Pastoral Veneration (R.E.S.P.E.C.T.)

By that title I am not referring to veneration by the pastor, but rather veneration toward the pastor.

Veneration: showing deep respect towards a person or an object.

When I traveled to the gulf coast for Katrina relief I was very surprised to witness a degree of pastoral veneration that I found, well frankly I found it rather alarming. When the pastor spoke people listened, but more than that they tended to treat him with respect that (to me) bordered on the ridiculous. When he met with the deacon board, everyone was shushed and scooted away from the room as if the president was meeting with the cabinet--or a king with his knights. He walked around his church with a small retinue. It made me uncomfortable to hear people say, "The pastor is here"almost as if they all had to stop what they were doing to bow.

I found it amazing, and so did my husband. More than once we glanced at one another in disbelief. It bordered on idolatry, in my opinion. (A side note: he was thanked for coming to help and recognized as being a minister. I was not. Wonder why? But that is a separate issue.) I am concerned that such an attitude could lead to an atmosphere ripe for all kinds of spiritual abuse.

Sometimes this is geographic or cultural, but 'round these parts we tend to be much more casual when it comes to pastor-congregation interaction. Some people in my church call me Pastor. Some call me SingingOwl and some call me "Pastor SingingOwl." (Hmmm. I like the sound of Pastor SingingOwl. Don't you?) Sometimes the same person calls me all of the above, depending on the situation and circumstances. That is fine with me. I don't much care about titles, though I admit I worked hard for that "pastor" one so it does have a nice ring to it.
I bet no one ever took this guy lightly. Perhaps the key is to practice a steely gaze, never smile, and wear a BIG cross. I'm looking at this picture and my picture and I think I see the problem!

Point is, I tend to feel that a clergyperson is just one part of the whole. An important part to be sure, but the work of the Kingdom is teamwork. The pastor is not the only minister. He or she is given the task of equipping others for ministry. Is the pastor more holy, more blessed than others in the church? Maybe, but maybe not. Probably not. I remember my fellow ministers-to-be all too well. LOL!

However, last week after a few episodes that were not exactly polite, in fact bordered on a kind of veiled contempt, I found myself thinking of that particular Mississippi pastor with a tinge of envy. How nice to be treated with such respect. It would be good (sometimes) to enter a room and encounter an expectation that God was going to do something important because I am in the room.

Okay, I don't really mean that. But do you see where I'm trying to go? In our more casual culture have we lost something?

I recall reading the wonderful old book "The Little Minister" by Barre and being quite struck by the respect and graciousness extended to the hero of the story just because he was the new minister in town. I was a teenager when I first read the book, but even in the long-ago '60s the attitude toward my pastor was nothing like what I read in the book which was set in the 1800s.

My fellow Wisconsinite and Rev Gal member, "Cheesehead in Paradise", posted recently about how some parishioners took the opportunity to aim some painful arrows of criticism her way during (of all things) a worship service when she had requested they write some comments related to vision for their church. Vision for their future! And they found that an appropriate time to slam their pastor?!

That made me very angry, perhaps because I recalled my husband's similar experience with a group of critics in a long-ago parish. Those particular folks would have been overjoyed to see harm come to all of our family and made that clear during a meeting in the church sanctuary.

Popular culture certainly does not help. Do you often see a positive view of clergy in current books, television or movies? (Don't even get me started on that one.) In a survey I saw recently, ministers rated just above used-care salesmen on the trust and respect scale. Of course, the scandals of the 90s and the Catholic Church's handling of pedophile priests has added a lot of fuel to the fire. Sadly.

Are most clergy untrustworthy? Sometimes I wonder. I do not believe so, but I've had many conversations with people who seem to think so and will not go to church in spite of being Christians, partly because of autocratic pastors. And yes, I do know some. I also know many others who are kind and hard-working and dedicated to God and people.

I just like basic R.E.S.P.E.C.T. I want to always give it--and I want to receive it.

What do you think? Is there a balance we have lost? Is it cultural? Is there something we should change? Have we (ministers) brought this upon ourselves? Are we too casual? Too formal?
Am I overreacting?

Two follow-up comments:

1. I just read an article which says that the trend of vilifying clergy may be ending. Read about positive (fictional) clergy role models if you like.

2. To the two or three of my dear church folk who occasionally stop in here, don't worry. You are not guilty.

The Amish Farmer

I just thought this picture was so good I would share it and brag a little. The photographer is my daughter, Kris.

There are Amish communities in Wisconsin and Minnesota. This picture was taken not far from the Twin Cities. Kris said she was driving, and she noticed the horses first. Then she slowed down and saw the farmer. She quickly pulled over and called out to him, "Beautiful horses!" and he smiled and waved as he continued plowing. She commented, "This could be a picture from the past. I almost felt like I was the one who was somehow misplaced in time."

If you live in Minnesota and need a photographer, here is a website. It has not been updated in several years though--and I take no responsibility for the picture of Kris. ;-) The pictures posted there now are mostly shirtless guys, but she has lots of beautiful wedding photos and landscapes and other things. She is hoping to update it soon.

In addition to freelance photography, she works here part time.

End of commercial.

Green and Gold (Not the Packers)

Soybeans in Summer


Soybeans are a Beautiful Orange in Autumn

I am not a country girl. I was born in Good Samaritan Hosptial, Los Angeles, California. I grew up in the smoggy, congested San Fernando Valley. After living in North Carolina, Washington, D.C. (while Ken served in the USMC) and North Dakota (now that is rural!) while finishing our theological education, we ended up in Wisconsin. Wisconsin? I didn't know where Wisconsin was when I was young. I still love the city, and I miss Milwaukee where I worked for seven years. But I love the country too.

The pictures above are of soybeans. As I said in my previous post, autumn has arrived in Wisconsin. We are seeing more and more soybean fields around our area. They are a beautiful crop--glossy and dark green in summer, then yellow-gold and finally orange. Right now there are places where all three shades can be seen.

Thank you, God, for the blessings of living in the country. Thank you for color, and change, and seasons, and beautiful crops.

Nothin' But Blue Skies

From Deuteronomy 33:26-27
"...may your strength match the length of your days! There is no one like the God of Israel. He rides across the clouds of the heavens to help you, across the skies in majestic splendor...The eternal God is your refuge, and his everlasting arms are under you."

This is another in the series of blessing-counting posts, even though the day didn't start out with me feeling blessed.

It was a sad morning. I went to bed last night close to tears and aware of painfully tight neck and shoulder muscles. I felt tense, stressed and anxious. I woke with sore shoulders and a headache. As I greeted the day, and the Lord, I asked for grace to have a heart of peace and thankfulness.

I went to the nursing home early to drop off clean clothes. I usually go there in the evening, so don't often see much of the daytime procedure.

Today the occupational therapist was asking a series of simple questions. Mom was supposed to say how two words were the same. For example-- cat, dog. She couldn't do it. She slowly, and with great effort, answered about two of 10 questions. They went on to other exercises and I listened silently, growing increasingly sad as I bent wire hangers back in shape and sorted clothes in the cramped closet. It was one of my mother's "blank" days.

Like most southern women, she is very particular about her clothes, her makeup, her jewelry and her hair. Wisconsin women, even elderly ones, do not usually wear bright green or fuscia or royal blue polyester pants. Not so southern women! My mother's Texas tastes run to bright colors. She worked in a small clothing store from about age 70 till 80 when she finally "retired" because the owner died and the store closed. I thought about those things as I placed socks and pajamas in the tiny drawer and hung colorful blouses with "Southern Lady" on the label tag, placing them beside the bright-hued slacks. I pictured her at 80, waiting on customers and finding clothes and shoes and purses, smiling at wealthy women and silently enduring the disdain of her employer.

I glanced at her, sitting quietly on her bedside, afghan over her knees as she knit her brows and tried desperately to answer a few simple questions. Her hair was sticking up in several directions, but she looked cute in a striped shirt and blue jeans with cuffs rolled up. She chuckled self-consciously and glanced over at me with a kind of desperation. "I know this is easy. I know I should be able to answer" she said with embarrassment in her voice. The therapist was kind and tried to be reassuring. It didn't work. Tears filled my eyes and I left the room for a quick stroll down the hall to regain my composure.

