We'll Keep the Light On For You

The Internet was awash in forwarded emails and blog postings of the news about the secession of the Diocese of San Joachin from the Episcopal Church. The Bible study couldn't start until we had discussed it. Will other dioceses follow? What will it mean to us? Will there even be an Episcopal Church in that part of California?

Of course there will. If the leadership of San Joachin doesn't want to be an Episcopal diocese any more, someone else will do that. If they are successful in taking all their property with them, as they hope to be, new Episcopal churches will be planted and will grow in other locations. It will be an exciting time and place to be a young priest, I think: to be part of that missionary response, making common cause with those who treasure the comprehensiveness, diversity and respect for conscience most of us have come to consider one of Anglicanism's great gifts.

Maybe it's time for this to happen. It cannot have been to anyone's soul's health to be primarily identifiable by being against things for so many years. There needs to be more to faith than what one opposes. The glamour of seeing oneself as part of a faithful remnant is both seductive and addictive -- will these dioceses, who have nursed their grievances for so long, even know who they are if they are no longer aggrieved? I hope they do, and that now, free from the onerous burden of their association with us, they can turn their energies to better things.

For it must be true that they, like the rest of us, take seriously the duty we all have to care for those in need. I hope they turn to that work as soon as possible, that they -- and we -- don't choose to squander time, energy and huge amounts of money in protracted fights over buildings and bank accounts. All of us need to ask ourselves if those things are more important than getting free of the malignant tumor of factionalism that has developed its own blood supply and sucked way too much energy from the body of Christ, energy urgently needed by a world that longs for the love of God and doesn't even know it.

And one thing more: this moment in history will come to an end. The time may come when we are one again. We need to welcome that moment with an open heart. Let's keep the door open and leave the porch light on.

Copyright © 2007 Barbara Crafton
Found here: The Geranium Farm

Commentary:
A friend and I were talking after EfM last night about this very issue. In any diocese that leaves, indeed, in any church that leaves TEC, there is and will always be those few individuals who do not wish to leave. I find myself appalled at the lack of support for the very real emotional and spiritual crises in which they find themselves. What is being done as a church body to succor and help them? For I see nothing and I hear very few express concern. I suppose I am highly irritated at our Presiding Bishop for getting so caught up in the legality of the issues that it seems she forgot that churches are not buildings. Churches are not places, or revenue or grants. Churches are people. And there are people who are being set aside at the moment for what I know is a very difficult litigation. However, and this is a big however, to ignore members of our own church body for reasons of connivance is to not act as the leader and spiritual guide for all members of the church body. And shame on our PB for forgetting that.

For Your Consideration (2)

MP's constant posting of truly heinous singers has led me to search for something more easy on the ears-

Ollabelle's High on a Mountain

Christmas Driving

Right, I went to the financial aide office and got a prepayment on next semester's loan so I decided to splurge on some frivolities today and went to the grocery store. Coming back from the store with my haul of tinned tomatoes, pasta, pears, oatmeal and Tofutti Cuties I realized something. Everyone driving since Thanksgiving had suddenly gone insane.

So, apparently unbeknownst to myself, the season's Creed is actually "peace on earth, goodwill towards man and cut off as many people as possible while making up your own lane." Seriously, what is it about Christmas that turns everyone on the road into a moronic poo head? I was almost hit twice on the way home and I live maybe five miles from Sun Harvest.

And what's worse is at least ONE of the cars in question had a "What Would Jesus Do?" sticker. I am not exactly sure about the actions of our Lord and Savior, however I am pretty sure that Jesus would have used his turn signals.

Which leads me to another thought. Once while in Sunday school we were talking about how we felt about people who advertise their Christianity. I find slapping the Christian symbols up on billboards, business cards and anything nailed down pretty off putting. I tend to find myself drawing back from people who proclaim their Christianity too loudly. Which is disconcerting really. Why do I feel such animosity towards others who share my faith? And thinking back on it, I can directly point to those drivers.

