committed to myself that I would never again sit silently by.

War is an affront not only to our faith but to our humanity. Like many others, I’ve struggled for as long as I can remember against the nationalistic notion that military might, soldiers, and war are necessary and even good. The only thing war is good for is the economy. (Remember that!) How could people support having such a huge military budget? Didn’t this make war that much easier? Sadly, we have been so inculcated by our society that we see war as the norm.

In 2015, Pope Francis was speaking to an audience of 7000 children (!) during an event sponsored by Peace Factory. “Many powerful people don't want peace because they live off war.” Responding to a question from one of the children, he continued, “This is serious, some powerful people make their living with the production of arms. … It's the industry of death.”ii

Last week, a picture of the Dalai Lama came across my Facebook feed with these words:

“Most of us have been conditioned to regard military combat as exciting and glamorous – an opportunity for men to prove their competence and courage. Since armies are legal, we feel that war is acceptable; in general, nobody feels that war is criminal or that accepting it is criminal attitude. In fact, we have been brainwashed. War is neither glamorous nor attractive. It is monstrous. Its very nature is one of tragedy and suffering.”iii

There is nothing remarkable about this way of understanding governments’ inclinations for mass violence. Such beliefs have been recorded many times through the generations. Men's words shouting into a void. Men's, because, though most mothers who watched sons leave for battle would have had some choice words, women's voices were seldom memorialized.

If the core of Jesus' teachings is about living in beloved community – and I believe that it is – then we must strive to build community with our worldwide neighbors. To claim the name of Christian and yet fail to do this is to reject Christ. Should we not be shouting from the rooftops about every abuse? Each act of oppression?

I do not say that standing by as a bully attacks another, innocent or not, is right. It never is. I don’t pretend to know what is the one, best choice for the current circumstance – if there is one. What I do know is that, for me, remaining silent was not an option.

My country's skies are bluer than the ocean,

And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.

But other lands have sunlight too and clover,

And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.

Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,

A song of peace for their land and for mine.iv

i Glennon Doyle, Untamed, chapter title “racists,” 2020.

ii Many powerful people don't want peace,' Pope tells children,” RT International, May 11, 2015, https://www.rt.com/news/257545-pope-francis-war-arms, last viewed on March 2, 2022. Also, Jen Hayden, “Pope Francis: 'Many powerful people don't want peace because they live off war,'” The Daily Kos, May 11, 2015, https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2015/5/11/1384007/-Pope-Francis-Many-powerful-people-don-t-want-peace-because-they-live-off-war, last viewed on March 2, 2022.

iii The 14th Dalai Lama, https://www.dalailama.com/messages/world-peace/the-reality-of-war, last viewed on February 28, 2022.

iv “This is My Song,” 2nd stanza, words by Lloyd Stone, 1934 as found in The United Methodist Hymnal #437.

It's our choice?

 …encourage [each other] to be sensible in every way. Offer yourself as a role model of good actions. Show integrity… Titus 2:6-7 (CEB)

Somebody chose to do something stupid. (I can say that word here. In schools, it’s a no-no.) Maybe they didn’t think events would unfold as they did, but they knew better.

Somebody else’s sense of privilege led them to believe they were immune to consequences and they chose to do something stupid too. They also knew better.

Poor choices all around.

I have particular people in mind. You may have thought of certain other individuals as you read the above. Either or both of these sentences might refer to many individuals including you or me depending upon the day or the situation.

In my first draft, I wrote that each “did something stupid.” I changed the wording to “chose to do something stupid” because, tho’ some people would prefer not to think of it that way, we always have a choice.

• I chose to seek divorce after 25 years of marriage accepting that I might be alone for the rest of my life.

• I chose another action that, if it had reached my superior’s knowledge, would have ended my time in pastoral ministry even before Lyme disease did. 

• I chose to drink coffee even though my stomach hurt yesterday after I had a cup

In each case, I considered the possible consequences of my choice before ever taking action. But even if I hadn't, the choice was still mine to make. Part of growing fully into ourselves involves accepting this truth.

The core of Buddhist teachings – as I understand them – is that life is filled with suffering. There is no avoiding suffering yet we don’t have to be crippled by it. The first of the Buddha’s noble truths speaks of dukkha, a life that does not satisfy. At the core of all dukkha is craving or attachment. We constantly long for or cling to things that we think will fulfill us. We avoid that which we dislike. This grasping, clinging and avoidance is the source of dukkha. (That’s the second noble truth.)