A C.D. player was blaring old-time tunes in the front room. "Nothin' but blue skies....from now on..." I was not feeling too peaceful or thankful so far.

Autumn has arrived in Wisconsin. The air is a bit cool and the leaves are getting tinged with the first hints of fall color. There is a patio at the nursing home, so when the therapist left I took my mother outside, being careful to punch the right combination into the keypad by the door so as not to be blasted with an alarm. I have actually been missing her daily weather comments.

Gaudy, glitter-decked lawn ornaments featuring glowing pumpkins and cornucopias decorated the walkway. "Oh, look at those pretty fall decorations!" said my mother in childlike glee. She sat at the wrought-iron table and sipped a cappucino I had brought from the local Kwik Trip. "Mmm. This is good." She smiled and relaxed a little. "Look at those beautiful clouds." She pulled her sweater closer as a cool breeze lifted the fake leaf garlands wound around the fence marked, KEEP CLOSED FOR THE SAFETY OF RESIDENTS.
"What a beautiful fall day. Look at the pretty leaves. And look at those beautiful clouds." She grew silent and looked at me seriously. "I am not all here" she said. "I can't remember things." "I know" I replied simply, and she looked surprised. "What do you mean, you know? How can you tell?"

"I talk to you. I understand that you can't remember things. I can tell that you are changing. I know it makes you sad. It makes me sad too. " Surprise filled her face again. She said, "I hope I get better." "Me too" I said.

"You know what?" I blurted out, suddenly feeling more cheerful, "You can be glad you are partly here. Your roommate is younger than you, but she lies curled up most of the time. She cannot walk. She cannot communicate. She does not look at the bird feeder outside her window. You can sit here on this nice patio, look at the clouds, taste a cappucino and enjoy the morning. For a woman aged 89, that's not so bad!"

My mother's face brightened. "I can. That is good. Thank you for bringing me outside."

A moment passed. "Have you noticed those beautiful clouds and the blue color of the sky?"
"Yep, I sure have" I replied.
Thank you, Jesus the Creator of all , for the crisp air, the beautiful fluffy clouds and the bright blue color of the sky. May your everlasting arms be under us.

Historical Camp at Jubilee Church

The collage is a sample of something we did at church this past weekend. (I'm not sure why it chopped off the top of so many heads.)

A while back we decided that since quite a few of us are interested in reenacting (thanks to my husband) we should turn this into an outreach/event. After plastering three towns with posters and other advertisements, we erected two tipis and 6 other lodges in a small 1820-style camp and invited the town. We had demonstrations of fur-trade era skills, held kids games that were true to the period (anyone ever played "Graces?"), threw tomahawks at a target, and told stories and had fun around a campfire at night. Our special guest, the man in the lower right corner, was "Jacques LaChristian: the French Voyaguer." He kept us all laughing with his French Canadian accent and his tall tales. (In reality his name is David and he is from Minnesota.)

Sunday morning we held our worship service outdoors. Rain was forecast, but you can see from the pictures that the day was clear and beautiful. We did not have as many townspeople visit our encampment as we had hoped, but we did have many visitors join us on Sunday morning and many indications of God's Holy Spirit working in lives. It was a good start to what we plan to make an annual event.

Does it look like a fun way to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ?



Here is a close up of Janques LaChristian, and below is a picture of some of those in attendance Sunday morning.

I Suppport The Pope

I shamelessly copied this post from my friend, Dr. Platypus. I couldn't have said it any better! There are several things I cannot support that this Pope says, but this is not one of those times. I just read two articles--one was an apology from Pope Benedict, and one related that a nun was killed, possibly in retaliation. I am sad that the Vatican thought an apology was necessary. Point made?

"To convince a reasonable soul, one does not need a strong arm, or weapons of any kind, or any other means of threatening a person with death." Manuel II Paleologus

Benedict quoted this statement in the context of the contention that faith and reason go together. It is actually quite similar to this quotation from a prominent Baptist leader from the early 20th century:

"Christ's religion needs no prop of any kind from any worldly source, and to the degree that it is thus supported is a millstone hanged about its neck." George W. Truett

You notice there is no reference to forced conversion at the point of a sword (or a rifle) in Rev. Truett's words. There is a very simple reason for that: even a hundred years ago it was inconceivable that Christians--even the most ardent church-state entanglers--would advocate such a violation of one's human rights.

Today, however, mayhem ensues because six or seven hundred years ago a Christian ruler whose city was under siege from Muslim conquerors indicated that he thought the idea of forced conversions repugnant.

Well, I agree with Manuel II, George W. Truett, and the Pope that violence and coercion in the name of God is indeed repugnant, atrocious, ugly, and blasphemous. I am glad we have largely settled that issue in the church, and continue to pray for the tiny minority of Christian extremists who haven't quite figured it out yet.

If that upsets people who, I am forced to conclude, worship a god vastly different from my own, I have no choice but to confess, Ich bin ein Katholischer.

Disclaimer: No, I am not unaware that Christian kings and emperors have occasionally threatened (or used) force in order to convert unbelievers to Christ. Charlemagne's dealings with the Saxons come immediately to mind. No doubt there were similar lapses of Christian charity during the Crusades (which, it must be noted, occurred several centuries after Muslim conquerors conquered and began oppressing the non-Muslim inhabitants of formerly Christian-dominant places like Egypt, Palestine, Syria, and North Africa, in a period of growing mistreatment of Christian pilgrims attempting to visit their holy sites). Still, I am not aware of any such atrocities occurring in the last couple hundred years. We must be making at least a little progress!

Committing such acts clearly violates both the teaching and example of Jesus, as contemporary Christians concede with unanimity.

P.S. from Singing Owl
A certain politician with presidential aspirations (IMO) should stop making reference to this "great religion" in order to score political correctness points. And yes, I know not all Muslims are extremists. Benedict did not say they were.

Posts on Women in Ministry and Marriage and Work

No time for coherent thought or blogging this a.m., but I did a little surfing last night and found some worthwhile reading.

Jesus Creed is beginning a series on Women in Ministry. It promises to be lengthly but interesting and worthwhile.

From there I went to Ruth Tucker's (author of "Daughters of the Church") website and read, with mounting sorrow and anger, her account of how she left Calvin Theological Seminary. It is very disturbing.

And one more post of note (shorter this time) is from John Trott. He writes of Albert Mohler's response to the recent dismissal of Mary Lambert from her positon as Sunday School teacher.

The direction of my former denomination, the Southern Baptist Convention, continues to dismay and anger me. It is despicable to make Pastor LeBouf a poster boy for biblical correctness and use it as yet another springboard to slap women who dare to think they can lead. Yes, I said despicable.

Jesus, help your Church.

An Audio Post

This is a meme with vocal responses! It is making the rounds of the Rev Gals so I jumped in. If you'd like to try this too, just go to www.audioblogger.com and follow the directions.
It's pretty simple.

These are the questions that I will be answering.


1. Name something over which you had no control that you got teased about as a kid.

2. Describe a choice you made that you got teased about as a kid.

3. What do you remember most about your first boyfriend or girlfriend?

4. What was something your parents did that embarassed you?

5. What was something your parents did that made you proud?

6. What piece of furniture first comes to mind from the earliest house in which you remember living?

7. When did you first break a bone or get a bad cut?

8. How did you get your first traffic ticket?

9. When you were a kid, who or what did you dress up as for make-believe?

10. Which of the previous experiences have you thought about most recently (before taking this quiz)?

Rainy Day Conversation

On the way to a chiropractic appointment this morning, the conversation in the car went something like this:

Mom: Those clouds sure do look rainy.

S.O. Yep. Actually, it is raining right now.

Mom: My hand looks awful (pulling dressing back to inspect her palm)!

S.O. You need to stop pulling on the dressing, okay?

Mom: My back sure is painful (wincing). It hurt bad all night.

S.O. Remember we've talked about this? When you are in pain you can ask the nurse and they will give you something for it.

Mom: I don't have anything.

S.O. I know. Just ask the nurse. She will have some.

Mom: Those clouds sure look dark and rainy.

S.O. Yes, but it is raining. That's good because we really need rain. .

Mom: My hand sure looks terrible(pulling dressing back to inspect her palm).

S.O. Please stop pulling on the dressing,okay? Every time you do that you pull on the wound a little.

Mom: I can look at my hand if I want to. It hurts. And my back hurts.

