Saying Thank You

     As I finish my almost last semester of my Master of Social Work study’s (MSW), I thanked a professor who in his class had been immensely helpful personally and professionally He being who he is, was very flattered and thanked me for the response. The class about solutions, something I think we all need more of less problems more solutions. But more on that latter. I learned after and subconsciously in my M. Div. work, that it is advisable to say, thank you as soon as you can when you feel completed to do so.

One of my most helpful M.Div. professors and helpful people in my life thus far, last Fall  met at the reunion and I profusely thanked her for her support in believing in me when I could not believe in myself and willing to take a chance and lead me and my classmates on a journey a Pilgrimage to all of us really, a lot of miles away and across an ocean. At least that’s how I perceived it I’m not really sure how she saw it but regardless my perception was that she saw nothing wrong with the depression experience I was undergoing that had landed me in some unfortunate circumstances.

         

   I three years later told her, thank you because it was the first time I was really able to process what she and others had done then I had several others my academic advisor, my fantastic roommate, and my texting buddies who were willing to listen to me and fight. As I told my academic advisor “You being sic on the X really worked! It was the next day and she made a decision within 12 hours!”

            
 I started to tear as I explained where I was in the past year and why I was zonked out at the prior year reunion and she told me so gently ‘I know’ and I told her again and again what that trip meant to me then and what it continues to mean to me.

        

    She hugged me as I started to bawl and snot on her shoulder (thankfully she is always gracefull) and she whispered in my ear “Betty (and my full name) I love you and you are doing wonderful things, don’t forget it’. It was a true moment of the Holy Spirit truly being present for me, and, the first for a good long time.

            Telling this semesters professor “well I’ve learned you had better say thank you when you can and as often as warranted because you never know.” One never knows what impact it might have on the other person you thank, the good Karma of the universe. Thank you at endings comes to my mind as I terminated my internship at a homeless shelter and well I did not say thank you verbally to my clients. I am thankful that they trusted me with their stories, their struggles, the realities they face. Creating that holding space to be as they are. As I enter into the world with almost an M.Div and a big bad MSW,  this is sacred work. My clients thanked me for what I did, and I guess like my professor I believed in them when they could not yet believe in themselves. Reminding them of their own awesomeness, or how I explained my job as a social work intern to them.

Jesus in a van Down by the River

       Starting my second masters in May to get my MSW appears to many like i’m a glutton for punishment.  I often question this of myself, why does one need two masters other than to get more letters behind your name and get lots of nice papers and tassels to put on the wall.  One of the critical components of the MSW is field work or an internship. This where the rubber hits the road to say and all of the theories and concepts that you learn out of books and doodle in your notebooks if you're like me hit you smack in the face.

    In seminary my field placement was in a food pantry in an affluent county in New Jersey where we competed for grants against cities like Newark, Camden, Paterson. Where the need is at least perceived to be greater. But the county I worked in had a great deal of the in be-tweeners or the people who are only one or two paychecks away from disaster. Heaven forbid the car needs repair or someone gets sick, they are right there at the welfare office begging for help to get past a hump. Known as ALICE, for Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed.  

    I have found in my work in social services both secular and religious that there is a huge gap between public assistance and not. But what of the in between, those who need that extra $30 in food stamp/SNAP benefits to make it to just exist not even save. But they make in their gross pay too much. What of them? My MSW field placement is at a men's homeless shelter in a country of great wealth disparity. One side of the county is tremendously wealthy but the other side is tremendously poverty stricken. Likewise this shelter takes men from a neighboring county where there is a MAJOR state university but won’t help you unless you are getting $2.00 a month or less it seems. I also work at 211 where I take calls from all over the state of NJ for people asking for assistance and do a lot of intakes for said county's residents. What can I offer them when they call in homeless at 9:00pm on a Friday night. Nothing.

          I am frustrated by all of this, my lack of being able to help, to feed, to clothe, to shelter, to keep warm in the winter, get needed prescriptions let alone give spiritual solace to.  Pope Francis recently said “You pray for the hungry. Then you feed them. That’s how prayer works.”

This is an insurmountable task to even dream of some days after I'm done with work or my internship, when I feel most productive banging my head against the wall. I am left to wonder of the gift of the Holy Spirit and Jesus’ time on Earth taught us anything at all. Jesus might today be that homeless person who goes to work, makes a wage, not a living wage but still to much for assistance other than maybe $16.00 a month in food stamps. But can not afford a safe decent place to live. He and the disciples instead of a boat might have had a run down van and an ‘Obama’ phone as the guys at the shelter call it, or a government sponsored phone with 250 free minutes and unlimited texts a month. Living the high life for sure.

    I might be blaspheming to some here but the truth and reality can slap you upside the head mighty fast. I see all the resources that churches and faith groups have an wonder why social service and faith need be separate. I hate giving referrals where there is a condition to get a meal you must go to the church service before hand. It's wrong and not the way that Jesus operated at all. You sat down you had a conversation you ate together even if it was a scrap of bread a dash of oil, and a tiny piece of fish. You did it together not forcing. I think this is where the disconnect often happens.