These are people who obviously find Christ important enough to advertise themselves as his followers. These are people who, supposedly, follow his teachings and want others to know that they are following his teachings. These are people who want to show others Christian love, empathy and charity. And apparently they find the best way to do so is to cut off other's while hurtling down residential streets at fifty. These are my fellow Christians? These are the people I am suppose to relate to spiritually?

Is there any wonder that people hate, fear or misunderstand Christians? We proclaim ourselves loudly, we proclaim our values loudly, we proclaim our faith loudly- but when the time for talking is over, our actions speak different messages. So often we see the face of faith that is, frankly, unbecoming more then that- stomach churning. We are as steeped in hypocrisy as we are in tradition.

I am tired of Christians talking the talk without walking the walk. Words are easy, it is actions that proclaim our beliefs. If you speak of Christian love and then deny other's into the House of the Lord, do you practice Christian love? If you speak of forgiveness and hold grudges, are you really forgiving? If you speak of charity and do nothing to help your fellow man, are you really charitable? I say no. Christianity is more then a mantle we can put on or take off when convenient. It is more then words. It is our actions. Christianity is the sum of the decisions we make every day. It is the result, not the intentions. Not the plan.

So, when next you get into your huge SUV- contemplate your What Would Jesus Do? sticker. Ask yourself, would Jesus put himself so above the needs of others that he would not even notice other drivers? Would he be so concerned about shopping, chores or errands that he would never see the homeless on the side of the street? Would he consider himself the important actor and all others merely scenery on the stage of life?

Or would he know that people are watching his actions, for the speak so much louder then a few words quickly said and even more quickly forgotten?

How Misanthropic Are You?

You Are 20% Misanthropic

You're definitely not misanthropic - in fact, you're probably a people person. While you may get annoyed with the world from time to time, you remember that everyone's only human!

How Misanthropic Are You?

Huh, so I am people person. Well, I guess I knew that.

For Your Consideration

I was dragged to the Tori Amos concert by my roommate on Monday night. I spent three hours in an uncomfortable chair which was obviously not designed for a woman who happens to be 5'10 and listened to a woman sing songs to which no one could understand the words. But the upshot is, I discovered a great new artist- Yoav. And so, without further ado.....

Beautiful Lie

With Thanks....

I wanted to extend a thanks to MadPriest- the testament to how madness can sometimes be so right.
Mad Priest
In a comment I mentioned that my brother is about to return to the Middle East for the fourth time. An assignment which our family finds a difficult burden, but one which I at least carry with pride and love. He was kind enough to ask for prayers for his safe return, something I do every day.

His kindness is greatly appreciated and timely given.

O Tanenbaum

Its begining to smell a lot like Christmas.....

Ah, my second favorite holiday! (Its just slightly behind Easter.) My roommate, Eric, and myself went out late last night and bought a live (if it is cut, is it really still alive? great, now I have tree guilt) tree, wreath and pine garland. It was wonderful waking up to the scent of fir and pine. We just need a bit of holly and off we go. So far the tree only has my ornaments on it- well, what are left of them anyway. When I moved this summer someone actually stole my Christmas ornaments leaving only the bell I bought in Chinle, Arizona. They weren't valuable, but there were two from the church I had been baptized in- one which I vaguely worry about my reception in this coming Christmas service as I have decided to stay in Communion while they are leaving and, to top it all off, I have openly committed the heresy of joining an inclusive church in San Antonio. Well, if I am not welcome at Holy Trinity there is always St. Nicolas.

But I digress! Our house is shaping into a wonderful holiday confection, it smells green and happy and we got to break into our first day of the Advent Calender- a new experience that I provided for my mostly Scottish roommate. How she existed without German advent calenders and their wonderful bits of chocolaty goodness, I'll never know!