S.O. Remember, ask and they will give you something for pain.

Mom: Who will?

S.O. The nurse who brings your medications. She will have some Tylenol.

Mom: Those clouds look like rain clouds.

S.O. Yes, they sure do. In fact, it is raining right now. See the drops on the windshield?

Variations of this conversation are repeated several more times over the next ten minutes. Then...

Mom: Oooooh, my back is so sore.

S.O. (Trying something different) Mmmmm...my back kind of hurts too. Maybe it is the damp weather.

Mom: Did you take some Tylenol?

S.O. Umm...no.

Mom: Well I guess next time I'll just have to remind you.

For the Blessing List Mentioned Below: MUSIC

A few days ago my mother was very 'bad." She could not hold a thought for more than 30 seconds or so, and she knew something was very wrong. She was afraid, and crying, and so I was crying as well. :-( My mother is a classic southern "steel magnolia." She does not cry. Usually.

I left and picked my husband up for a short drive to our former church. The Imperials were presenting a concert. Do you remember the Imperials? Their heyday was the 70s and early 80s. Founded by southern gospel legend, the late Jake Hess, the Imperials were a phenomenon in the gospel music world because they combined their southern gospel roots with a contemporary sound that was cutting edge at the time..

"Sail on, when the water gets high, sail on when the wind starts to die...sail on"

"I listen to the trumpet of Jesus while the world hears a different sound. I march to the drumbeat of God Almighty...While some others just wander around..I hear the voice of a supernatural singer like only those who know Him can..."

"Oh, let the Wind blow...blow as hard as it can..."

The Imperials faded from the scene as the group members left or aged. They are back, four young guys carrying on the tradition. They sang the standards, blending their voices in some great old-time harmony. Then they sang some new material and rocked the house! They were more than entertaining however. They ministered to my heart in a badly needed way. I cried and laughed and sang and worshipped.

God is good. Today's thanks is for the gift of music. What would my life be without music? I don't want to think about it! Check out the new Imperials here if you like southern gospel with an updated sound. I recommend the new album--the first from the new group.

Ordinary Time Mountains

The "Ordinary Time" devotional book, written by the members of the RevGals webring, has been a blessing. A new entry is posted each day online. Check it out by clicking on the sidebar link. A while back I mentioned mountains in a post and I said I'd post more about mountains later. Here is Saturday's (yesterday's) entry. This little devotional that I wrote several months ago seems very fitting for my life today. Perhaps it will be for you as well.


Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion,
which cannot be moved, but abides for ever.
As the mountains surround Jerusalem,
so the Lord surrounds his people,
from this time on and for evermore.
For the sceptre of wickedness shall not rest
on the land allotted to the righteous,
so that the righteous may not stretch out
their hands to do wrong.
Do good, O Lord, to those who are good,
and to those who are upright in their hearts.
But those who turn aside to their own crooked ways
the Lord will lead away with evildoers.
Peace be upon Israel!
Psalm 125 (RSV)

In today's reading, the psalmist uses a mountain as a metaphor for those who trust in the Lord. He goes on in the next verse to describe the Lord in a similar way--a range of mountains surrounding the city of Jerusalem.

I presently live in the upper midwest of the United States. It is rather flat in this part of the country. People here don't seem to understnd mountains.

Not long after arriving at our first church, my husband and I were searching for the home of one of our parishoners. The penciled map we had been given seemed simple enough, and in a phone conversation we had been directed to drive down a certain country road until we came to a "series of hills." Just past the hills, which we were assured we could not miss, we would see their farmhouse on the left side of the road.

We drove for miles. We watched for hills. We grew puzzled, and we backtracked, wondering if we had missed a turn somewhere. No, we were on the right road. A trip that should have taken minutes stretched into an hour. We grew increasingly frustrated as we searched the horizon for hills that never materialized. Then, on our third trip over the same road, I realized that our car was moving over some bumps in the road. Small bumps. A series of small bumps. "This is it!" I yelled. "Turn left!" Sure enough, there was a familar figure in the yard as we pulled onto a dirt road and then down a long driveway. "Did ya have any trouble findin' us?" "Oh no," my husband said with a grin in my direction. "We just watched for the hills."

Bumps in the road were hills. And in this part of the country, people sometimes say "mountains" to describe what we would call "hills."

I love my adopted home, a state with rolling hillsides, green fields, red barns and black and white Holstein cattle. It is lovely country. But it lacks mountains.

Sometimes I long for the mountains that surrounded my childhood home. I could look down the street and see the foothills of California's Sierra Madre mountains. We lived in a large valley surrounded by purple mountain ranges. The majestic Rockies were in driving disance. My happiest days were spent in the mountains, driving up, up, up on winding roads that made us catch our breath as we looked over steep drops with only small guardrails for protection. The car chugged as the elevation got steeper, but my two sisters and I bounced with excitment in the back seat, sniffing the air for the first whiff of the the wonderful mountain pines. That scent is one of my favorite things. As the distant purple mountains became close-up brown and green and grey, I felt happy and secure. The air was cleaner, the sunshine was brighter, the rocks were bigger. Streams rushed in hidden canyons and burbled over stones. Birds sang in the high treetops. My little-girl heart was always glad in the mountains, always at peace.

Not much was secure in my life back then. Life seemed like sand beneath my feet. But the mountains--ah, there was something so strong, so unchanging, so long-lasting, so eternal about my beloved mountains. Year after year, they never changed. They were always present, always beautiful, always surrounding us with their great arms.

How like God! I love this metaphor for the Almighty. Strong, majestic, beautiful, unmovable, protecting, towering, peaceful, and full of delights.

But me? "Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides for ever." How can this be? I am weak, flawed, small, insignificant. There must be something I cannot see. I love the Lord, so I am like Mt. Zion, says the singer of Psalms.

What glory! We who love God can be called a mountain--strong, beautiful and eternal. Created us with something of the divine image, we are, somehow, like God.

Does life seems insecure, changing, and unstable? Are you longing for peace, for delight, for strength? Look to the Lord, the eternal one whose love surrounds you like a mountain range of protection. Draw from that security, and realize anew that you are capable and beautiful and amazing--made in the image of God!

Prayer: God who is like mountains, surround us with your protection, your peace and your awesome and beautiful power this day. Reveal hidden joys as we draw closer to you. Give us the strength that comes only from loving you. Grant that we may stand strong and face what comes with courage and endurance, knowing that we, like you, are eternal. Amen

SingingOwl

More on the "Feminized Church"

"We’ve simply replaced the mythopoetic 'Iron John' with a mythic 'Iron Jesus.' But young men don’t need a Jesus who strolls like the Duke, squints like Eastwood, and snarls like Rumsfeld. They don't need Jesus the wrestler or Jesus the warrior. They just need Jesus the Savior."

As someone who let off a whole lot of steam about this subject, on this very blog, may I suggest some interesting reading at the Evangelical Outpost, "Iron Jesus and the Masculinized Church." The quote above is just a small sample from this excellent post.

HUH! (Said in a deep voice with my fist pumping the air.)

Counting My Blessings

Philippians 4:7-9 (TNIV)

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things... And the God of peace will be with you.

I've been a bit morose of late. I could make a list of things to be grumpy about, not the least of which is that I have no sermon for Sunday and no ideas. I didn't go to sleep until about 2 p.m. so I just woke up, which is a good thing under such circumstances. I need to get going. But I'm taking time to start a list that I will add to as I can for the next few days.

1. I can see. There was a time that such a simple statement was in danger of not being true.

2. I can walk and talk and think. See above.

3. I am alive to greet this beautiful day.

4. It is a beautiful day. The weather lately has been wonderful.

5. Patches the Cat no longer has a face full of sores. (Yuck. But true. Thanks to those who prayed for the cat a while back.)

6. I can take the cat into the nursing home, where she has curled up next to her "mom", behaved superbly, and comforted my mother with her purring and her soft fur and her round green eyes and her presence.

7. I have a job to go to. Which I will do very soon. That job is not just a job, it is a ministry, and I have a nice office in which to pray and read and think and work.

8. My husband loves me, and he tells me that many times a day.

9. People who have never met me have thought of me and prayed and blessed me and found ways to show it. (Thank you, dear Connie. What a precious woman you must be.)

