Teaching about death

I remember very clearly a story that was told to me about a five year old boy whose father died. The boy did not really understand what was happening as he went through the motions with his family. But when he was at the gravesite, and he suddenly understood that they were going to bury his father in that deep hole, he threw himself at the casket and sobbed and would not let go.

My heart still breaks when I think of that story. The boy is a teenager by now and I have lost all contact with the family. But it got me thinking about children and when it is appropriate to teach them about death.

A century ago and beyond, death was much more a part of life. Cemeteries on the edge of major cities were considered by laborers to be great places to go for picnics on weekends and breathe fresh air. (Now these cemeteries are in the midst of the down town areas.) Homes used to be built with doors wide enough to accommodate coffins for wakes which were traditionally held in homes. People would lie in state at their homes for days. Dying at home, saying good bye, and grieving together were a part of life.

I think that was a much healthier way of dealing with death. Now we keep everything as sterile as possible, and as far away as possible. I have even had people tell me they prefer that funerals not be in churches, because it makes church creepy. Of all the places where we should be comfortable with death, it's in church! The message of the church is that in Jesus Christ, death has lost it's sting, and Christ has the finial victory. The resurrection is reason to rejoice, even as we grieve.

So I have made it a point to talk about death with Shannon, my four year old. She has had conversations about death with us since she was two. I don't force the subject, but it comes up if it is not avoided. This is of course especially true for me as a pastor. I had a funeral today. Shannon came in and asked if I would please not go to work today and take her to the YMCA to swim. (She keep pestering me to stay home all day- after all, her father does!) I told her that I had to go to officiate at a funeral. She knows what that is; we've talked about it before.

Tonight at bed time, she was asking more questions about dying. She asked me what would happen if she died before my husband and I. I told her we would be very, very, very, very sad and that it was unlikely it would happen that way. She was teary. I told her about heaven, about how it would probably happen that her grandparents would die and go to heaven, and that her mommy and daddy would not die until she was grown and had kids of her own. Then I explained that she would probably die when she had grown children and even grandchildren, and then she would see all of us in heaven. She asked how we get to heaven, how we get to the sky. I told her that we don't know for sure until we die, but that God takes care of it. She asked if Jesus and heaven are very far away, and I said they are in a different place, but that Jesus is also right here with us all the time. She asked if they have birthday parties, and get to play outside. I assured her the weather in heaven is always great, and there are plenty of parties and time for playing outside. Then she asked what Jesus does all day when people are not dying. I explained that people die every day and he is busy welcoming them home to heaven.

She cried softly some more, saying it made her sad. I told her that was alright.

I'm hopeful that I am helping my daughter face life and death with courage, hope, and trust. But who knows, maybe I am setting her up for years of therapy! I guess I won't know until I know.

Hope, trust, encouragement, worship

I've been in something of a funk for the past two weeks. It all began at Annual Conference. I'm tired of complaining about it, so I'll just leave it at that.

But today I turned corner. Yesterday, I was truly wondering if it's time for me to seek counseling (the jury is still out). Then last night before Administrative Council, I knelt at the chancel rail, and I prayed. I don't even remember what I prayed, but I do remember looking at the eight sided baptismal font. It has eight sides to signify that baptism brings new life, new creation, new beginnings. Creation is marked by seven days, new creation by eight. It was a hope-filled reminder of who God is and who I am because of that.

Then today in Bible study, I was reminded that God really speaks through Scripture. The appointed lectionary passage for Sunday is Mark 4:35-41. It's the story where Jesus falls asleep on the boat while a storm is raging. The disciples wake him and demand to know why he hasn't stopped the storm. He calls for peace, the storm stops, and then Jesus asks why the disciples have so little faith.

Why indeed? Why do I have such little faith? Why does it take so little to discourage me? I thought of all the storms that rage in life, and remembered that I have much to be grateful for. I have a great marriage, a wonderful church family, and beautiful healthy children. I don't live in a war torn country as millions do, I don't worry where my next meal is coming from, I don't have any abuse in my life (1 in 4 women are sexually abused/assaulted in some way in this country), I am not addicted to anything (as long as chocolate doesn't count), and I have good health.

Then tonight, God really lifted me. I went to a worship service led by Rev. Paul Huebner. Paul has single handedly kept me encouraged over the past five years we've been friends in ways that no other clergy friend has. Tonight, he reminded us that despite all of the world's efforts, the darkness has NEVER overcome The Light.