       Our buildings are becoming just that buildings that collect dust, what if we as people of faith were truly able to serve the in-betweeners and fill gaps to help people get strong for themselves and then return the good will to others who have become in-betweeners. What if  Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. In the letter of, James  we are told, "If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? (James 2 15) became a lifestyle and not just words on a page.

How we ought to act at the moment of someone takeing there own life

           I’ve been rolling around in thought about Robin Williams’s suicide. A tragic course of events for sure. Well for us the public he always bought his A game, from the serious role in Dead Poets Society to playing Genie in Aladdin, but we only now see the role that he had outside of the public; the role of living with depression, anxiety, mental illness.  As I posted on Facebook last night this was a loss was not one that needed or ought to have happened.

            Having been in the place where I was just two steps from actually committing the act of suicide something stopped me. I think now several years latter that it was an inner longing of the hope I knew remained. I still cared some how. But to often it comes to the point where the thoughts, the plan, the letters the notes come about and hope and desire to live ends. I wish I could have been in the place of his death with Robin to talk to him to listen to his pain or as I say in pastor counseling/listening; sit in the shit with the person, dwell.

            In working in peer mental health I see the spark of hope persistently poking through as one client states of his depression ‘the frozen lake’. Some how kindling that spark that fire even in the frozen of a deep Alaskan winter.  But I know as a peer, a professional and as a family member, that at a certain time after you as a helper can not do more then hold hands with the person and call them to remember who they are from the soul. But it then is in the persons hands, giving it over to their soul their spirit to defend and concur the pain inside their brains.To kick ass and get the golden perhaps platinum metal of valor, honor and strength.

It pains me that only when the death of celebrity do we discuss the power that mental illness has to scare, to cause stigma, to be sad and scared. But we never discuss it when it is manageable and treatable when it’s the persistent sadness, lack of interest, the over sleeping the odd eating patterns the crying jags. When there are a many options for treatment and management. 

Likewise as a person of faith who is a peer, it is our God given duty, to love. Especially when people cannot love themselves. Not to heal but to love to simply love. To act as the way Jesus acted reaching out to less then desirable of society. To celebrate them as fellow children of God.

Anger with the Almighty

            One of the subjects and trains of thought I have been following for a long time is that of Anger with, and/or at God. When I first got really sick, as in I admitted it. God had not talked with me for a long time. I even sat in more silence then before to try and hear the voice of the creator to know that I was loved, especially when I could not love myself.  But still the profound silence remained. And not knowing what to do with that fact I became even more depressed crying “my God, my God why have you left me?”

            Well I know that I’m not alone in that anger and frustration with God. Heck even God in the person of Jesus prayed for the cup to pass to someone else. The prophets crying out with Gods displeasure often where going on gut and on strings of faith. I ‘caught’ somewhere along the line that it was not acceptable to be angry with God, I have no clue where though. But in a bible study the pastor who was acting as facilitator said ‘look to the psalms, lots of anger there. But likewise lots of hope, dreaming and praying’. Or as I like to think, nothing comes out of or exists in a vacuumed. As sweet is to sour the universe must hold a balance with itself.  So if there is love there need to be the balance, I often wonder if God is sometimes frustrated with us in our humanness.  Likewise as I was speaking to a colleague of mine at work today, if we are created to be in relationship with God in the image of human relationship, anger is normal.

            However I think the anger is more often a convenient mask for disappointment and frustration. I in my work within the community work with a young women and her family. She finally said yes to a residential treatment, where she could get the best help and go on trips to Dorney Park if she earned it. The facility was clean and bright, with trees all around. More like a retreat center then a residential program for youths with serious mental health issues. We got onto the property and 20 feet from the door she stopped. We played this game for three hours. Eventually I left with the mother after having the young women signed over to the facility.  As we where leaving she still had not entered.

As I found out latter that afternoon, as I celebrated the young women getting to the property, I found that in her refusal the child welfare branch that was involved took her to a shelter because they felt that residential needed to 100% voluntary.  I ran through a gambit of feelings, anger, frustration, disgust, but ultimately ended up on disappointed. I think the most extreme type of anger. The knowledge that the services are there but can not be accessed because of systems, money and personal choice. Freewill gives us this last one and I think that is where God often becomes sad, that we never fully experience all that is offered to us to succeed.

            For me disappointment and anger, also lead to distrust. But in the course of my own recovery and Systematic Theology (yes of all places) I figured out and accepted “our no to God, can NEVER overwhelm God’s yes to us”. So the anger and related feelings, might just be our rebellion to the extreme emotional feelings of what that complete yes from God is.

"I was much further out than you thought and not waving but drowning.”

