Category 5 Gratitude Storm

I can think of a few times in my life when I felt gratitude so deeply that all of my other emotional responses to life failed to distract me. The day I held Kaela for the first time; it was the middle of the night, in what seemed like a vacant hospital. I was ushered out of surgery with my healthy daughter, while Leann was being cared for by able doctors. It was just me and my daughter; meeting each other’s eyes for the first time. We would start the journey of learning to care for one another. Step one was here – just hold her, keep her warm, make her feel the promise of enduring love. Then again watching Emily dance to the song, “I Can Only Imagine,” on Easter Sunday. She smiled so brightly when she notice the tears in my eyes while she danced a Polynesian interpretation that she learned from the Hingano family and Dance for Christ. I was shocked that such beauty and elegance existed so close to me, so huggable; delicate yet powerful, so filled with hope and wonder. These moments happen to us, I hope you can recall a few in your life also. I have a name for them – The Category 5 Gratitude Storm.

Sometimes though, the gratitude storm sneaks up on me like a rising tide. It’s not just one thing. The tide rises when each of the acts of grace and mercy finds its way into my life and my awareness. Suddenly I’m swimming in gratitude and the emotional coatings of anxiety, fear, uncertainty, & dred are rinsed off of me; a dissipating film floating on the surface of an ocean of thanksgiving. That is what is happening to me now.

The bishop gave me an exciting new charge to keep. The United Methodist Church of Merced was in need of a new pastor. At the same time, I was in need of a new place to call home both spiritually and physically. I feel like home is just what I have found. The church is filled with ambitious and insightful leaders. We have chosen to be a place of full inclusion – a reconciling congregation that doesn’t just welcome all varieties of people, but also cherishes them just the way they are. This means that we stand against discrimination that occurs both inside the church and out – injustices that are based on race, ability, sexual orientation, economic circumstances, or even the wrongs of the past. Someone mentioned even before I arrived that the identity of “reconciling” was outlawed by denominational judicial hearing; no doubt, hoping I was here to fix the problem. I joyfully responded that I don’t believe the bishop put me here to fix this church. I am here to support this church and I am excited to be part of this reconciling congregation.  The tide of gratitude would rise as I opened my heart, my ministry, and my life to this wonderful congregation.

I wrote earlier about healing in a pool of wisdom, which is to this day a source of great joy. Finding a place in the centering prayer community has been a place of spiritual growth for me. So many times, the pastor thinks that they are in place to be the teacher, to be the scholar, or to be the shepherd of the flock. I know that I am here to learn every bit as much as I am here to share the experiences and hope that I have found on my path. I have found a community of people that pray by letting go, they pray with their intention to be available for God, and they pray with their consent to allow God some space in their being, their consciousness, and their lives. Taking time for this kind of prayer is life changing. The community that is already engaged here is deeply spiritual and grounded; a foundation that anchors the various churches and the community in which they serve. I feel my foundation firming too. The tide of gratitude certainly rises again as these connections are made and appreciated.

Only one month after my arrival in this new place an anniversary crossed my path. On August 4^th, I celebrated the gift of eleven years in sobriety. It is probably impossible to describe how deeply this affects me and the people that I love. The lives affected by addiction are spiraling into destruction and out of control – every day seems to contain the potential for more grief, more loss, and unimaginable dred. Recovery is often illusive and frequently sabotaged by the powers of unwillingness, hopelessness, and fear. Yet when recovery happens, it’s like opening the door to a brand new world – opportunities that had no chance at existing in the old world sprout like wild flowers in the new world. Here are some of the flowers that I picked in the last eleven years; finishing a bachelor’s degree, learning to preach as a lay person, coaching  my daughter’s softball team, celebrating a 25^th wedding anniversary, experiencing several walks to Emmaus, entering ordination candidacy, learning to grow through mentorship, graduating seminary, serving as pastor, seeing my children graduate with honors, having a relationship with the children that I have truly nurtured, breaking through the walls of depression,  and reaching a healthy weight. Most or all of this would not be possible in the old world and that was just naming a few. The tide of gratitude is rising quickly now; especially as I realize the powerful nature of grace in these gifts.