10. Tomorrow I am going with Pat, Kelly, Nancy, and Donna to beautiful Door County. These are "church ladies" and we are doing a mini retreat in this lovely peninsula surrounded by Lake Michigan on one side and Green Bay (the bay, not the city) on the other. Nancy is allowing us to use her family property for free. Otherwise we could never afford this little trip.

Just Thinking

I can't sleep. Please excuse me while I play around with the template.

Silver Cliff Part IV - Just for Fun

On Saturday we accompanied our men into the woods to attempt a rescue of Miss Rebekah McClue.

It had rained earlier, but now the sun shone through the green ceiling of trees, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. The leaves shook small showers of droplets onto our heads. It was quiet in the woods (except for us, being silly) and it was not hard to imagine a little of what it was like for Native Americans, Mountain Men or Voyaguers to pad softly through the woods with moccasined feet.

According to the scenario, Miss McC. the daughter of a prominent settler in the area, had been abducted by "hostiles." A "woods walk," as this is called, requires everyone to keep a sharp eye out for various targets, pop-ups, and other surprises. The situation may call for a black powder rifle or for a tomahawk. Some woods walks involve archery but this one did not.

No, we really are not violent people.



Much2Ponder looks like Peter Pan to me in this picture. (Really, I'm just saying that because I am coveting her buckskin dress.)

Her husband, Little Too Much, and Jesse get ready to trek on There is no sign of poor Rebekah yet.

Jesse takes careful aim and fires. He's a good shot.

Bearded Eagle has already felled a "bear" with his tomahawk. Here, he keeps a careful lookout as we quietly creep through the woods.

And here they are with Rebekah Mc Clue, who is tied to a post. Jesse's son, Nick, Ken (Bearded Eagle), Ray (Little Too Much) and Jesse. Pat (Much2Ponder) says she thinks that Rebekah and I are related since we share a specific physical resemblence. I do not know what she means.

Clearing Out

I'm spending my labor day laboring. I spent time in my mother's room--I vacuumed, dusted, polished, and then I scrubbed her bathroom. I threw away stacks of old magazines and catalogs and appeal letters from various regliious organizations and political figures. I felt a little guilty--did it anyhow.

Now...on to MY room!

Silver Cliff Part III - Frontier-Style Baptism

If you have not read the previous "Silver Cliff" posts below, you might want to read them first, especially Part II..

Mark 10:15-17
I assure you, anyone who doesn't have their kind of faith will never get into the Kingdom of God." Then he took the children into his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them.

Sunday dawned clear and beautiful. Here is the conversation inside our lodge.

Bearded Eagle: This choker has a cross on it, so would it be good for church? Does it match my shirt okay? Where is my Bible?

Singing Owl: You look fine! I can't find my chemise...maybe I should dress in my beaded Indian dress instead? What am I thinking? Why did I say I'd baptize a baby?

People gathered on the grassy center of camp. Some brought benches or chairs. Some sat on the grass. This picture looks like it should be called "the children's section."

I led us in prayer and in singing "Amazing Grace." Something was already happening. People had tears in their eyes, and there was a quiet sense of anticipation.

We've done church at rendezvous before, but this time was different. Almost everyone in the encampment showed up, which is phenomenal. Rendezvousers are more know for alcohol consumption then church attendance

Ken's sermon was "Jesus Will Meet You Where You Are" from the passage about Jesus and the disciples on the shore after the resurrection. He spoke eloquently about the different places we find ourselves, and how the Lord will come to us in that place of need. More tears. One girl was openly weeping, and I could tell that the man seated next to me was struggling with some deep emotions.

I prayed!

Mother, Father and about-to-be-baptized Child were seated in the front row.

Ken concluded with a time of silent reflection and prayer, allowing each of us to talk to God about our current situations and to invite the Lord into them.

It turned out the man who had spoken to me about baptizing a child was the little boy's grandfather. Here we are: me (looking like Old Mother Hubbard), grandfather, grandmother, sister, mother and toddler. And in the second photo, dad has stepped up, his hair still very short from his recent stint in the Middle East.

People were invited to stay for the baptism if they wished, and everyone did. It was a beautiful scene. The sky was bright blue; the sun warmed our backs as we sat in the green clearing. I was nervous (will I do this right?) and I was feeling a little strange about doing something I never thought I'd be doing. And this may sound odd, but I did have a sense of God smiling at us, maybe even chuckling at my discomfort. Does God chuckle? Perhaps.

Look closely at the group picture and you will see a piece of pottery on the table. It is a little creamer pitcher-- very suitable for baptisms of the "pouring " variety, I thought.

From the Old Testament I read scripture about our responsibility to share the works of God with our children and grandchildren. From the New Testament I read about Jesus blessing the children. We prayed for the family and for little Ethan, who has some disabilities. I led them in statements of intention, and I asked those assembled to do nothing that would hinder the work of God in this little one's life.

The words of baptism, "I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit" felt strange in my mouth as I poured a stream of water over little Ethan's head. He winced. God smiled.

As people began to disperse, the man who had sat next to me told me that he was a Christian who had once been strong in his faith. He said he had not been in church for over a year and he had been questioning God's existence. He went on to say that his wife had left him and their two teenagers, and he had left church and God behind at the same time--struggling through the pain of divorce and feeling estranged from God--very angry. He said, "This was so beautiful, and it was just what I needed. I would not have gone to a church building, but this seemed all right. I know God was speaking to me and is going to meet me where I am." I told him I'd be praying for him and trusting that his journey back to faith would be something he could share with others in days to come.

Later, Grandfather approached with another of his several grandchildren. His voice was uncharacteristicly soft as he thanked me for baptizing his little grandson, and he handed me this little pottery vase. The buckskin-clad boy who stood by his side looked up at me shyly as he told me he had picked the Goldenrod himself. A $20 bill was tucked inside the vase. I think this little vase will stay with me long after my chemise and Ken's choker are dim memories.

Praise be to God, who does all things well.

Silver Cliff Part II - The Question

Life is an adventure when you are seeking to follow Christ in obedience.

Friday night after we had settled in at the rendezvous site near Silver Cliff, one of the camp leaders approached me carrying a candle lantern for light and looking a little timid.

He said, "Each year we have something special here. For the last two years we've had weddings. And this year there is a family who have been waiting till dad came home from Iraq to get their little boy baptized. Pastr, could you do a baptism at church on Sunday? They just moved into the area and haven't found a church home yet. They really want to haver their child baptized at a rendezvous, and it seems perfect, since this year we have a parson in attendance, and dad is home."

Gulp.

I immediately thought of Questing Parson and a few of the RevGals and wished they were in attendance. Is there a Lutheran...a Methodist...an Episcopalian in the house?
Uh, I mean, in the group...in the meadow..somewhere? Oh dear.

I gently said that Assemblies of God pastors do not baptize infants. He looked confused, so I briefly explained that their are two main schools of thought on baptism. We dedicate babies to the Lord in a special ceremony, and we baptize those who, later on, decide to follow Jesus Christ as savior. "Oh, fine," he said. Just dedicate him, and then baptize him."

Hmm. I saw that my doctrinal fine points had escaped him. Consternation...and then...the still small voice of--the Holy Spirit? "Baptise him." Uh...God...is that You? "Baptize him."

I took a deep breath. "I would be honored to do that. I'd love to. I'd like to talk with the parents though." "Wonderful!" he said, with a big smile.

Next day I wished for my computer. I do not know how to conduct an infant baptism. What to do? "God, why is this happening, dang it!" Then it was clear. Do what the man had said. Dedicate him and then baptize him.

I then wished for my little black book of clergy necessities. Another deep breath. I settled down with my notebook, Bible, pen, and solitude. I wrote, and it flowed easily. I looked up scriptures and found them quickly. Something was happening in me--a kind of joy.

I joked to my husband, "Don't tell _________." (Our presbyter.) We decided that on Sunday morning Ken would preach and I'd do the baptism and we'd share the other parts.

It is midnight. I'll share the rest tomorrow. Yawn...

Changing Seasons

Sometimes I blog to think something through, sometimes to share a thought or a discovery or a sermon, sometimes to highlight an injustice, sometimes to share something funny and sometimes just to write because I like to write, and I like to take pictures. Sometimes I blog because it is my life. This is one of those, so you've been warned.