Todays title is from a quote from Stevie Smith

Its been a while since I have been able to create a post to write for the blog. I guess its because I have been yet once again smacked again in the face and butt with depression. Depression has been a companion at different lengths away from my late childhood. I got the help I deserved in seminary and have been facing the challenge of acceptance a mental illness for two years. It has not been an easy walk, often with God being in silence. Radio silence. But i’ve stuck with the work of treatment and ‘staying in love with God’ and trying to hide my un-welness. I was good very good, I am still very Good. 

http://www.sevencounties.org/poc/view_doc.php?type=doc&id=8106

But yet I hurt and it breaks through to those who can see beyond the mask. I am afraid of a pattern developing that I will be ‘well’ for 6-8 months and then spiral back into dark deep depression. I remain fearful of what this means for me in terms of ordination. I know my call is firm and that as I have stated in my papers for UMC ordination who is the Shepard to those who are so afraid of the shepherds? Who goes out into the wilderness? 

As of the last three weeks I’ve been on a leave from my job and in an intense outpatient treatment program that teaches DBT.  Dialectical behavioral therapy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dialectical_behavioral_therapy) focuses on mindfulness, loving yourself and just getting along better in the world. No small task for anyone let alone those of us who are in pits of all sorts. It’s a little more complicated then that but a lot of the coping mechanisms I see have parallels to Christianity and to Wesley spirituality. DBT for me is about allowing the Grace we already have into our lives and using it to expand our self’s on a path to wellness. One of the big coping skills is observing your breath. 

I have read in several places (all that escape me right now) that the sound of our breath is pronouncing one of the names of God, YHWH. We are born with breath and the name of our creator on our lips. So for me my interpretation of observe the breath is a way to also know that we are beloved and an integral part of something big, very big. Depression is isolating the chemicals your body produces or does not produce betray you, and it lies to you. Telling you of your non-belovedness. And worst of all you believe it. 

I have often been one who sees my ministry as in the mud. But what about in the muck that sucks you down so you cant move your feet? How do you act then, how do you minister and let go to allow yourself to be ministered to? (I’m still working on this one folks)

This round I have been blessed to not be so devoid of God where I have cried out for her to just come and dwell with me. I am guilty of demanding to know why if created in the image of God, why God would allow for chemicals to get messed up. I have yet to get an answer, but regardless God always remains. 

Moving from one stage of life to the next and so on, and for me from un-welness to wellness. I hope to write some more blogs about the experiences of this round of depression and the role my faith and personal spirituality plays into it(for this intake of the DBT program they asked about my spirituality and its role in my life. I was very impressed)

The Mess of Ashes

      I am well known for my idea as ministry as mud and mess, its part of my pastoral identity and I think this becomes most realized on Ash Wednesday. The person putting ashes on the other gets the ashes in their skin, under there nails, and no one told me ashes itch growing up. The few times I’ve imposited it has taken me a while to get the ashes out of my finger. It’s a little yucky. 

            But this year I noticed on social media the comments about the style of ashes that people received one person typed ‘I got a good one this year’ along with a photo. I was tempted to comment back and say ‘it does not matter what matters is that you are prepping to wear the ashes, and grow closer to God for the next 40 days!’ I refrained but it made me think of how often the rituals we observe and celebrate as Jesus followers/The Way have become fashion accessories, or the popular culture.  Cross jewelry is no longer about remembering your faith exclusively; it’s a fashion statement far to often. Ashes apparently for some have become a reason to gloat a bit I’m a little fed up. 

            But what really gets me is that we never follow the basic rituals that Jesus TOLD us to do and God for century’s before Jesus on the screen. Feed the poor, care for the widows, tend the blind and lame, look out for the venerable, love one another. But going to get ashes on your head is 20 minuets, the above take a long time to enact and the results take just as long to show in a big way.  Thinking about the volunteer work I have done, I know that one sandwege to a homeless person in NYC is not going to save him long term. But perhaps for today it will not only physically keep him going, but remind him that someone here on earth is routing for him to survive and to eventually thrive. Same with my work at the Psych Hospital, I often went home going ‘I did not do enough I need to do more!’

But I learned that an act of wearing my ashes in siting with an office of women who watched a terrible code blue that ended in death, after the guy being worked on for almost an hour, prepared them to face the reality. At the time I wanted to be in the action, preparing the man for burial and comforting patients what a chaplain at the hospital does.  But in a difficult act of humility, patience, and hope I sat with the women for hours thinking I did nothing more then sit there and listen (not to discount this).

            I had to take some time off from volunteering for a while and when I came back the women I spent the most time with told me how much she valued the time I spent with her. This was almost two years latter and I was amazed that I had done enough for the situation that day. I had provided a bridge between God and earth. Wearing my ashes to say ‘we are messed up people and messed up things happen’.

            Ashes are messy, dirt is messy, and following Jesus is messy. Being in ministry means going into trenches filled with mud, human fluids, rats and other things like that. It means getting the mud and ashes under your nails that you can’t ever get out. It means opening yourself to the possibility’s of seeing that we are reluctant to get in the mud in the first place prefer our sanitized, disinfected ways.