End of third semester

The last few weeks have been hectic, though good. Better perhaps then I even realized when I was in the mist of the days. As it turns out, management clinical has been going very well. I feel like a nurse, finally. I finally feel like I have chosen well, that I will appreciate my new vocation. And yes, it is a vocation. I give so much of myself, can it be anything else? Anything less? Being a nurse is more then a job, its a calling. And not an easy one at that. At the end of the day I am as drained as emotionally as I am physically. My heart aches as much as my feet. I have always been a receptacle for others, an easy place for them to lay their burdens. But being in the hospital has fine tuned this gift. Or curse. I am, now more then ever, the safe place. Its hard, but good. It needs to be done- the patients are so much more then just illness and injury.
And so, my third semester of nursing school is drawing to a close and I must start looking forward. I am suddenly asking myself, what do I want to do with this? My mental health instructor wants me to go into mental health nursing and my pediatric nursing instructor recommends that. I feel pulled in both directions. I know I have the capacity to do either, and do them well enough. But the question remains, what do I want to do? I know I am not alone in this query. I have turned to several of my friends with "What next?" and generally receive the same answer I have, "I don't know." We have all been so caught up in getting to the end that now that the end is in sight not one of us is sure about what we will do next. So I plan on taking this Christmas break to update my resume, start the outline for a cover letter and look around to see what I might possibly wish to do with the rest of my life.
To add to that, several members of our church are anxiously awaiting the decision of our bishop regarding the diaconate in the Diocese of West Texas. The meeting is in February to present the findings of the committee and hopefully we will know something in a month or two. From my understanding, the new bishop is very much willing to start a diaconate here, though there are several details to hash out. But there is always the chance that it will be rejected. Which will leave me in a bit of a quandary. I know that what I view as my ministry- creating a health clinic out of St. Paul's will not be affected but it will mean I will have to rethink what I feel is my calling. So, I am learning patience (a much needed virtue of which I have little) and acceptance.

The Slow Journey

Yet another mopey entry. I have been in an entirely too contemplative mood for the last few days, I suppose finals have a way of doing that to a person. I do wish they were kinder to my mind and body.

Lately I feel like I can't shut my mind down. That all the burdens I have placed upon myself and all the fears, desires, duties and yearnings for freedom have weighted down my soul beyond all capacity. Like an overburdened and exhausted horse, my soul struggles to regain its feet. Time and time again, it heaves and throws all its dwindling strength into the desire to stand firm again, only to settle weakly back to the ground. I have not been a good owner to my soul. I have worked it beyond it's capacity. I have driven it beyond its limits and I have loaded it down to the point of folding. And yet, still I ask it for more. I stand above it and plead, then yell, then rain abuse onto it's sad body. If only I would stand back, if only I could give it time to recover- to remove some the load, to unharness the cart. But I too am trapped. I fear too much to allow it the rest it needs so much. If I fail, I loose so much. I feel balanced between these cliffs- to loose my soul or to loose my way.

And so, I plead- I tell it "only a little more" I say, "look, there is the end!" And like a good horse, it struggles slowly to its feet and we plod on, side by side. One day, I know, I must pasture my friend, my loyal companion, my soul. I must give it good food, a pasture, a warm blanket. But in this wilderness I traverse, there is no soft place to rest. My only hope is the end of trail, so close now that I can feel the breeze of it wafting through my soul- speaking of waters and green grasses and the scent of flowers. And I pray that the wind does not lie. Because for better or for worse, I am committed to the end of my journey.

Along the way I am learning to hold close small victories- to raise them to proportions out of bounds of everyday life. Being raised and accepted as a lay reader, holding the processional cross, a hand weighted on my head with all the blessings of a good man, and the warm touch of oil on my forehead. I hold dear a quiet thanks for speaking my mind at a faculty-student meeting which allowed others to raise doubts. The knowledge that my voice was finally heard and I am no longer shouting in the dark to stone effigies in the shape of faculty. A quiet morning spent with friends. This is the fodder my soul is using to keep on the plodding journey. And now is not the time for parsimony.

Are we there yet?