My attachment to a certain idea of what marriage was supposed to be prevented me from accepting the marriage I had. I wanted a marriage like the one I’d expected. I wanted that houseful of children – most of them adopted – that I'd dreamed about and a home where we could live for decades. We moved often enough that we were accepted as potential adoptive parents in two different states but then moved before a placement could be made. I endured a lot of grief – I doubt it could have been helped – but I could have celebrated the life I had even as I grieved. Instead, I was stuck in dukkha.

Maybe it’s that I’m meditating more. Or maybe it’s just the accumulation of birthdays but I’m questioning my reasons for wanting one thing or another more than I used to. Not in the moment necessarily, but on reflection I ask: Why do I want to do this or buy that? What’s my reason for thinking I need to say something or respond a certain way. Buddhism introduces seekers to the Hungry Ghost. When I first read about the Hungry Ghost years ago, the image stuck with me. Let your mind create a picture of one with a large distended belly and a really skinny neck. This figure is, obviously, always hungry, always wanting more – more food, more sex, more fun... – but because of their small neck they never get enough to satisfy. 

When the answer to my inner question about motivation is Hungry Ghost, as it often is, I pause. I pray and listen. After a while if it still seems like a right choice, I may follow through. With practice, I’m becoming more comfortable resting with the possibility. Being pregnant with it, as my colleague Markus would say.

Do I still say stupid things? Definitely, but maybe less often.

Do not be deceived; God is not mocked, for you reap whatever you sow. Galatians 6:7 NRSV

If there are consequences, we accept them. Sometimes, forgiving ourselves is all that is needed. Other times, we need to seek or offer forgiveness in order to mend a breach. In each instance, we're called through our faith to face what we've done, to amend our behavior, to repair the relationship (if possible) and to love.

Always to love. This is the path we are called to walk.

“Anybody can love those who love them or do good to those who do good to them. Should you be commended? … Instead, love your enemies and do good expecting nothing in return. If you do this, you will be acting God’s children.” Luke 6:32-35 paraphrased

    

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Momentous

from Positivewordsdictionary.com

It’s Friday afternoon and I’ve done almost nothing today. I woke up at 6 but, after meditating, went back to bed and slept another two hours. I’m fine with this for it has been a momentous week.

In late December, I submitted an application to the Wisconsin Department of Instruction for a substitute teacher’s license. In the weeks that followed, I wondered about my decision. You see, when I was ordained I made certain commitments – to serve God among others – and while one can, and many do, serve beyond the local church, I hadn’t thought this would be me*. Actually, I’d been praying and considering this action for nearly two years, more since accepting that for the sake of my health I can never again serve a church as pastor, even part-time.

What would Bishop Jung say if I began teaching without first alerting him? I didn’t know but not knowing if my experiment would even work I didn’t feel compelled to notify him. Neither he nor my superintendent had checked on me since I began medical leave, and while both have big jobs, especially the last two years, this may have influenced my decision. Still, I struggled. What was I to do? As I did 25 years ago, I have prayed a lot, meditated to free my mind, listened. And listened some more. 21 years ago I received what seemed like a clear answer. Not so, this time.

For more than two years, I have worked toward healing and looked forward to a time when I might begin substitute teaching once or twice a week. Though it wasn’t the direction I’d expected my life to go, I’ve always loved teaching and, being able to think well on my feet, I’m good at subbing. I could serve God’s people this way. Subs are especially needed (and appreciated) during these pandemic times.

I believe God is good with this. Today’s UCC Still Speaking Devotional “First Things First” by Anthony Robinson clarified some of what’s been rolling around in my mind. When he was speaking at a conference, he encouraged a young pastor seeking guidance with current challenges to “ask God to show you God’s purpose, God’s calling and mission for your church. What is God calling you to do?”

Yes, churches need this message – regularly, but especially as pandemic leaves them creatively trying to figure out how to be and do church – but individuals, like you and me, also need to hear it. Robinson continued, “Call on [God] to show you that and give you what you need to be about it, and leave the other things to sort themselves out. I suspect it was something like that Jesus had in mind when he said, ‘Seek first the kingdom and these things will be given to you as well.’”