Finally, acceptance has put me over the top. One of the most basic needs in each and every one of us is the need to belong. The people that I have met in the community of Merced have tended so masterfully to this need in the lives of Emily and me. I often leave church with more food than I came with; fresh produce from a man’s garden, sweet corn purchased with me in mind at a local produce stand, delicious pies and cakes baked just because. I have been invited into homes and introduced to leaders in business communities, health care communities, and faith communities. I have seen my daughter welcomed in friendships, on sports teams, and to the most amazing school that I have ever seen. I couldn’t feel neglected or unsupported in my wildest dreams. Even my car was mysteriously and anonymously cared for by an act of grace that brings tears to my eyes. In the homes, nursing facilities, and adult living environments, I am greeted with open arms. In the breakfast at dawn club (men’s bible study), there is always a plate for me. When your heart is burdened with circumstances that cause us worry and grief, you rely on me for open ears and relational prayer. I don’t just feel welcome. I feel wanted and I feel needed. The tide of gratitude is in and it is overwhelming.

As if there needed to be more, the tide keeps on rolling. Each week we are able to gather for worship and communion. Some have noticed the joy on my face as I serve the bread of connection, the bread of renewal, and the bread of life to each of you. There is no greater joy. But I have to tell you that when you respond back to me after receiving the sacrament with words like; “praise God, God bless you, my baptism matters, YOU are beloved,” or even with a twinkling in your eye, something changes in me. I feel a charge of energy. I just want to dance. You really make a difference.

That’s a gratitude storm. When you’re hit by one, little else matters – problems seem petty. “Thank You,” isn’t enough. It’s hard to know what to do next; maybe just dance.

Enjoy God, 

pg

Burdens Burdens Everywhere

Success, failure, good fortune & bad; would you believe that these are all sources of unbearable weight? We seem to carry these weights with us throughout our lives and they have a tremendous impact. The burdens in our lives are ever-present on our minds because they are so demanding. The burdens want to be our first thought. The burdens want to be the fulcrum on which our decisions are made. The burdens won’t stop nagging us until they have the deed to our lives – they want to be our very purpose. So what does it mean to lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us?  (Heb12:1)

John Wesley was a successful, scholarly student of theology. He went to Oxford in 1726 and only two years later he was ordained an Anglican priest. He spoke and wrote in Greek, Latin and French. He founded clubs that would promote holy behavior throughout London. He had notions of improving the Anglican Church; reigniting the fire of faith, reimagining a church that had an impact on the world. And as his successes began to emerge, so did the heightened expectations. He would have high expectations of himself; he would be the subject of high expectations from his followers and from his leaders. Can you imagine? How must the weight be piling on in this merely human life? How must the notion and expectation of success be trying to occupy the prime spaces in his life?

General Oglethorpe had a proposal that would change John Wesley’s life. Come to the colony in Georgia; bring the savage natives to Christ; walk among the humbler classes, and be a spiritual leader. Wesley had been ordained for 8 years already. Maybe this was the opportunity of his lifetime.

Oh my, this was a life changing event alright. Even the trip over to his new charge was a metaphor for the path ahead. The ship across the pond took nearly five months and it was anything but a Bon Voyage. One night, he was in such a horrific storm that the mast on the ship was broken; high seas crashing over the decks, powerful rain, and a ship tossed side to side like meaningless driftwood in an angry torrent. Is it any wonder that a traveler like John Wesley would be afraid for his life – shaken to the core? I imagine him either screaming or wanting to scream, either crying or wanting to cry; clinging to anything that would make him feel secure, wide eyed for the next clear path to safety. At this moment John noticed a group of passengers singing. They were the Moravians – a faith community from Germany. They remained in good cheer; singing songs of faith each one a steady source of confidence to the other. But, to John they were a reality check: did he even have faith? Why was he so weak? He felt the crisis of the soul as well as the crisis of the storm.

The journey on land got no better. He was never in his element. As a priest with high church notions and a very particular and purposeful approach to life, John would rarely experience a kindred spirit. He was in a colony that had Portuguese Jews, outcaste debt holders from England, Scotch Highlanders, and the poor from Salzburg. Among the colonist, he felt that he was to lead spiritually among “the Humbler Class.” His parish would span 200 miles along the coast and seemingly infinity to the west; where he would be faced with people whose language, culture, and customs he did not know. He had a charge to keep alright, but could he bring himself to lead this flock? Did he realize that in order to lead, you first have to love?