Oh Thanks God for Making me Better Then Them!

Luke 18:9-14

⁹ Jesus told this parable to certain people who had convinced themselves that they were righteous and who looked on everyone else with disgust: ¹⁰ “Two people went up to the temple to pray. One was a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. ¹¹  The Pharisee stood and prayed about himself with these words, ‘God, I thank you that I’m not like everyone else—crooks, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. ¹²  I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of everything I receive.’ ¹³  But the tax collector stood at a distance. He wouldn’t even lift his eyes to look toward heaven. Rather, he struck his chest and said, ‘God, show mercy to me, a sinner.’ ¹⁴  I tell you, this person went down to his home justified rather than the Pharisee. All who lift themselves up will be brought low, and those who make themselves low will be lifted up.”

I’m almost into my third month of my new job where I work as a peer in mental health.  I am the youngest of all the team between two houses, one of the most educated, and the resident spirituality export (or as a professor said “theologian in residence”.  I like to think of myself as a low judgmental person, but I can tell you that I am quick to judge. I feel very much like the Pharisee who gives thanks for what is not happening to him. I have my anxiety managed, I have health insurance, I have a job where I don’t need to hide my illness, I can afford and have easy access to my prescriptions, I go to therapy every week, I have people or supporters as my job training would call it! I am called to this when I see my co-worker peers telling there stories or having a day where they symptoms of there diagnoses comes nocking at the door. I say to myself and unintentionally to God “thank you that I don’t have paralyzing anxiety like she does” or “wow I’m glad that I was never interested in dope like he was, what a mess of things he made”.  I am thankful that my symptoms are not as bad as someone else’s. Not thinking of how to support the person into having symptom reduction or even reduction.

            It is an interesting parallel, because we celebrate recovery and the resurrection of the person and not the patient (going from patient-hood to personhood). Yet our struggles also keep us down, and have caused me to think about myself and my place in this group of people a lot.  I am still cocky and feeling like I’m hot stuff and excited that I’m the first of my seminary friends graduating this year to have a ‘grown up job’.  We celebrate success and moving forward however it comes as an agency value. And yet I find myself still living in the judgment of ‘I’m doing awesome, whoot!’

            Yes I do a lot of the things that my faith demands of me, in the ways that suit my life, myself and beliefs and I sometimes brag about them. Yes I brag and it can be bad sometimes, very bad. But I know I brag because more often I feel like the tax collector, “God I’m sorry that I have to ask this person to explain why they came to a food pantry”, “Can’t you just create a compound, element, something to take this persons pain away? ‘Why do you let me suffer?’ Learning to question God both in angry ways demanding to know why God has done or not done this or that is something that has become a new practice for me. But the questions of why that come with my repentance of what feels like diminishing someone’s imago-dei are the ones that most make me feel like I’m separate from God a sinner who has missed the mark completely.

From http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/22/Astronomy_Amateur_3_V2.jpg

Yet at the same time, I know that relationships are part of the process to restoration of the spirit. Maybe “hearing the person in to being”* even in the shame, stigma, and doubt is siting in the mud with the person, helping them to rise to there own feet and to tell them they are the beloved. To invite them instead of looking down in life, when everyone is already looking at you as ‘another welfare case’ at the social security line, or the disability, line or at the local homeless or outreach center. I can point to the way that will lead them to look up to see there imago-dei there lives filled with Grace so big they don’t yet know it.  I know that I am not the one who will fix the world, that’s God’s job. Nor am I the last person who will point to look up and out but I aspire to be one who helps to prepare and prime the soul for the journey ahead

*Inspired by a favorite theologian of my seminary Nell Morton (she is amazing BTW, I wish I had known her outside of her writing)

CUT IT OFF!

      In a Mass during CPE the Gospel Lesson was Mathew 18:6-9. It’s a harsh parable to be sure. Doing CPE in a psych hospital changes a lot of what might otherwise be ok in terms of chaplaincy. The Priest did state quite clearly about not cutting off your foot literally, because in this environment the power of suggestion can be very powerful. But what I was lead to think of in this environment when your brain causes you to sin what do you do? If you cut it out you will die, it is like telling someone to cut out there soul in my view.

          

  As a person with a mood disorder in the six ring circus of the state Psych hospital I was lead to think about the ‘sins’ I know I did in my deep dark hole of depression. Such as cursing out God, not loving my neighbors, not telling or showing the good news to anyone, missing the mark and one might even say my thoughts of suicide where sinful. At the time I felt them to be that way.

 But to me this entire passage is interpreted in light of how you view sin. I see sin as “missing the mark” and breaking a relationship. But can sin truly and willfully be committed when someone’s biological chemistry is causing him or her to do so? When in there true heart they want to do every thing else but sin and hurt the people around them.  So the solution for some might be to cut off the offending part. But this countered with Paul saying each part of the body is important. I am siting with Paul here and not Jesus. 