This is just what I needed to hear. I recall years ago reading a story about a teenager preparing college applications but not knowing which direction God was leading him. His wise aunt suggested that he prayerfully continue on his preferred course while being open to a possible nudge by God toward a different path. He took her advice and in so doing he grew more comfortable following God’s lead in his life. (I have too.)

By now, you may have guessed why this week was momentous for me. Last Thursday I got a call from the local school district office. They were ready for me to complete my paperwork, get a name badge and begin work. I went in Friday morning to complete the process. Monday I received notice that the state had approved my certification application. (Things falling neatly into place can also be a sign that we're following a right path.) I was excited as I haven’t been excited in a long while.

Wednesday afternoon I had my first hours of paid employment in nineteen months, substitute teaching 17 kindergartners. They are great kids and I had a wonderful time, tattling, squirming, and all. It was perfect. Thursday afternoon, I filled in for an elementary science teacher. Again, wonderful. Next week I help with 5th grade, special ed, and middle school math. I keep reminding myself not to overextend (I don't want a setback!) but this feels so good!

* In June 2020, I left pastoral ministry to focus on healing from chronic Lyme disease.

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A Backpackful of Privilege

For those living in the U.S., today is a federal holiday honoring the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. If he had lived, he would have been 93 this weekend. Initially I planned to write about Dr. King but I think he would agree that talking about the justice work we still need to do (and doing it) honors his legacy far more.

I’m white. Though I didn’t know it, my parents were poor when I was a child. Still, our white privilege led to opportunities – for homes, education and wealth – that we would not have had if we had been black or brown. It’s from this place that I’ll be writing. (My assumption is that most, if not all, of my readers are white.)

Last summer, I reread Joseph Brandt’s Understanding & Dismantling Racism. My first reading, while in seminary, was eye-opening. Brandt writes not only that racism is caused by white people but also about how it affects us negatively, with a goal that we will develop strategies to dismantle racism.

My first job out of college was teaching bands and choirs in Navajoland (on the reservation). As a beginning band of 5^th and 6^th graders progressed through the tunes in the rote book, we eventually came to Ten Little Indians. I’d sung it many times as a child. I had to have learned it from someone. But as I looked at the lines of music and thought about the words of the song, I felt ashamed. How could I have ever thought this was okay?

I’m going deeper than usual but I ask you to keep reading. This is important.

Do you accept that you are racist? I wish it weren’t true but choosing not to be racist doesn’t work when we’ve benefited from racism all our lives. Peggy McIntosh (no relation that I’m aware of) describes it as an invisible knapsack of privilege, received at birth, that we can’t take off.

Racism creates two prisons, one is for the people of color who are oppressed, the other is ours. This second prison is shaped by all the boundaries – cultural, institutional, residential, relational – that divide and disconnect us from everyone else. If you take the analogy further, this prison is invisible. It functions only so long as we don’t recognize it. If someone suspects, tales are spun to lull them back into complacency. How?

From the time we are infants, we take in subtle identity messages – at home, school, church, wherever. Some are good and healthy; others are not. Do you recall any of these messages – that some people are better, smarter, prettier, lazier, less sensitive, more suited for certain jobs or roles? And how are “they” portrayed? As drunks? Or people you can’t count on?

Last year, the lone black Marathon County commissioner (where I live) introduced a resolution saying that the county affirms and supports all people. After months of discussion, it was voted down! We made national headlines.

Maybe you’ve unpacked some of your baggage around racism. I hope so. But as long as systems are in place that make it easier for white people to get homes, education and jobs – which naturally means money too – as long as there are white people who don’t recognize their racism even as they use us/them language, there is work for us to do.

Whole books are written on the subject of racism. I’m not so foolish as to believe I can cover the topic here. Still, I hope I’ve persuaded you to consider your own racism and to look further at how we – well-meaning, caring people – could possibly be racist. (Peggy McIntosh’s TED Talk is a good place to start.)

I have one point left to cover.

A Facebook friend who is black recently posted that black people are taking care of their part. It’s up to white people to do ours. It wasn’t the first time I’ve read this thought.