As I was riding home, I was listening to the news and to our President make troubling statements rattling the saber again about Iran and nuclear war. (We can't handle another war! One is more than Jesus would have waged!) I heard reports that Congress has voted down legislation to raise the minimum wage, and I thought about how outrageous it is that people can work full time in this country and still live well below the poverty line, but according to our government, that's ok. And then I thought about light and darkness. I thought about the truth that no matter how dark it may seem, there is always light. I thought about the fact that I could not see myself anywhere other than the church, because this is the place where actions are called upon to be rooted in love and the message of hope is eternal.

You know you've been on vacation when...

I just had to look up my sign in and password for this blog! I hope that's the sign of a good vacation. We Methodists have a thing called Annual Conference every June. This was not the vacation part. It is a regional gathering of all the clergy and lay reps from every local church in our geographical area (called a "Conference"). After four days of Conference, then it was vacation time. I joined my family at the beach for four days. They had already arrived three days earlier.

This morning in worship, Paul Huebner, who retired this year from pastoral ministry, lifted a praise that I had been appointed to serve this Charge for another year. It was a blessing to be affirmed in that way. It was also a good reminder that United Methodists are really appointed to serve one year at a time. Every July, the clergy who are moving shift churches and/or retire, and the rest of us are reappointed to the same place. Although I get a voice in the process, and the local church gets a voice, the decisions are ultimately in the hands of the Bishop and District Superintendents.

It is an exercise in faith and trust to live in this way. When the folks from Portable Church Industries delivered the trailer for Jacob's Well, they asked how I decided to serve in this community. I replied that "I didn't decide." This is entirely true. My only part of the decision was that I discerned that it was time for me to seek a new place to serve, because I had done what God had called me to do at Summit. After that, I waited for the District superintendent to call me. He did call in the spring of 2003, and invited me to talk. We met, and he shared with me about Chesapeake City. Ray and I had 24 hours to pray and discuss, and then we called to say that we were excited to serve. (If we truly had not felt called, we could have said that and explained why, but it still would have been the Bishop's decision either way.) Then we met with the Staff Parish Relations Committee...and the rest, as they say, is history.

Many people comment that this system does not make sense, people both inside and outside the Methodist system. I respond by saying that all systems have their strengths and weaknesses, but that I truly believe in this. I say this because the District Superintendent and Bishop introduce a level of honesty and reality that only a third party can bring. In the call system that is used by most (all other?) Protestant Churches, it is something like a dating relationship at the interview. Everyone puts their best foot forward, and no one talks about the problems or weaknesses. Not really anyway. In our system, the District Superintendent and Bishop know the pastors, the churches, and the skeletons in the closets. They try to make matches that will work. Often, it succeeds. Sometimes it fails.

Right now, I feel that God has used our system to bring together this pastor with these churches for just such a time as this. I feel grateful to God to be serving here- some days I still find it hard to believe that God has called me to be a pastor here. I look forward to another year, and hopefully many more years. Thanks be to God.

Prayer and Binkys

My daughter just prayed her first spontaneous, independent prayer tonight. Shannon said to me, "Ok Mommy. Repeat after me. Dear..." and I said "dear" she said "God"...and I said "God" "please"..."please"... "help"..."help"... "me"..."me"
"Not to think about my binkys...
And help me not to be sad
Even though it's ok to be sad
Help me not to think about them."

And I repeated it after her. Just like we do with the Lord's Prayer and Apostle's Creed every night.



She is four. She has been completely without them for about six months. For about a year before that, she was down to just sleeping time. And she still occasionally cries about them. It was her idea to give them up. We had told her that she would give them up when she turned four, which was April 30.

But when she was 3 1/2 she decided she was a big enough girl to go ahead and give them up. It was her second major decision in life (first was using the potty). And she has regretted giving them up ever since.

On the day before her fourth birthday, she cried that she wished she had kept her binkys until that day. She has cried for them about once per week since. Last week, she told my husband Ray, between sobs, that the reason she is so sad is because she knows they are never coming back.

It has been heartbreaking, heartwarming, and funny all at the same time to live through this drama.

Tonight, her prayer gave me hope.

Mind Block

I have been struggling lately to think of topics for this blog. I think I expect too much of myself. So rather than work myself into a frenzy about trying to think of something wonderfully insightful and inspiring, I am going to just write and see what happens!

I had a God moment today centered around the Twila Paris song "How Beautiful." I was so hooked on singing it in the car, that I got out my Emmaus song book and began singing and driving in an attempt to memorize the words. I was reminded of a report of a study that singing creates vibrations that release endorphins. So basically, singing to myself in the car really can put me in a better place.