Well the brain may be messed up and it might sound like the easy route to just cut off the offending part. This is where lobotomy’s had there base. Looking to ancient Greek medicine it was viewed as people’s humors or the four body fluids where off.  The term melancholia is derived from the greek words for ‘bile’ and ‘black’. It was and sadly is still not uncommon for people to view depression as demonic possession and the ‘anger of the gods’. Certainly the person is sinning to have   I think at this moment in time, that some sins in breaking relationships are truly from the person themselves. But more often I am sure that it comes from illness. 

gotten a demonic possession. But again I ask are they liable for the sins they inflict if they are not themselves? If they are possessed or if God is punishing them. I am mixed on this question even as I ask it. It for me goes to the idem ‘love the sinner hate the sin’.

I think of one patient who is a fanatic fundamentalist Christian that is convinced Harry Potter ruined her childhood (she is in her 60’s BTW). She has a nasty temperament and has burned through many chaplains. Part of her burning relationships I know comes from her chemistry, but what I think most of it comes from is that she is lonely and hurting. She does not know how to forgive herself she just wants to cut the offending part, or parts off in her veiws. 

What happens if the offending part just needs stitches, wound care, or antibiotics to cure the oozing, festering, infected wound?  Paul’s route is much harder, learning to love each part, to accept it, to not declare one better then the other. All parts are not always even or 100% but together we are all 100% and with the Grace of God we are 110%

reflections on dark nights

        I have three saints’ well maybe four (not sure about Julian of Norwich, if shes a saint), saints that I follow, St. Francis, St Teresa of Avila and St. John of the cross. Three out of the four are known mystics; perhaps St. Francis was a different type of mystic. But anyways, I have been studying for CPE as well as personally about Dark Night of the Soul.  I thought that I would share with you my thoughts on dark nights of the soul.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Night_of_the_Soul provides an overview. But I have more where that comes from!

I felt very connected to the town of Avila when I was there many years ago and could not explain.  As I learned more about her I came to know St. John as well and knowing that the deep separation from God that I had felt many times was not some freak thing that was happening to me. But rather I was one of many, many people, saints, sinners, great thinkers, and average folks throughout the ages who knew the obscure time. I feel as if I might be one of those persons whom were born with the awareness of the longing.  For me the multiple dark nights have always been a powerful redirection and reorientation in my life, but the experiences have always been incredibly painful during the process, and in the reentry process.  There is no length that a Dark Night must be or a maximum of when it must be over. Periods of dark night are also not uncommon over someone’s lifetime.  

A view of a dark night

To better understand the dark night of the soul has helped me to reframe and create new perspectives on life. The obscure nights helped me to learn how to be ok to be angry with God and to know that the pain is real and not imagined. I also feel that it helped me to understand and fully see the deep pain that is all around us, but that the pain is from humans not being able to know or even sense that deep connection that was embedded into them from God’s whisper into the dirt.

Anything Dangerous?

Anything Dangerous?

           

This semester I am entrenched in two New Jersey State facility’s, the only women’s prison in New Jersey, and a state Psychiatric hospital (yes the same one from previous entries). Both of them are very similar and also very different. But both as the same questions, ‘anything dangerous on your person?’

            I know not to bring cigarettes ,knives, plastic bags, anything sharp and so on to both places but something dangerous I think I bring. I bring knowledge, books and compassion to both places. Why are these dangerous you ask? Because knowledge gives you the power to rise above, to see differently, to challenge yourself to be different well remaining true to your core. Compassion brings the danger of knowing yourself as a human and not a number or a patient or a level of privilege.

            Jesus in his time was very dangerous not only because he discussed and sometimes screamed justice for all people. He also was a boundary crosser in a time when crossing boundaries meant all kinds of things. Jesus was also radically dangerous when he met the sick in there infections, ailments, and contagious. When he met the poor on the street and invited them in for a meal. He lived on the edge he was dangerous.

            But are we dangerous today? To we live on the edge and yell out for justice? To meet the sick in the hospitals and on the sidewalk? What about the poor? Do we determine that others will help them and we do not need to do anything? I think that as people of faith we are not dangerous enough, we don’t live on the edge.

            Granted where the edge is, remains different for each person. But learning not to judge as much the poor off the county I work in has made me dangerous, because I see not the poor in them, but the humanness of them.  Forcing me to see a bit through the eyes of Jesus, who did not see the condition but the human in a condition. Not pathology but a person.

            So yes I bring danger with me when I enter into these places.

Don't Sell Yourself Short!

            So about a month ago I started a Mary Kay business. I started to have fun, talk about great products, make some extra money, and just to get out of my own head.  Each week we get points for what we do, 50 points for meeting attendance, 50 points for other things and so on and so forth. Last week it turns out I shorted myself almost 800 points! I was under the impression that a sale was 1 point as in you sold stuff you got one point. But no no no, it is 1 point for each dolor. I sold 800.00 worth of product so I got 800 points plus 300 more! This made me the queen of sales for the week, and that was awesome I wont like. But it was not the take away for me.