About two weeks ago I sat on the deck with my mother, as we often do. It was a warm 82 degrees. But there was the feel of autumn--that indefinable something that lets us know summer is ending. It's a dryness in the air, a certain crispness to the breeze even when it is warm. I had just purchased a pot of chrysantemums and decided to take a picture of my mother, looking bright in her purple pants suit. "Fall is coming," she said just before I snapped this picture.

One week ago I was returning from a very quick trip to Minnesota where I had gone to help my daughter paint the nursery-in-the-making. We had a good time shopping for paint and various items to decorate the room--and a few maternity clothes too. She showed me ultra sound pictures and we laughed together over one that clearly revealed a tiny foot (but large in proportion to the leg). "She is going to have big feet!" and "Look, you can even see the arch and the high instep." Another showed her face in profile and we agreed that she has her daddy's (not tiny) nose! It was remarkable and exciting.

As I was driving home I got a call that my mother had tripped over the garden hose and fallen, raising a horrific lump on her head and splitting her palm wide open. She got stiched up in the ER, but the next day, after a bad night of confusion, we admitted her to the hospital. Yesterday she was discharged to a nearby nursing home. They will be doing a bit of occupational and physical therapy, but the biggest problem is confusion. I'm not at all sure she will be coming home, though she is planning on it. Last night we took her little cat in for a visit and the two of them snuggled up contentedly. I wish I could have left the cat with her.

Today I visited. She thinks she has been there a week and I have not stopped in. She seems to think every voice in the hallway is me, and the staff reported that she was searching for me all day.

I do not know if she will improve. I washed all her bedding and cleaned up her room a bit, but I do not know if she will ever spend much time in it again.

This happened quickly. And not quickly.



This morning I photographed berries and flowers in the backyard. Glancing at the deck I thought of the day, earlier this summer when we sat on the deck and I posted about it here. The flowers are changing. The seasons are changing. My life is changing too.

I'm trying to take one day at a time. I'm all right.

Silver Cliff Part I: The Mandolin Man

Hey, Mr. Mandolin Man, play a song for me....apologies to Bob Dylan...

A couple of weeks ago we spent three days near Silver Cliff, a "wide spot in the road" quite far north of the city of Green Bay. It felt like I finished the week of vacation that was interrupted last time. This time there was no "public" to speak of, just a bunch of people (about 30 lodges) playing "make-believe" (see the post below--I used to like to do that and I guess I still do) and having fun together. Much2Ponder and her husband, Little Too Much, went too, as well as J. and M. who are new to our church but not to fur trade reenacting. Wisconsin's "north woods" consists of miles and miles of forest and an occasional meadow...dotted here and there by tiny towns. It extends across most of the northern areas of the state. We drove through deep woods to the site, a beautiful place far from lights and traffic and noise. More about that later, but this post is about The Mandolin Man.

The Mandolin Man is not singing here. He is concentrating.

One sunny morning I strolled down the row of lodges and heard music with an Irish lilt. I stopped, and there sat an old man who looked like he was too frail to stand up. His skin, which looks pink enough in the picture, was white like parchment. He sat under the awning of a small lodge, plucking a mandolin like a professional, along with a younger man playing a fiddle and another playing a guitar.

Intrigued, I stopped. The Mandolin Man was clearly in charge of the trio of musicians. He looked fragile, but charmingly dapper in his vest and derby. "May I sit and listen?" I asked. No response. He looked right at me, so I spoke a bit louder, "MAY I SIT DOWN?" No response. His wife kindly said, "He doesn't see you or hear you."

I thought that was strange, and I wondered how a blind and deaf man could still play together with others so beautifully. "Have a seat" she offered, and I did, tucking my long skirt around me on the wooden bench.

When the song ended the old man seemed to see me for the first time. "Hello! I beg your pardon, madam" he said. "When I play I see the song in my mind. I did not realize you were here. I see the notes; I see the frets and the strings of my mandolin; I see and I hear just the song, understand?" I didn't, but I said I did, to be polite. He was a delight to talk with, and he even, somewhat reluctantly, allowed me to inspect his instrument--a beautiful, custom-made and hand-painted creation of gleaming red wood . He breathed a soft sigh of relief when I gently handed it back to him. He told me he had been playing the old songs, Irish and Russian mostly, for many years. After about half an hour I reluctantly left, but I could hear the music as I walked back to our lodge.

Sitting by a fire that evening, I thought about his single-minded focus on his mandolin and his wonderful music. How could he not even see me?

My prayer, God, is that I may seek you first, with the same kind of focus. That I will see and hear the voice of the Holy Spirit. I don't want to shut people out, but I do want to be able to turn my heart to you with no distractions. I want you to mean so much to me that all else fades, like the old chorus says:

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in his wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,

In the light of his glory and grace.

And when that happens, Lord, may my life provide spiritual music as sweet and uplifting as the music of the Mandolin Man.

Amen

Easing Back Into the Blog

Many things have been happening, and I have had no time to blog. Thanks, Rev Abi, for tagging me for this meme--to extol the God-prints in my life. It is just the ticket to get me thinking about what is valuable.

1. A friend who has blessed me:

I can't mention just one...let me think...

Loretta Q., a beautiful Navajo/Hopi who was my buddy all through junior high and high school.
Pat M., who was my friend when no one else wanted to be, and who in a roundabout way led me to my future husband.
Maggie from Maryland, who prayed and encouraged and laughed with me.
Ruthie H. who helped me think and see in new ways and who led me to CBE.
Many cyber-buddies who have enriched my life, TL, Dr. Platypus, Jeannie, Galina, the Rev Gals and more.
Pat (much2ponder), who is my sister-in-Christ, my friend, tells me the truth, and loves me.

And many more.

One who is coming to mind right now is my old neighbor, George B. George, are you out there somewhere? I moved away at age 11, but before that we were companions in many make-believe adventures. We turned an old chicken coop into a house, a hideout, a ship, a dungon, a teepee, a fort, and more. We played cowboys and indians, pirates, Robin Hood, school, Hansel and Gretel....George was a sweet, smart and funny boy who was belittled and not valued much at home. I loved him and I missed him when we moved away, and I've never forgotten that he never made fun of me, never made me feel inferior and never took joy in someone else's pain. I hope he grew up to marry a lovely woman who saw his value and his good heart. He would be about 55 or so now. How strange!

2. An unexpected gift:

My husband and my family. There was a time I thought I'd never find anyone.

3. A kind word shared with me recently:

All the comments to my "Juxtaposition" post below.

4. Something that makes me stop and praise God:

Music. And nature--sunshine, birdsong, the smell of grass, flowers, frost--sometimes even snow.

5. Something I’m looking forward to:

That is easy! The birth of my first grandchild, Trinity Ann, due January 2nd. More about that in a future post.

6. A particular part of me I’m pleased with:

That is hard. I'm not pleased with much about me. I'll say...my joy in being alive, learning new things, seeing new things, thinking in new ways.

7. Something in my life I wanted but never expected:

To be a pastor.

8. A place that moved/moves me:

The mountains. I grew up surrounded by them, and I miss them greatly. I love being in mountains, and I actually feel physically and emotionally better when I'm several thousand feet up. I don't see mountains often, but they actually can make me teary-eyed. One of my devotions in "Ordinary Time" (see sidebar) is about that. I'll post it when the time comes.

9. One thing/person that always makes me smile:

It used to be my sister. Now she is a victim of Alzheimers, and thinking of her makes me cry instead.

Nancy, a woman at my church, always makes me smile. She is full of joy, even in adversity. She cries easily, but she smiles easily too, and her smile lights up the room.

10. Most recent “love note” from God:

I have a hard time recognizing those. See number 6. I know that God is sending them to me all the time. A song...nature...a sense of God's presence in worship...people.

And now it’s my turn to tag: You feel like playing? Go for it, and let me know.

Thanks, Abi, for helping to turn my thoughts upward.

Thanks

What nice comments to my last post. And thanks to all who remembered us in prayer. I'll be away from the blog for a week or so, but will have things to share when I get back.

Juxtaposition

What a strange time.

My mother is increasingly confused and her memory is slipping away day by day, it seems. She recently had another small stroke--not enough to incapacitate her--just enough to take another piece of her functioning. She's having a series of these.