Amazing how things like going back to school have the ability to reduce you to your six year old self. When all you lived for was the weekends and the vacation days. I find myself continually counting the days until I have some time off. Constantly checking with other students to make sure I have the correct number of days counted, because I might have made a mistake. What if I counted more? What if I counted less? Oh, the horrors of having an extra, unplanned for day! Its hard when I am so close to getting out of here, but still a semester away. Hell, I can barely concentrate on the semester at hand! I have a paper rewrite that was due yesterday and I still haven't even started. I pulled it up on Tuesday night after the finals were over and just ended up starring blankly at it for a while before shutting down my laptop and going to bed. Again I did the same last night and today. So I am still no closer to my goal.

Daily I am telling myself I made the right choice. I will graduate. I will love my job. I will make the difference in life that I know I need to make. But there are so many days when I fear this. I wonder. Is it enough? Will I enjoy my job when I hate the process of obtaining that job so much? And the truth is, I don't know. I really don't. I think I know that I will love helping people. That I will find true meaning to my life by providing health services for those who have no other way of doing it. That starting a health clinic out of my church will give me the depth of life that I need to survive. But I don't know. And not knowing is killing me.

I wonder sometimes if this is, in a tiny way, what Jesus felt. If all people who teeter on the edge of service, true service, and calling feel this doubt. I wonder if they toed the edge praying for respite or if they bravely stepped out into the abyss. I stand by the edge, ready to take that jump. But I fear the unknown. And am frustrated by that fear. I have never feared like this before, but then, the stakes were never so high as they are now. Not just my own life, but so many will rest in my hands. What a burden, what a blessing.

Adventures of a mad alcolyte

Or perhaps just a mad verger.

I am now officially the newest alcolyte in St. Paul's Epsicopal Church. And I didn't even drop Jesus, so I guess I can stay. Especially since I didn't throw the choir off with my singing as I don't think they'd ever find my body if I angered the choirmaster. I am not even sure exactly how I got roped in- I do remember approaching the verger to say hello and ask him about something or other wholly trivial and the next thing I knew I had a cassock half over my head while he was pointing to the processional cross on the other side of the sanctuary. Nothing like being tossed in with barely a by your leave and no directions what so ever. My roommate was smart enough to run when she saw what was happening to me. Smart, smart girl.

This week has been an interesting one- if more then laid with procrastination. Which is, I suppose why I am sitting here instead of doing a nursing process that is due tomorrow. I did try in good faith to go to the coffee shop, but apparently Cafe Latino has either closed completely or is trying a new sales plan that involves random closures throughout the week. Too bad really as I loved going to that coffee shop, I would hate for everything but Starbucks to close here.

I also found out that I might be able to pasture a horse at one of the other parishoner's pasture. Which is wonderful news for me. I have been wanting to get a horse for a long while, but the bording costs are very prohibitive. Plus, with a ten acre pasture, if I don't get a chance to ride as often as I would like at least the animal would have plenty of room to roam and play out extra energy. I was so excited I promptly spent most of yesterday looking at horses available for adoption in Texas, though I won't be able to adopt for a few more months and need to get a truck and trailer before I consider getting a horse.

And, if I can find the right horse, I might be able to train for mounted search and rescue as well- though it will be with a bunch of nutters who seem to also enjoy riding about in fairy costumes. You'd think they would have seperated those into two websites, really. On the top of the page you see all the information and requirements needed for mounted search and rescue, the program that is run by the Bexar county mounted police and then you scroll down a bit and there she is- a woman dressed as a fairy riding a small grey horse with a horn taped to its head. Random.

Right, back to work with me....

First day of EfM

A partial group met on Monday at the mentor's house. No small feet consider San Antonio traffic at 6pm, but most of the group made it and mostly on time. There is one other first year student as well, so it will be good to have someone to bounce the interpretations of readings off of. I have the tendency to over analyze and dig too much, perhaps, though with my schedule at school I might be prevented from doing that by shear logistics.