            I have been chewing on this idea of selling yourself short a lot. I know that I do it all the time, saying ‘oh I’m not good enough for that job/class/internship/church/ect’ or ‘oh they are to perfect to be friends with me’ or ‘I’m so stupid, all I’ll ever be is stupid’. Now I know this is not true at all, but when you get into a cycle like this it’s hard to get out of it and thus you continue to sell yourself short.

            This led me to Jeremiah 1:4-1:10, or titled the call of Jeremiah. I keep telling myself especially in the last year that God does not call the accomplished, or the best or the heroes, or the people that know what’s going on. God calls the right people for the right call, and then equips them for the right ministry’s, and develops and encourages growth of gifts innate within the person.

            So many of our Biblical hero’s where zeros. They told God, so not me I am not worthy go pick someone else (and then point to someone else). But like God said to Moses, you are worthy in my sight and I appoint Aaron to help you. God 1, Moses 0. So who are we as the Beloved Children of God to sell ourselves short?  God will take care of you, me, and us as well as those we have yet to meet.*

*This line inspired by the hymn God Will Take Care of You

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijytLs96yig

i carry you with me

            Today I learned some sad news. My camp the one where I lived life fully for the first time is being sold. So goes my dreams of a wedding there (I had the colors and the locations planed in my mind, I just needed the SO), the hope that my niece would get to go to MY camp, that others would get to go an have transformation experiences under the stars and with the fireflies. But this is not to pass in the way of life in this moment or in God’s plan. I think of all the memories I have of this place. How I had my first true telephony, how I found my first boyfriend, holding someone’s hair out of there face on there 21^st birthday at 1:15 in the morning. Canoeing with said boyfriend on the creek and finding a skull, ending Harry Potter with the 7^th book, How sweet the grass smelled when it was cut, dancing around the fire pit, breaking a window within an hour of my arrival. Driving my brand new car on its first journey in my hands from home to camp. I grew up a lot that summer; it was a major life bridge for me.

            I will not lie and tell you I have not shed some tears over this. I was just talking with my therapist about how much I loved that area because of all of the good that went with it. The peace, the quiet, the stars, even the crop duster.  All of it mattered and still does. Somehow I thought I would always have the physical place of my camp, but this is not to pass either. However I have camp in my heart. I have the friends I kept from there, the learning’s I did that summer, the pictures and the treasured relationships I had with the kids. Camp was a study in conflict management for me, intra and interpersonal. I keep them close to my heart all the time. I think of the e.e. commngs poem “i carry your heart with me”

A picture from summer 2007, when I was a counselor at Camp

i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                       

  i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)

A time,

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            As my second to last semester of Seminary draws to an end, I think of the past three years and all of the changes that have happened in my life. I came to seminary thinking one way, desiring different things then now, feeling differently, and in a much different health state.  I wrote my admissions entry about how I was interested in Eco-Theology, and while I still am my call and its related desires have turned my heart more towards behavioral health. I listen to many of my seminary friends and they all have similar changes they have undergone.

            In class yesterday my friend Chris played “For Every Season” by the Byrds. Based from Ecclesiastes 3:1-9, titled ‘a time for everything’. Almost every funeral I have been to has had this verse ready its sort of like the 23^rd Psalm-death stuff. But I have found more within the past 18 months of my life that this is a poem/scripture that is all about life.  With the season of spring supposedly coming in the Northeast where I live I am preparing my seeds to plant my veggies for the summer, I’m stressing out about finals and trying to figure out what I’m going to do after graduation. But I see that everyone around me has this happen too.

            I am taking CPE this semester at a Psych hospital. As followers of my blog you know that this is something very near and dear to my heart and the place where I meet Jesus in the other every moment. I lead a group called “Morning Centering” where we listen to music, I give a talk, they sometimes talk with me about the message and then we finish with music. I was not at CPE for about a week and the area that I do the group on had completely changed. The dominate personalities of the area where discharged out of the hospital. I had mixed feelings about this, I was excited that they had reached according to the hospital a level of wellness. But I was sad that I did not get to say goodbye to them.