Back to "How Beautiful." When I walked into the office, I mentioned to Sandy, the Administrative Assistant, that the song was stuck in my head. She said she loves the song, and had just ordered the soundtrack for accompaniment to sing. So I asked her if she would like to sing on Sunday! It felt like a God moment.

I find that I am really looking forward to worship this month of June. The first Sunday of June is Pentecost, one of my favorite days. Then the following week, Jack Shitama is preaching on the DaVinci Code, while I am at Annual Conference. Then Father's Day weekend, Four For Him is going to sing. They are an amazing men's quartet who sing a capella. Then the last Sunday of June, a Harps to Halos, a Blues ministry, is going to sing. God has really brought us all sorts of blessings!

Bibles

At our leadership retreat on Saturday, I brought four Bibles with me, in case someone (or four someones) forgot theirs. As I was looking at the Bibles I brought, I realized they were my four favorites. These four are all New Revised Standard Version (NRSV), because I love NRSV. It was pretty amazing they were all gathered together in one place. They usually live more separate lives.



There is my blue leather bound slimline NRSV. It does the most traveling, which is what it is designed for. It was given to me in 1997 by first mentor, but not in the usual way. She had it lying spare in her office when I was lamenting the fact that I could not find a slimline NRSV to save my life. (NRSV is the best version in my opinion, but it does not have the best marketing minds attached it. The NIV does. So the NRSV gets short shrift in varieties available.) The reason she had it lying around was that a pastor had forgotten it at some retreat, and before she could return it to him, he died. It has random things underlined in it by a man whose name I do not even know, because my mentor served her first 30 years of ministry in New York. Since it was given to me by a mentor, and has this added layer of mystique and holy residue that I imagine must be there from a pastor who served God many years and went home, combined with the fact they are no longer printed, it has a special place in my heart.

Next is my first ever study Bible. It has a black zip cover, and Bible tabs which I added because I learned the order of the books when I used this Bible. This Bible came into my life before the slimline NRSV, when I was first taking Disciple Bible Study in 1995. I don't open this Bible so much anymore, because the study notes are now somewhat outdated. But I remember buying it at Borders, and reading it every week for Bible study. I remember how much the cover and Bible tabs somehow made me feel like more of a Christian, when I was still uncomfortable with what that meant and whether I wanted to call myself one. It will always have a special place in my heart. This was the Bible that was with me when I came to my adult faith. It is also the Bible with which I began Seminary. Whenever my roommate or I were caught somewhere without a Bible, we would joke "Bibles are heavy." This Bible was my reason for making such jokes.

Third is my current study Bible. It is the New Interpreter's Study Bible. All of the notes have been updated and the scholars who worked on it are the world's best. It's the reason I don't use my original study Bible. (If you want to check it out, go to: http://cokesbury.com/search.aspx?scope=all&query=New%20Interpreter's%20Study%20Bible&pid=278325) It has only been in my life for about four years, so we are still getting to know each other. But it has been through many Bible studies and sermon preparations, and it has lost its paper cover. If I lost this Bible, I would immediately replace it, but it has not yet reached the sentimental level that my original study Bible has. If I lost this study Bible, another copy would suffice. If I lost my original study Bible, another copy could never take its place.

Finally, there is my Spiritual Formation Bible. (I recommend this one too: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0310900891/sr=8-3/qid=1148438372/ref=pd_bbs_3/104-7327144-6511164?%5Fencoding=UTF8 ) This is the one I use for prayer when I am praying in my office. It has been with me since about 1999 I think, but also has not achieved the sentimental status. It is getting there though. I give it another few years.

I wonder how many other people have Bible stories like mine

Wrapped in Love

Aunt Barbara knits the most wonderful sweaters for the children in our family. She knits year round in preparation for Christmas sweater giving. Every time I put one of these sweaters on my children, I feel like I am wrappping them in love. It is if by putting the sweater on them, it announces to the world: "this child is loved!"

Baptism is supposed to be like this. The waters wash over us, and the Spirit settles upon us. It identifies us as beloved, cherished children of God. We are people worth dying for.
Martin Luther (founder of the Protestan Remformation and main reason all Christians are not either Roman Catholic or Orthodox Christians) used to get in the shower, and as the water washed over him, he would say to himself "I am baptized."

What if every time I took a shower and put on clothes, I stopped to feel loved, cherished, wrapped in God's arms? I think God would be pleased.