She is forgetting people she knows well, forgetting to eat, forgetting what day it is. Sunday she was quite distressed about this, knowing it was happening to her, but powerless to do anything about the fog in which she was enveloped. She said to me, "Something has happened to my mind. I am just blank." I explained what was happening, as simply as I could, but in about 3 minutes she said again, "Something is happening to my mind."

A very sad time, and a waiting time. Will she improve (she has in the past) or will she continue to slip away, bit by bit? I'm at home instead of at church because she is very confused this morning. I think I can go soon though. She is out in the sunshine pulling weeds--always a good sign.

A few days ago my pregnant daughter called. She'd just had her second ultra sound, and now we know


It's a girl!

So this little life inside her has a name, Trinity Ann. Mom-to-be laughed happily as she described how the technician would get things set, trying to get good pictures of organs. Then an arm or a leg would flail, and once the baby did a complete flip. The tech told her, "This is a very active little fetus. Get ready for an interesting time with this one!" Daddy had his first experience feeling a "bump" as he placed his hand on my daughter's tummy.

My mother had picked up the other phone, so she heard the conversation. After we hung up, she said, "So a baby is on the way? I didn't know that! Won't that be fun? We will all have the experience of seeing this little one grow." She had forgotten about the pregnancy.

"Yes" I replied. "It will be wonderful to have a little child around. And we will all see her grow up."

Hope springs eternal. My mother still somehow believes she will live forever. And she will--just not here.

It is a strange mix of emotions, this watching life about to begin and life about to end.

Pictures

Is everyone else unable to post pictures, or is it just me?

There Goes a Perfect Example!

Those of you who are reading this because you know me from the Egalitarian Christian Alliance (ECA), may recall me posting in the past about a former (I kept them anonymous) pastor of ours and his wife. His wife is now ordained and serving as one of the church's associate pastors. We attended this church for many years.

I have mentioned that I once preached a sermon there titled, "How to Support Your Husband" which included the point that the husband was the "priest of the home." When I found those sermon notes a few years ago I shed a few tears of shame and tossed them in the trash. But I digress.

This wonderful ministry couple are our friends as well as our former pastors. They were my classic example of a couple who lived as egalitarians, (equal partners, submitting to one another, no struggles about who was in charge, both leading as the situation called for it) but spoke as complimentarians. At one time I did too (obviously) or I would not have preached that very unscriptural sermon. After Ken and I learned "a more excellent way" (lol) we began to note that our pastor couple spoke of male authority, of the husband's "headship," of the wife's role and the husband's role, and of the wife's need to always submit to the husband, but (as far as we could tell) lived their lives as egalitarians. They have a great marriage.

Many AG people, including some of our leadership, at least theoretically support women in ministry but become very Southern Baptist in their thinking when it comes to marriage and male versus female roles in the home.

Note: The Assemblies of God has an excellent position paper titled, "The Role of Women in Ministry" and while the focus of the paper is not marriage, it briefly does support egalitarian marriage.*

It is really too bad that almost no one (including most of our pastors) seems to know it exists, much less has read it.

Well, all that to say....I've lost my classic example.

Last night...well, let me set the scene. SO is me (SingingOwl). The other names are out of my head, but the women are very real. Sue is my former pastor's wife. Of the four women three are married and one is single.

SO, Sue, Jane, and Betty are four pastors attending a one-day training which requires an overnight stay at our district campground. It is 10 p.m. and they are wearing comfy pajamas. SO's are pink and have sheep on them, since she is a pastor. SO, Betty, Jane and Sue are in their beds, conversing happily away about many things. Then...

Betty: Someone asked me how I could pastor a church and be submissive to my husband's authority. I said that at the church I am the pastor and so in authority, but at home I submit to him because he is the one in charge in our house.

SO: (thinking to self) Hmmm. I used to say that very same thing!

Sue: I don't believe that.

SO: (looks at Sue in surprise) You don't? (smiles) Me neither.

Betty: What? You don't?

Jane: Why not?

Sue: I think marriage should not be about who is in charge. I think marriage is partnership.

SO: Actually the Bible does not say the husband is in authority.

Betty: Sure it does.

So: No, actually it doesn't.

Betty: The Bible says the husband is the spiritual authority in the home, and that the husband is the priest in the home. He is the leader of the home.

Jane: Right.

SO: Actually it doesn't. There is no scripture that says the husband is the priest of the home. The Bible speaks of the Aaronic and the Levitical priesthood in the Old Testament, and in the New Testament it speaks of the priesthood of all believers. All. No scriptue says that the husband is a priest in a different way than the wife, or the children for that matter, if they are believers. No scripture says the man must always lead, for that matter.

Betty: Well, he has the spiritual authority in the home.

Sue and SO together: You have authority too.

Betty: Well, where do they get that? Why do they say that then?

SO: Because, like the four of us, they heard it so many times they believed it without ever realizing that the Bible does not say that.

Jane: It doesn't?

Betty: There has to be order in the home. The Bible says the man is the head. He is the leader and the protector of the woman. I told my daughter that when she is in our home she is under her father's spiritual authority but when she marries that authority will be transferred to her husband, who will then be her authority and protector and leader.

Jane: Right.

SO: That's not in the New Testament. That is patriarchy, a flawed system. Just take a close look at those families in the Old Testament. They are God's people, but boy are their marriages and families a mess.

Love and respect will certainly require that our husbands be protective at us at times, but scripture does not say that his role is to be the authority and the protector. I agree that there must be order in the home, but it won't all fall apart if leadership and responsiblity is shared. We all want our husbands to be strong men of faith. But do you need leading all the time? And what about Jane here, who has no father and no husband?

Betty: Well, she is...

Sue: (emphatically interrupts) Actually, I can't stand that teaching!

SO: (surprised again) Really? Me neither.

Sue: I told my dauhter that stuff about their dad and their future husband. I set them up to be passive. Thankfully, they are strong girls. And recently I had to tell both my daughters that I was wrong to tell them that. That I meant well, but that I was wrong. Their husbands are not in authority over them. Marriage is not about authority. And their dad isn't either, except as a parent who cares and loves them. As parents, both my husband and I had authority in our home. We were partners in loving and disciplining and rearing our children.

Betty: The husband is the head. So he is the authority.

SO: gives a very short explanation of kephale (see footnote below) and how metaphors in English don't necessarily mean the same in another language, how the Pauline Epistles use words other than "head" (kephale) speaking of the leader, those in authority....etc.

Sue: Yeah! I was trying to remember that stuff!

Betty: Silent, seems a bit frustrated.

Jane: Silent, seems to be thinking.

SO: Sue, why did you have to tell DD 1 and DD 2 that you were wrong? I did the same with my daughter too, but what brought you to that realization?

Sue: I read a book by Dr. Barbara Caveness and Dr. Debbie Gill called "God's Women Then and Now." I read it and it was like a light went on, and I said to my husband, "You have got to read this! This is what the Bible really teaches. This is truth."

SO: Did he read it?

Sue: (Smiling) Yep! Men need to know this as much as women do!

SO: (grins broadly, keeps silent)

Jane: I might have to get that book.

Betty: I already have a copy, signed by Debbie Gill. But I haven' t read it.

SO and Sue: (in chorus) Please, read it!

The conversation turned to menopause...um I mean the conversation turned to other spiritual things.

SO: Goes to sleep, thanking God with a glad heart, listening to Jane, Betty and Sue snore softly. ;-)

There went my example of a conservative, evangelical couple who live as egalitarians but speak like complimentarians.

YAY!

If you would like to read more about what I think the Bible actually teaches about husbands and wives, (as well as women in leadership) go to Christians for Biblical Equality. The Statement on Men, Women and Biblical Equality changed my life and marriage. There are many excellent articles available there as well.

You can purchase "God's Women Then and Now" from CBE's bookstore (Equality Depot) or from Amazon.com.

* The following is quoted from "The Role of Women in Ministry." The bold print emphasis is mine.

First Corinthians 11:3-12

The statement that "the man is the head of the woman" has for centuries been used to justify the practice of male superiority and to exclude women from spiritual leadership. Two alternative translations for kephale ("head"), debated widely by contemporary evangelical scholars, are (1) "authority over" and (2) "source" or "origin." Both meanings can be found in literature of Paul's time. Taking the passage as a whole, the second meaning fits as well as or better than the first meaning, leading to the summary statement of verse 12: "As the woman is of the man, even so is the man also by the woman; but all things [are] of God."