            There absence changed the group dynamic completely, with a woman who was quiet now taking a large leadership role.  One of the first times I was with the group it snowed like crazy and I talked about how snow is the poor mans fertilizer. And how sometimes in the winter when it all looks dead it is merely regenerating, resting, renewing. A message I need to tell myself often and that soon the spring flowers would be blooming, and that they would be beautiful because of all the moisture in the ground.  Thus leaving us to contemplate a time for everything, a season for our lives at this moment, a chapter of the book of life completed. A time that we cannot always see…

Worship from the Floor

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            In late February my niece turned three and I went home to my parents house where she lives with my sister. Being that I was home I went to my home church on Sunday morning. Stevens has a hall instead of a sanctuary where we set up chairs into rows. Addy my niece feels free to run from us to our neighbors who also got to the same church, and to other friendly faces, then to the toys, and back again. This particular Sunday she was running all over the place having a great time and making everyone smile. She was running between my mom and I, who was on the computer running the PowerPoint. About one minuet into the sermon my niece started yelling for Aunt Betty. To calm her I went and sat on the floor with her. We did the ABC puzzle that is her favorite at church. The pastor preached and I still heard the message, but it was in a new way for me to receive. I like to watch the speaker it helps me stay focused on the person and to remember the message. I don’t remember quite what the message was (sorry Gene!) but I remember the feeling of knowing my niece was beloved in this community and I was too, we where perfectly welcomed in worship and to sit on the floor well doing so.

            But a church I was involved in had terribly uncomfortably pews and the kids would kick them and get yelled at or get the dirty look. I was super uncomfortable growing up in a church where you could move. They quickly sent the kids to Sunday school, chasing them away from worship. So I was led to think how often to we chase ‘kids’ or all of the children of God who are a little different and who want AND need to sit on the floor. Having my passion for disability studies, I think first of those ‘least of these’ who are differently abled. But what about people who have been wounded by the church and are trying to believe again. Do we force them into the ‘pews’ of their past that helped contribute to the pain and woundedness? These are questions I don’t have answers to but I wonder what if we all worshiped from the floor.

Do No Harm

            I love this concept, this idea, this way of being of doing no harm. But lets be honest how often are we doing harm when we think we are doing good. I love quinoa, its great, its nutty I can use it like rice for a different flavor, and its whole wheat. Its good for me, but its not good for the farmers of it.  Because of its recent growth in popularity the price of it has shot up and now the people growing it can’t afford to eat it.  So in doing myself no harm, I am harming others.         But really what I see from do no harm is rather do the least amount of harm possible.  We are humans, we do harm its in our being. But sometimes its doing the least amount of harm in order to do good, the third rule. In supervised ministry, I get a lot of flack from my classmates about my feeling on this. My professor this semester happens to agree with me that it’s about harm reduction.

            My most recent encounter with this and one that I think about often  is my internship at the food pantry. The pantry has limits on how much each family size can pick, such as a family of 1 person can get six cans of soup, and a family of 5 people get 12 cans of soup. The food pantry is meant to be supplemental to food stamps, other government benefits, and to help you save money elsewhere (i.e. the money you don’t spend on food to feed your family can go to help pay your mortgage so you don’t become homeless).  Now most of our clients are so very thankful and do not try to buck the system. But there are a few who do. So in doing the perhaps harming them in a small way by telling them they can not take more soup then there allotment, I create good elsewhere by making sure that there is soup for everyone who needs it.

            But likewise sometimes I do just cause harm even though I don’t mean it.  I was training a new shopper (we are a client choice pantry where it is set up like a grocery store and clients get to chose there food from the category’s and within limits), and I was explaining the meats and meals section. This is where you find spagetio-s and caned meets. 

            “So this is where caned chicken and stuff like that is. I guess that you might find caned turkey here as well. I’ve never seen it though” I said.

            “Its good” says the client we are shopping with “you can do a lot with it”

I felt so stupid and that I had done a great amount of harm. Showing my privilege in my lifetime of never having to eat caned turkey, or caned any meat.  But in that moment I learned that the client was doing the least amount of harm to me. She could have reacted a lot differently, but she was doing good. Taking what could have been a very hurtful moment and making it into a teaching moment.

Staying in love with God...?

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I have been reflecting a lot recently on the section of “stay in love with God” from Three Simple Rules, a way of Wesleyan Living by Ruben P. Job. I have read it three times, once for me, once for pastoral formation and once again for supervised ministry. The rules are simple, do no harm, do good, and stay in love with God.  Now I have trouble doing all three, and argue quite vehemently about ‘do no harm’ as interpreted to ‘do the least amount of harm possible’ I’m not very popular with my classmates when I argue this point. I digress this is for another post. 

            But staying in love with God has been the hardest for me lately. As those of you following my blog have hopefully figured out, its been a crapy 15 months for me.  But for me the struggle with my mood disorder, and the complete disorder of my relationship with God and my own spirituality and faith has been heavy on my heart.  I say that I am angry at God, but that is the way to place a word to far more complex problems.  It’s a wondering, a wandering, a hopeing, a where the F* are you God!, and Hi God its me Betty, I’m leaving a voice mail…

            So I am trying to do my best to stay in love with God. Acting in a way that reflects the morals and values that I hold dear, trying my best to lift people out of the mess with there help. Trying to teach good, not evil and encouraging others in there own faith journey. But how do I stay in love with God when I wonder where God went. I know that God is, and that God loves me. But I miss the days when I knew God was around me.  It also does not help that I am trying to figure this all out well in Seminary, where God is 90% of the time the focus of academics. Even outside of the class room God is always in the conversation as we whine about our theology, bible, and practical theology classes, asking do we really need to know this random stuff about The Investiture Controversy?*

            So how does one stay in love with God when your not quite sure what that is now, how to let go of what it was, and how to mold it for the future?