Anyway, we spent the meeting sussing out the truly important things- can we meet at 1800 or should we wait til 1830 to allow those who work downtown to get all the way to the north side of the city in time. Can we meet on Saturdays for the life time lines? A resounding yes until I mentioned I am in pediatric clinical rotation from 1300 to 2300 every Saturday until mid November. And then finally to the most important issue at hand of them all- who is bringing next week's food and how do we feel about having the occasional glass of wine. All sorted out in almost un-'pisky like alacrity. S. K. bring the food and yes, the occasional- or even not so occasional- glass of wine is perfectly acceptable. I decided to wait until next week to spring onto them the fact that they just might prove to be my test subjects for the dinner my friend and I are guest cheffing for in November. Russian Night at the Southtown Cafe- should be a grand time I hope. We already have a good portion of the menu worked out between us and a lot of experimenting to do ahead of time. Back to the matter at hand: Information and papers were handed out and I quite look forward to reading them on Sunday and Monday (the two days I set aside for EfM studies).

Tuesday I spent at a local elementary doing hearing and vision screenings. I forgot how much I love being surrounded by kids. Third graders aren't quite my old high school students, but it was close enough to pull at my heartstrings a bit. I dearly miss interacting with the little snotters every day. Though you couldn't drag me back into teaching by the nose hairs. Wednesday was spent in Labor and Delivery. Which was eyeopening. I watched two new lives enter our world. And under very different circumstances. One being given up for adoption, the adoptive parents there so desperate to bond with this brand new boy and the birth mother so desperate not to. The father in the corner asleep through so much of the birth and not interested in watching the life he created enter the world. And the other boy, so desperately wanted by the parents. The father so eager you couldn't help but to smile at his bumbling about like an over eager puppy. And then the crushing fear as the baby was whisked away to transitional NICU for a minor problem.

It makes one wonder, what would I have done? As a nurse there is so much that you are responsible for- monitoring the mother and the baby, co-ordinating care, maintaining paperwork- that it is sometimes hard for the nurse to really be there for the patient. I don't mean to say that the care is poor, for it isn't. But the nurse is so busy that they can't or don't or perhaps even won't really open themselves emotionally to the patient. To watch the fear in that mother's eyes and watch the nurse go about her routine as though nothing were wrong- well, I don't know if I could have done it, paper work be damned. Sometimes I wonder if we don't loose something when we transition from student to nurse. Maybe its just that we loose time, maybe its that we loose the ability to really be there with the patient in what ever emotional stew they happen to be in at the time. All I know is that I fear loosing that ability to be there. There is a time to push aside emotions, but there is a time for them to come into play as well. All I know is that when that mother took my hand and thanked me with tears in her eyes for fetching her mother, for blocking her mother-in-law, for bringing her ice; I knew that what she was thanking me for was just being there and with her fully and emotionally during her time of greatest fears. I know that this is what I am most afraid of loosing.