Team Hoyt

All right. Thanks to Amy, I get it. The video posted below ("I Can Only Imagine") is of the Hoyts. If you watch this one first, and then go to the post below and watch the next one, it will all make more sense.

I Can Only Imagine

Have you been complaining about life recently?

This is a link to a video that made me cry a little, and then stop what I was doing and give thanks to God, followed by some other kinds of prayer for the people in the video.

You see, I have cerebral palsy, and with just a bit more pressure during my birth, these pictures could have been me.

It is one thing for me to imagine life without limits, but how must it be for these precious people?

On Being Pentecostal and Emergent

Thanks to a link over at Dr. Platypus' place, I read Bryan Thomson's' brief essay on being Pentecostal and Emergent.. I shouted "Amen, and Glory Hallelujah!" and did a charismatic bunny hop.

Okay, I didn't. :-)

But I knew a kindred soul when I read the article. If you are interested even slightly in how being Pentecostal or Charismatic and Emergent might work, you might want to take a look. If you think Pentecostal means (as I once thought) long hair, no makeup, legalism, shallow theology, and general goofiness, you also might want to look. At first your suspicions will be confirmed, but read to the end.

If you have read my profile or have read this blog for a while you know that I consider myself, among other things, to be a Pentecostal and a bit Emergent as well. My church is heading that direction--on purpose.

And here is some of what I posted as a comment to Dr. P.'s post (slightly changed).

Now THAT was a great article. Oh how I wish more people had his perspective. I hate to use the word “Pentecostal” sometimes. I know what images come to mind—and I’m about as far from Robert Tilton as I can possibley get without falling off the opposite edge.

I also deplore the “me centered” words of songs , and prayers, and much else. Our worship leader and I had a conversation about this once– but do you know how hard it is to find contemporary worship music that is COMMUNITY focused? (Almost impossible.)
But I love the way his article ends. I have one teensy weensy disagreement that is so insignificant that I won’t mention it. But I will mention that Leonard Sweet recently told some Pentecostal leaders that if we would get our act together and avoid the “fringe” elements (that almost seem to be the center)–okay that last part was me–anyway that we were ideally suited to reach a postmodern generation.

We are already experienced focused. Yes, a bit too much. A lot too much in some places. The hollering evangelists who have no depth will not get the job done, but perhaps some of us can do better.

I've felt God's presence in many places. A Catholic retreat center, an Ash Wednesday service at a nearby Presbyterian Church, a large gathering of women from several denominations (I was the only Pentecostal)--so many places. It is my personal belief that one of the primary ways we prepare our hearts and minds to "hear" God is simply to expect. Expectancy is a precious gift that I gained as part of my shift to the Pentecostal part of the Church of Jesus Christ. I hope I keep that sense of waiting for God no matter where I am. But I thank God that some precious Catholic Chariismatic women (mostly military wives) and a crusty southern (and very traditional) Assemblies of God pastor helped me gain that valuable awareness. Thank you, Lord, for those very different people who shaped my awareness of the work of the Holy Spirit.

I hope I never say "Gawd." If I do, and you are pesent, you can "smack me upside ma haid" as that same Pentecostal preacher used to say. LOL!

Chaplain's Convention Part Two: "One of the 1.6 Percent"

We are encouraged to attend the chaplain's conventions every year, but we had not been for about five years. I had forgotten what these conferences are like. The chaplains are a diverse group. There were many military chaplains present, looking sharp in their uniforms and sporting "high and tight" haircuts. There were health care chaplains, corrections chaplains and institutional chaplains. The group included a rodeo chaplain, a racetrack chaplain, a biker chaplain and more. It is fun to try to guess people's vocations by their clothes or hair. There is a fair percentage of women in our chaplaincy ministry. I wonder why that is more acceptable than women in the pastorate?

I intended to skip almost all of the meetings and spend time alone, but the main speaker was
Dave Roever. Dave is a Vietnam veteran who was horribly burned in the war, but he has turned his significant suffering into an asset. I love the guy, even though I don't agree with everything he says, and I had to listen to him! He is a man with a large, tender heart under a rather blunt, and very funny manner.

Then I discovered, to my delight, that Dr. Deborah Gill was a speaker. I've posted about her before. She has many impressive credentials, but she is warm and personable and has the most lovely and genuine smile. I don't know if I've ever met a person who personifies joy like this woman does. She is presently teaching at the AG seminary in Springfield. Anyway, I couldn't miss her either! And God blessed me in different and unexpected ways through both of these people. Here I am with "Dr. Debbie." I should have removed my name tag.

She sat at my table at lunch as introduced me to others by saying, "This is Pastor SingingOwl who is one of the 1.6% of female senior pastors in the Assemblies of God." (I did not know this.) She repeated that phrase a couple more times that day.

If I remember correctly, about 13% of our clergy are women, mostly serving as associate pastors working with children, youth or other areas. While I am glad for this, I also felt sad to realize that such a tiny percentage were senior pastors. When I mentioned that there are six of us in the Wisconsin/Northern Michigan district, I got looks of surprise that the number was so large! Large? One person said, "Well, I think there is one in ________." I forget what state.

Later we had the nice experience of sharing dinner with a young man who used to be part of our congregation in Wisconsin. His new wife joined us as well, and it was so good to hear of God's continued work in their lives. I forgot the camera, or I'd show you how cute they are. I love that guy!

Another meal was shared with our friends, Dr. James Hernando and his wife Moira. Dr. Hernando teaches Hermeneutics and New Testament classes at AGTS. As an undergrad at Trinity Bible College, he was the toughest professor I had, but I remember the most from his classes. We have remained somewhat in touch over the years, and we try to connect when we are in Springfield.

Here we are at sunset, standing outside a nice restaurant (the name of which I do not recall) where the music was subdued and there was nary a platter of okra nor a roll in sight. The food was good, and the company was too. Yes, there is a connection to the "1.6 percent of women senior pastors."

When my husband called Jim and Moira to confirm dinner plans they spent a few moments catching up. Of course, I only heard one side of the conversation. It went something like this. "Yes, we are all well...yes, I'm still at the prison....15 years...time flies...how are you two and the boys?...["the boys" are three impressive Hernando offspring, all grown and blazing a trail of brilliance]...our kids are doing fine...SingingOwl is pastoring a church...what?...Assemblies of God, of course....Jim, you know we have women pastors....well, yeah, not very many....

At dinner I couldn't resist teasing our friend a bit that his first reaction was to ask what kind of church I served. He said, "Well, I know we have women pastors, but it sure is unusual." I shared Dr. Debbie's 1.6 introductions. Later he said, smiling, "Well, since there are only 1.6 percent women pastors in the Assemblies of God, I have never had the privilege of speaking with one. Tell me, how is it for you?" I shared a bit and the conversation turned to other things.

I lay in bed later, thinking of the events of the day and talking to God about them. I realized that I was actually very sad. I did not realize that I really am quite so unusual. Of course, I think this should not be so. But it got me pondering...

Why was I sad?

Is it really a problem that 98.4% of AG pastors are male, or that only about 9% of all Protestant senior pastors in the USA are women? (The UCC and the Methodists are doing their part!)

If it is a problem, why? If not, why not?

I must stop and go to the grocery store and think of simple things like which ears of corn look the best.

Chaplain's Conference Part One: The Home of the Throwed Rolls

It is almost midnight, but since I'm not sleeping I decided to blog. I wonder if it is like counting sheep? I'll start with the silly stuff and move on the the serious stuff.

What IS that unbelievable racket?

Thursday morning we left much later than planned, due to some complications at home. Thus, we arrived in Springfield quite late, missing the "Meet and Greet." Oh phooey. (Not really. I was relieved, not being a fan of gatherings where I must mingle with strangers.)

We parked the van and stepped out into oppressive heat and humidity. Trees flanked the hotel entrance; the lobby glowed with warm colors and attractive lighting, and I could see glimpses of striking artwork. As I stepped onto the brick patio in front of the doors, I heard the sounds of classical music piped over a speaker. Waiting with our luggage, I stretched my back and thought, 'This is a very nice place. That sounds like..." Suddenly zzzzzzZZZZZZZZZaaaaAAAAA--a thousand cicadas simultaneously erupted in sound! I jumped in surprise. Chopin's "Nocturne" was completely drowned out by the insistent, LOUD buzzing. "Well, I'm back in the South!" I thought. "Wisconsin sure doesn't sound like this."