                                                                                                               

*Throwback to Church History I, the main thing I remember from this class, in terms of uselessness for the history of the Church… (maybe it will be on Jeopardy some day)

How Holy the Conversation

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        I started working at a food pantry at the start of January to fulfill the requirements of my supervised ministry class. I was unsure of it as this is something I have never ever considered as a site for ministry, for me. But I love it already. I do intake interviews, shop with clients as we are a client choice pantry(items are out on shelves and clients get to chose the variety of the item. I.e. tomato soup not clam chowder), and find and refer resources to clients. Today I finished the first incarnation of the big bad book of referrals and resources. Its about 2 inches thick of paper, I also got to give my first referrals from it! I would post a picture but I forgot to take one today!

            As someone who often looks to the very ordinary as evidence of the Divine, I was reminded of this again. I had a very holy moment with a client today as we both shared a lot in common, I was able to use my knowable to help steer her to some resources. Then we went shopping; I encouraged her to keep up with her hard work and acknowledged her strength in asking for help. We talked about what could be done with the food items, like beans and rice, blueberry cobbler and so on. As we where checking out she asked how long I had been there and I told her three weeks, She was amazed and asked me what bought me to the pantry. I told her it was my internship for my M.Div and then we had a conversation about faith. I had already felt a kinship with her the moment she walked into the office for the interview but then she affirmed she felt it too.

            It was a warm reminder of just how holy the work I’m doing is. I was struggling a bit to see the connection between food pantry and ministry other then ‘they are hungry feed them, Jesus told us to’. But it is more then that it is the conversations, the affirmation of a persons strengths, the reaffirm that they are the beloved of Gods. Yes that is the ministry of the pantry

Geting Brave

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*warning I drop an Fbomb in here*      

   This January term I am taking a class called “Ministry with Persons with Disability’s”, so far I am loving it. Today we talked about my area of passion Mental Illness/ Behavioral Health. We had a speaker in the morning who is an educator and pastor in the field of cognitive disability’s and mental health he also known the pain of depression. In the afternoon our instructor gave us a PowerPoint presentation and a women asked the question “why don’t people just tell”. I felt that pesky Holy Spirit rising in my stomach and told it to quiet down. But she went on and another classmate gave her answer and then the Holy Spirit burst forth and called me to tell my story.

            Telling your story of MI, is something painful, courageous, daring, stupid and a host of many other things.  I told they good the bad and the ugly. I discussed how I lost my job, got discriminated against in the seminary by people who I thought would care because they are Pastors by profession. And just how wrong I was. How I was wounded deeply by the church cut to my core, and how I felt that I could not go to church again because I was afraid to get hurt again the way I got hurt in the past. As a seminarian I know that one church does not reflect the entirety of the UMC or the whole Christian church, but it got me thinking about those not as ‘hearty’ with the stupidity of the church saying ‘fuck this shit’ and walking away forever. This hurts me even more then my personal wounding.

            But with the assistance of that dam pesky Holy Spirit, I got brave and preached it. I was not intending to preach it. My classmates thanked me for speaking out and offered encouragement. But also knew the grim reality’s that I and others like me might face in the shadow of the church.

            My favorite Gospel is Mark. I like how its quick and dirty and Jesus just does what needs to get done, its not flowery or sweet with a nativity story its dirty! Its messy, its crazy. Its also the gospel of the dimwitted disciples(another post to be made). But most importantly it’s the gospel of courage to me.

            Mark 16: 1-8, the original ending of Mark, recounts how the women came to do the final tending of the grave of Jesus. But then a young man dressed in white tells them

 “⁶But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.”

They end up running away in amazement and terror. But something happened, Marks not the only book that makes up the New Testament. We have acts, we have Paul’s letters and the other pastorals, so they must have told someone.  That or we have an elaborate fairy tales on our hands.  But I think that it is more that they took the courage of the faith they had in Jesus who was a great prophet to them, maybe they knew he was God.  They where likely still afraid and I would be, but they decided that faith was greater then fear. That the courage to share that faith was more important then the fear. 

       I am still afraid of a lot of things regarding my MI, how will I manage it as someone who will be losing there parents insurance in two years, might I have to go inpatient, how will I afford this, will the church let me ‘in’, can I get ordained, can I get a job in ministry, can I get a job period? Lots of fears will my potential future children have MI like me. Could I willfully and knowingly bring that upon a child?           

  But it takes all of my courage to walk on, to know that I will manage. I will make it work; I will find a church that will ordain me, a job in ministry. It will happen. It might not happen in the way I expect it to or plan it at all, but I have to have the courage to know that it will somehow work out.