We are all caught in the web of racism. And it’s bad for all of us – not just for brown and black people who continue to be oppressed – but for white people as well. When we accept the socialization we’ve received that we’re better or more deserving, when we benefit from the systems that elevate us unawares while diminishing others, not because of any personal merit but simply because this society was established for the benefit of white people, then we can never be our best selves. We can never be the persons that God intends us to be. We can never, without lying, say we’re not racists.

We need to dismantle this evil for all of our sakes.

   

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Keeping Secrets

I wrote this entry about eight months ago but then shelved it for a time. The secret I thought I had, ended up not being so much of one as I'd thought. Yet, keeping secrets and maintaining integrity is a real concern for me, and maybe for you...

As an Aspey[i], I pretty much gave up lying and secret-keeping about the same time I left my teen years behind – simply because I was so bad at it. I never had a poker face. And if someone asked me something related to any information I was trying not to share, I couldn’t come up with a convincing half-truth in that split-second before they expected an answer.

I admit that I once thought I was "holier" for doing this but I finally admitted that I simply stopped doing something I was bad at anyway.

Now I have a secret. Though I’ve shared it with a few people, it seems best to keep it to myself for the present.

And I don’t like it. Being so out of practice, it’s hard. As yet, no one has approached me with the dreaded question, but how long can I expect that to last? And what will I answer? Besides the whole “I’m a lousy liar” there’s the issue of integrity. I want to be honest.

Contrary to what we may have learned, keeping secrets isn’t necessarily bad for a person. Michael Slepian, professor at Columbia Business School, studies the psychology of secret-keeping. In a recent study, Slepian surveyed people about the nature and extent of their secrets. Earlier, he had discovered that the bigger the secret, the greater the potential harm to its keeper. This time, he wanted to examine the connection between secret-keeping and lower wellbeing. He found that rather than the secret’s content, what mattered was how often a person thought about their secret – the more they thought of it, the lower their sense of wellbeing. For many people, the sense of inauthenticity is what is most damaging.[ii]

Hm. Inauthenticity is the biggest threat to my well-being.

In Wired for Authenticity: Seven Practices to Inspire, Adapt & Lead, Henna Inam, CEO of Transformational Leadership Inc., talks about a leader’s need for authenticity. I haven’t read the book, but I read Skip Prichard’s conversation with Inam about the 7 Practices of Authentic Leadership that she proposes. #5 resonated with me.

Choose Be before Do ... ‘Who am I being right now? Am I acting from inspiration or fear?’ [This is a big question for me.] Who we are being is constantly changing. ... We are constantly doing – without slowing down and getting curious about who we are being.’[iii]

I'm so busy doing, doing, doing. I do because

• I have a job and people expect me to accomplish things. I'm a people pleaser (and I need the paycheck);
• Besides working at my job, I have a home to maintain, dishes and laundry to wash, grass to mow, etc.;
• Beyond all that, I want to be out-of-doors, planting, weeding, pruning, walking. 

In the last year, it's come to me that even reading is doing and I've tried to be intentional about noting the difference between the being and doing. But doing is so much easier. In doing, I don't need to face that I'm not being the me I'm called the be.

‘Who am I being right now? [iii]

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[i] A person with Asperger’s Syndrome

[ii] http://psycnet.apa.org/record/2017-20428-001 as referenced at https://www.thecut.com/2017/05/keeping-secrets-isnt-bad-for-you-with-one-exception.html

[iii] https://www.skipprichard.com/7-practices-of-authenticity/

A Week Later

“If you want to know about wolves and their feeding habits, you have to ask the deer.”[1]

Friday afternoon, I turned to the first page of my (now) gratitude journal to a collection of thoughts and quotes from my first year of seminary, almost 12 years ago. This one – a remnant from Bob Alber’s “Intro to Pastoral Care” class hadn’t particularly touched me since I’d written it, until today, until this week when The United Methodist Church upheld its 1972 ruling that the practice of homosexuality is “incompatible with Christian teaching.” The Church I grew up in, the Church that is in my bones, did this!

Rhaynen[2] can talk about it at least somewhat dispassionately since she doesn’t value church. But what about Amy, J, D, B, J, B & K, D, R, and all the rest? 

Actually, as Rhaynen discovered, the Book of Discipline (so far) says nothing about transgender persons. Only sexuality is addressed. Guess it wasn’t on the denomination's radar in 1972. Maybe those who’re quite anti-gay don’t realize that gender and sexuality are not on the same spectrum. 