Contrasts

Some other observations on Yankee versus Southern:

WI towns are neat and clean. MO towns are less so.

MO yards have trees and grass. WI yards do too, but most also have flowers. I noted that very few people had flower beds or hanging baskets or pots of flowers. In Wisconsin, many home and every business or church or civic building has flowers at the entrance or on the porch. The police station has flowers. I suppose this is because we only see them for 3 or 4 months a year. We get tired of white and grey, and we want color while we can get it!

WI people have Labrador retrievers. MO people have hounds and terriers.

In MO the waitress asks, "Would you folks care for anything else? Some more coffee, or some dessert?" In WI the waitress asks, "Do you want anything else at all?"

In MO the women wear skirts, heels, make up, and jewelry. In WI the women wear jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes. In MO the men wear golf shirts and slacks. In WI the men wear jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes.

Many WI people are overweight. This is a result of eating cheese and bratwurst and drinking beer. Many MO people are overweight. This is a result of eating fried chicken, mashed potatoes, country gravy, hot bread, chocolate cake and drinking sweet iced tea. (No, my matronly figure does not come from beer.)

WI people drink beer and Mt. Dew or Pepsi. MO people drink Dr. Pepper or iced tea.

MO towns have lots of churches. WI towns have lots of bars. I thought Springfield must be a great place to live, what with all the churches. But I also noted a slew of "adult" bookstores, and I saw that the strip club on the main drag in Springfield still seems to be doing a great business. Hmm.....

Our area of Wisconsin has lots of technical colleges. Springfield has so many institutions of higher learning (including the University of MO and the Assemblies of God Theological Seminary) that I lost count. Perhaps all the colleges are the reason for the strip club? Sigh.

Churches in Wisconsin, for the most part, seem to be using the NIV or some other more contemporary translation. Many churches in MO seem to be of the "if-the-King-James-Bible-was-good-enough-for-Paul-it-is-good-enough-for me variety. Churches in Wisconsin are overwhelmingly Catholic or Lutheran. Churches in MO are overwhelmingly Baptist, Methodist and various stripes of Pentecostals.

A Visit to Lambert's

A not-to-be missed experience when visiting Springfield is a trip to Lambert's, "The Home of the Throwed Rolls." We arrived at noon on Saturday and waited and waited and waited some more. It's worth it, and the people-watching helps the time go by. In the first two minutes I saw two really sorry t-shirts. I guess sometimes MO women wear t-shirts too. One had two large jug pictures placed strategically on the front of the shirt. Whatever. The next was on a senior citizen, and my first glimpse was from a distance, causing my mouth to drop. Then I took a second look and realized it was a shirt, not the real thing. The shirt pictured a voluptuous female body, front view and back view depending on which way the wearer stood. The body was scantily clad in a crocheted thong bikini. Argh. I later saw two other large family members wearing slightly different versions of this charming shirt. DH looked, looked at me and rolled his eyes, whispering, "now that's attractive." They had several little girls with them.

Women, do not work at perpetuating stereotypes and making us look foolish!

We were entertained by the children, parents, teens and old people. It was fun listening to accents too, some southern, but not all. It is a big tourist place.

I cheated. I pretended to be taking Ken's picture, but really I wanted to capture this "Ozark" guy! He looked down just at the wrong moment, but you get the idea. Outside, he had been wearing a large, broad-brimmed hat, and he looked like a photograph from a book!

Inside Lambert's the walls are covered with a collection of license plates, and the place is a wonderland of antiques, old photos and interesting junk. The servers are good, the atmosphere is noisy and fun, and the dance-party music plays non stop. I decided the subliminal message was, "Come in, have fun, eat fast, move out." My feet tapped the entire meal to the mix of oldies, pops and r and b.

The food is so southern as to be stereotypical. It is wonderful. Well, it tastes wonderful. I hate to think of what it was doing inside our arteries. The menu includes lots of entrees and so many "side orders" I couldn't choose for a while. Then there are the "pass arounds" which the servers bring in tin buckets, calling out the selections as they make the rounds of the wooden booths. Choices include all-you-can-hold of fried okra (yum), fried potatoes, fried cinnamon apples, pinto beans, macaroni and tomatoes, gravy, sorghum (who eats that?) and the famous "throwed rolls." These come out of the kitchen piping hot. They are large, yeasty, soft--and the servers will not hand you one. They throw them to you. No exceptions.

Note the meals served in skillets, and the enormous glasses of iced tea. Ken is about to bite into one of the famous throwed rolls. (Why does he look like he only has one tooth?) Our friendly waitress informed us that in seven years at Lambert's she had only served 32 desserts. No kidding!

There was one BIG problem at Lamberts. What do you suppose was on the table to spread on the rolls? Margarine! That is just wrong. I mean, it's not like we are trying to avoid calories, what with the the fried everything and the size of the servings! Country Crock on those rolls should be against the law. Next time I may bring my own butter!

I'm at the exit, and I'm full. It is bad to go to this place too often, I've been told. I don't doubt it! I have lost about 10 lbs in recent weeks, and I probably gained half of it back.

Tagged for a Book Meme

Dr. Pursiful, mentioned in the last post, tagged me with this li'l book quiz.

1. One book that changed your life:
The Woman Question by Kenneth Hagin. Yes, really. I'm not a Hagin fan, and this book is really not all that good (sorry!). But at the time I read it (the only thing I could find on the subject) my spiritual eyes opened, my thoughts changed, my heart lifted. The Holy Spirit was my guide and my teacher, and I saw truth. I now have much better books on the subject of women in ministry, but none transformed my thinking like this one, which was based on the writing of P.C. Nelson, an Assemblies of God pioneer, and one of Hagin's early professors. I used to give copies away, and I keep one to remember what happened to me the day I read it--at one sitting--feeling my world change forever.

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
Only one? That's tough. Any book really worth reading is worth reading several times. Okay, just one... don't expect anything deep or theological or spiritual here...hmmm...okay, I've read this one over and over. The Wind in The Willows. Great book! What? You haven't read it?

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
Well, this is cheating a bit, because it is many books, but I'd like the complete set of C.S. Lewis, including the science fiction stuff.

4. One book that made you laugh:
Lake Woebegone Days by Garrison Keillor. We were the pastors of a church of Scandinavian Wisconsinites at the time in a town so much like Lake Woebegone that it was unbelievable. I had living examples of the book's characters in the church and in the town. I laughed so hard I acturally fell off the couch. However, it seems people either love the book or hate it.

5. One book that made you cry:
The Hunchback of Notre Dame by Victor Hugo. My family owned a large set of classics. This one was...BIG. And some of the descriptive passages are hard to wade through, but it is brilliant (in spots) and it was one of my first experiences of feeling distress at a total lack of justice and right action.

6. One book that you wish had been written:
One Hundred and One Simple Explanations of Why I Said What I Said by the Apostle Paul.

7. One book that you wish had never been written:
The Book of Mormon

8. One book you’re currently reading:
Jesus on Leadership by C. Gene Wilkes

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
I Suffer Not a Woman by Catherine Kroeger

10. Now tag five people:
Psalmist, Questing Parson, Songbird, Rev. Abi, Jan

An Interview

My long-time cyber friend (and occational gracious consultant on matters of Greek and theology), Dr. Darrell Pursiful, is one of the contributors to "The Scroll" -- the blog of Christians for Biblical Equality (CBE). I'm honored to say that he recently sent me a series of questions for an interview there. It is three parts, but each part is fairly short. If you'd like to see the interview, start here.

Thank you, Dr. P. for believing I had something interesting to say!

And anyone interested in matters of church and gender issues, please spend some time at CBE. They changed my life.

Dr. Pursiful, also known affectionatly as "Dr. Playtypus" also has a new blog. Find it here.

P.S. I just noted he tagged me for a book meme! Oh yay! I'll have to wait to do that one for a bit, but I'll get back to it. We drove 13 hours to Springfield, spent two days there, one sitting in chairs, and drove another 13 hours to return home. I informed my husband that I will NOT be doing that again. I do have some things to say about it, but they will keep. I'm glad to be home. Even good conferences are tiring.