Mutterings and Ramblings

Fr. Doug is about to return to the parish from his vacation to Mexico which means that I am about to start discernment and training to be more involved- lay eucharistic ministry and lay reading were definately mentioned. But now that the time for considering discernment comes closer, I find myself ill prepared to speak aloud about my beliefs and callings. Its not, I think, that they are weak as much as I am not able to fully articulate them.
I know I was put on this earth to make a difference. Not a big one, I don't have the huge dreams I did when I was a teen. I want to make a geranium's difference. Small, not immediately noticable. But one whose effects last in the manner of a habit. Again I am not explaining myself well. Geraniums are those hearty flowers that are unloved in the gardening world. They don't smell like a rose, aren't flashy, and are common. You see them everywhere. My grandmother's house wouldn't be the same without the rows of geraniums out front baking slowly in the San Antonio August heat and humidity. The broad, fuzzy leaves giving off the hot and slightly spicy aroma of dirt and ozone somehow mixed together. You see them everywhere in Texas. Mainly because you can forget to water them, forget to bring them in out of the direct summer sun that melts the asphalt into goo, forget them utterly- and yet, when you do remember them they are still there, patiently waiting for you. All it takes is a bit of water and pinching a few leaves and the plant blooms vibrantly. Those are my aspirations now. For my life's work to be painted quietly in the background. Something reliable that produces vibrancy. Something that makes the parish home.
Three years ago, I joined the ECUSA. My first church welcomed me with open arms. Of course, they didn't realize I was a wolf in sheep's clothing. I was the social liberal in the most conservative church in town. As my lamb's wool slowly peeled back through the time I was with them, they welcomed me as I was. I felt I served a purpose in the parish as the in house "voice of reason". When rheteric became too heated I would stand and speak as quietly and calmly as I could, despite the fact that sometimes my insides shook with anger. Sometimes I was effective, sometimes perhaps not. However, I do believe I made people think. A small consilation perhaps.
Anyway, time moves as it will, and now I am no longer a high school science teacher. I moved away from West Texas and returned to school to become a nurse and, eventually, a nurse practioner. I found myself skipping from one church to another looking for someplace I could be comfortable. I finally found in at St. Paul's. Despite the fact that for the last two years I had developed the repeated and ever present desire to become a deacon, I felt like I lost my position in the church. What is the point of the "voice of reason" in a place where you agree with the social policies? Why argue for more outreach in a place full of outreach? And nursing was just as pointless. I knew I didn't want to work in a hospital, so what could I do with my life to really make a difference? I finally found it on a course held in Chinle, Arizona. There were whole populations out there whose health services were nonexistant. And they aren't all in distant places. In fact, some are right outside our parish door. In a conversation with the dean, who headed up the course, I found myself trying to explain how I felt a need to serve them. It was she who led me into parish nursing and faith based community nursing. I had a point again. And I was ready to go with it.
There is still a long path. There are still hurdles. But its hard to live life, for me at least, without a goal. Having a goal colors all that I do, gives even the most pointless tasks at nursing school a reason other then "because they told me to". Perhaps this is a move that serves myself more then others. That is something I hope to discover during the course of the year. And, of course, the bishop may decide not to create a deaconate program at all. That is all in the hand's of another. I only pray that I am wise enough to know which path to take and when to take it.
If anyone has read this, which I doubt. First I apologise ahead. I should have placed a boring tag and a warning to stay away. And second, this is nothing more then me trying to get my head around things my heart already knows.

"And then he said....."

Who hasn't felt the pent up, about to explode feeling? Who hasn't felt the need to let it all out to friends, family, strangers in the grocery line, or telemarketers?
"How am I? I'll tell you how I am!"

And afterwards, we are supposed to feel good again, right? The letting off of a bit of steam- or a lot- just allows those feelings to go away, right? Apparently, maybe not so much.

MSNBC

According to some research venting might not be the cure for mending our broken hearts, stress filled heads or oh-he's-done-me-wrongs. Dwelling on the negative does not appear to be a postive. We spend all of our time concentrating on what we did wrong, what they should have done and its just not fair. All of those insecurities and doubts just seem confirmed by excessive venting because at some point venting becomes obsession. We begin to go over the same events and conversations over and over, ruminating on them and continuously cycling through should haves and could haves. In short, we took a good thing in moderation and over did.

Its hard not to, really. After all, we've been insulted and just plain done wrong! The other party is clearly, clearly in the wrong. And they never liked us anyway. And they dress poorly. And they smell funny.

Familiar?

If you're a member in even moderate standing of the Episcopal Church USA, then it ought to be. We've been bombarded from left and right. The conservatives are rude, bigotted and skismatics. The liberals are loudmouths and, well, liberal! Each side is constantly venting at us through media, internet blogs and even pulpits. We are in the middle of two parties talking too quickly and too loudly to listen. Not to eachother and certainly not to themselves. Each side has painted the other in colors too dark and attitudes to bilious to be believed. Where once there was tolerance, now there is only two backs turned towards eachother.

And the people left in the middle. Where once there existed a fulcrum between the two sides, now there is nothing. Or perhaps it is still there, waiting for the extremes to acknowledge it once again. I fear for ourselves and for many in our country. We have become so polarized of late. Where once compromise was considered a good outcome of debate now its a four letter word. I fear that in our course of venting, we have only succeeding in becoming obsessed.