How could they do this?! I mean, I get it. I can easily understand that many faithful people aren’t there yet. But we’d hoped that the One Church plan would allay their fears about anyone trying to change “their” church while also affirming the acceptance and full inclusion that many others practice, or long to practice. 

I truly hadn’t realized that the One Church plan would be so distasteful to them. As a friend asked Tuesday evening, “Were we so naive?” I hadn’t thought so.

I grew up in a bubble and it pretty much lasted until I began my seminary experience twelve years ago. “How do I view GLBT?” is the question that became real during seminary. It was easily resolved as I sat in classes with and learned from fabulous, faith-filled, Spirit-led gay and lesbian persons. The question (now with a few more initials) became personal eighteen months ago. I love Rhaynen. I don’t know her well but her welfare, her fears and sorrows matter to me as much as my other three kids. I marvel at her courage in choosing the path that will, I pray, lead her to wholeness. 

I pray for all of us, but particularly for those wounded yet again by the Church. When someone says this isn’t a big deal, I think of the deer. I’m a wolf. It’s easy for me and my fellow wolves to think this isn’t important. But we’re not deer. We haven’t been chewed up by the institution that is supposed to represent God in the world.

Bishops and other leaders within the Connection counsel us to practice caution and patience. Yes, don’t decide anything rash. We humans tend not to think rationally when we’re grieving. Wait. Allow yourself to feel what you feel. Wait also for the Judicial Council which gathers April 23-25 to decide the constitutionality of the Conservative plan.

Still, I wonder, with many of you, “What will I do?”

God knows, but I do not. I’ll take one day at a time. I’ll listen. I’ll pray. I’ll offer people safe space to share their feelings. And one day when I’m feeling more prepared and less fragile, I trust I’ll know what to do. 

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[1] I can find no validation for the reference I was given in 2007. Then we were told: Ruben Alvarez, 1979, Faith, Science, Future, World Council of Churches.
[2] Not her real name.

Goodness!

Some people object to the phrase, “God is good,” and for good reasons. Others say, “God is good,” whenever something good comes their way, and this works for them.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. I remember when Bishop Linda Lee led the Wisconsin Conference and how she would regularly (and often) pull us back to task.

Bishop: “God is good.”
Church: “All the time.”
Bishop: “All the time,”
Church: “God is good.” 

But is God good?

Yes, God is good – in the same sense that life is good and that burping when your stomach is distended is good. Neither example have any inherent goodness about them. Releasing GI pressure brings ease. As long as we don’t do it in an unacceptable space or moment – like during the community prayer at church or during the heart-wrenching death scene at the theatre – all is good. Life is good, as good as we choose to believe it to be with all the death, disease and injustice that abounds.

Yes, God is good. The Source of All that Is leads us to live as fully as we’re able, with a compassion- and justice-focused mindset. The One that is Beyond All Else empowers us to live abundantly, to trust that even with all the bad stuff that life throws at us living is still a gift, something worth doing as well as we can.

So God is good.

But is God really good?

No, not if you mean “good” as we might measure it on our own good/bad scale. We humans are each somewhere on that continuum, some of us more good, some more bad, while others are smack-dab in the middle.

The challenge to God’s goodness comes when we accept that God doesn’t fit on this continuum. God is neither good nor bad – not by any human definition. God is quite other. Not simply larger (tho’ that may be); instead God is different beyond our comprehension. To use an imperfect analogy, we can’t really compare apples, mallard ducks and rose crystal. They each have their merits. Each has its value. But equating one with the other? ... that’s tough.

Then is God good?

When my children were young, I tried to remind them often that they were perfect just as they were. They were exactly as a five- (or seven- or ten-) year-old ought to be. This idea also helped when I might otherwise have been frustrated by students at school. “They’re perfect examples of 7th graders. They’re acting just like 12- and 13-year olds should act.” 

Expecting that nine-year-old to act like a nine-year old and not like a little man is about perspective. It's helpful – for both of us. Not expecting God to act like a finite human being is also about perspective, and is similarly helpful. I honestly believe that God (however you define them) leads us – rocks, blowfish, and humans, all of us – toward a best way, if we will only accept guidance. The blowfish and rocks are better at following but with practice we can get pretty good too.