Gardening

I have begun to love to garden. Before moving to Chesapeake City in 2003 I had no experience gardening. None. I was not even interested. I was fond of saying that if there was a law against killing green things, I would be in jail. It's still mostly true.

But something about living on nearly an acre of land, with a patch that is ragged looking from all the previous vegetable gardens that occupied the plot when other pastors lived here...well, it got me started.

I'm still not much of a gardener. And if past habits hold true, I really only love it until while the weather is comfortably below 90 degrees and the weeds are not overwhelming.

I also have the easiest garden around. It's really a community garden. This is because George Park tills it, and periodically puts grass clippings down to keep away weeds. And if I get really pathetic, Barbara Park has been known to weed for me. I am grateful for church folks as neighbors who love to be outdoors.

Today, I actually went outside and measured my garden plot. Then I checked the plant tags to see how much space they each say they need.

I had a blast at the plant store on Thursday. Red tomatoes, yellow tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, okra, eggplant, red bell peppers, jalepeno peppers, yellow wax hot peppers, zucchini and squash. And for the first time this year, I planted SEEDS. Green beans, and carrots. I even threw in some basil and oregano, just to see if I could score some good herbs. Hey, why not, right?

So, I plotted it out and guess what? I can fit in almost all of the plants! Joy of joys.

I think there is really something to simple pleasures, and seeing them as such. I am hopeful that in addition to some good eats, I will have some good insights as I garden.

The whole idea of bringing life and food is spellbinding.

Community of Branches

It's Sunday night again, so I have today's sermon on my mind. Today the Scripture was the vine and the branches from John 15- Jesus is the vine and we are the branches. I read the New Interpretter's Bible Commentary about it this week, and it was insightful.

The image of the community being intertwined and interdependent, and that it requires this interdependency to bear fruit is definitely counter cultural. To experience the fullness of Christ, I have to be abiding in the vine, be a part of a community that surrounds and sustains me, and vice versa. It goes against our culture's rugged individualism. It goes against the idea that a person does not truly need a church family.

I am fond of saying that it is too hard to be a Christian all by myself, without the support of other Christians. That is what Jesus seems to be saying.

So when it comes to asking myself whether I am abiding in Jesus, and bearing fruit, and showing love (all important questions), the first question is: "is my community abiding in the vine and known for it's love? Are the branches I am intertwined with bearing the fruit of love?"

The vine and branches imagery is counter cultural in a second way- it lacks a hierarchy. There is no pecking order. Every one is the same before God. When I look at ivy, it is hard to follow one branch. I see multiple branches woven together. I am reminded of iconographers of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. Historically, they do not sign their beautiful art work. It's considered taking credit for what God does through them. This type of humility, rooted in the belief that all are beloved by God, all use God given gifts, where there is no expectation of individual recognition, is certainly different. And challenging.

What would it look like if the average American church family took such things seriously? For me, it would mean abiding in the vine more deeply, for it would be my only source of affirmation.

Getting in the way of blooming

Fran posted a comment about Forsythia that got me thinking. She noted that the forsythia which survive but do not bloom are the plants in the low lying areas that get too much water. She thought of the rich young ruler, and wondered if part of the reason we don't go into full bloom in our lives is becuase we have too much.

I know this particular parable well enough that without looking it up, I remember it says that something along the lines of Jesus, looking at him and loving him, told him to "go and sell his posessions and give the money to the poor and follow me." The reason I know this is because this Scripture has always challenged me.

If memory serves, it is the only place in Scripture where it explicitly states that Jesus looked at someone,and loved him, and then gave a specific instruction. The rich guy went away sad, becuase he had lots of posessions. We are left with the understanding that he did not follow Jesus' instruction.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with Tom at Town Point. He was recently returned from Mexico, and impressed by both their poverty and their joy in life. I have heard such things from person after person who travels to the developing world. People with little by American standards in terms of material stuff are abundantly rich in terms of what most of us truly seek.

Scripture is clear on this point: money and stuff cannot buy happiness. Yet every day, we are bombarded with the message that if we acquire enough material wealth, we will be happy. This is the essence of advertising.

I struggle to live this reality in my life, too, Fran. I try to live into the teaching of "gain all you can, save all you can, give all you can." This was John Wesley's teaching (founder of Methodism,18th century) and it means I should earn as much as I can by honest labor, be as thrify as I can, and give away as much as possible. Wesley lived on the same 28 pounds his entire life, and at the end of his life gave away hundreds of pounds every year.


I think Fran and Tom are onto something significant- less really is more.