 

Maybe that was his thought when he met Sophia Hopkey – the object of his affections since the stormy times in the boat. Will storms never cease? Throughout the time Wesley spent in the colony, there was always an awkward space in his life created by his feelings for Sophia. They were thought to have made promises to one another about marriage, but John found it necessary to abstain from her company for the sake of his spiritual tasks. Her response was to marry another – a heart wrenching blow to John. Five months after her wedding, Sophia enters the church where John was serving communion. (Remember how the burdens want to take their place front and center in our lives?) John is faced with offering communion to Sophia – a troubled man with a troubled heart; a troubled woman with her hands open at the table set by Jesus. And he makes the decision to deny her communion; creating shame, whispers, and embarrassment.

 

John is at a low point in his life; looking around at the carnage created by the burdens of success, failure, good fortune, and bad. The mast was broken on the ship, which brought him. Likewise, more masts were broken. The mast was broken on his notions of ministry to the colony. The mast was broken on his designs for marriage. The mast was broken on his spiritual integrity at the communion table. 

The weight of our burdens is unbearable at times, but the good news is that we don’t need to carry this weight. I have had broken masts in my life as well; haven’t you. Recently I had a few and my father had some wise words. He said, “I guess that was an ego death son.” (wise words aren’t always soothing, by the way) The fact that he was right even made it worse. In this sense, my ego is a self-made understanding of my identity - the result of my hard work. We can work hard and be rich or fail at being rich. We can work hard and be popular or fail to be popular. We can work hard and be accepted or fail to be accepted.(on and on)This is the mind-made self, with its heaviness, its problems, that lives between the unsatisfying past and the fearful future. The fact is, we have an identity even when we don't create one for ourselves. Beloved. When we live by the identity of grace, the identity that was given and not self-made or mind-made, we live by faith - we embody beloved and we see the beloved identity in others.

When we live by the ego, we die by the …right? It seems like the burdens with unbearable weight are also burdens born by living by the ego. There is more good news; bearing the weight of these ego burdens is a choice that we make. As we read the words of Hebrews, we read an invitation – Lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us. It is an invitation to live by faith instead of living by ego.

Two years after the colony experience, John Wesley would have his “heart strangely warmed” at the Aldersgate Church. He was listening to someone read Luther’s preface to Romans – a document that highlights the value of faith. He decided that faith was something that he had and faith was something for which he could live (it would be his purpose). Instead of his burdens having the deed to his life, he gave the deed to faith. John Wesley would spend the next forty years walking in faith: do you think it mattered? Do you think Christ was revealed? Would it matter if I did the same thing?

We will talk this week about what happens when faith has the deed to our lives. I can’t wait to hear your stories of faith; nothing brings me more hope and joy.

Enjoy God,

pg

Love's Power Over Shame

Eye spy with my little eye, God remaking the fabric of Merced. My daughter Emily and I know how to cheer each other up. We can start a game of “eye spy.” No matter where we are or what we are doing, when we spend time noticing the world around us, noticing God’s great work, and sharing it with each other, we escape the trap of self-absorption. So come on a journey with me – a journey of noticing Merced being remade by  a God whose love has power over shame.

Off to College. Parents all over are feeling a mixture of joy and worry. We heard prayer requests in church from Jill and me as we struggle to trust God with our precious girls, Kelsey and Kaela. I met Clarissa Rohm yesterday. Her mother Denise is going through the same anxiety; born in love. In fact, Joyce Hall and I shared our nervous excitement about our college aged children just last Saturday, when she shared that Jillian’s graduate education is taking her out of the home. The love we have for our children is something of a universal common ground. Start a conversation with a question about our children and just watch the details gush out of us. It doesn’t end with college, these joyful stories and heart-felt worries come from more veteran parents like Claudia Speziale (Kaytie) and Gwen Marshall (Kris) as well. 

 

Once we experience the gift of parenthood, we receive a gift of love. This love is something that gives us an enduring sense of concern, a protective instinct, and an eye for danger that represents the slightest risk to our children’s wellbeing and calls us to action. It seems like our children never really leave all the way. There is something about the bonding experiences that parents in every walk of life enjoy; is it God knitting together the fabric of family, the fabric of community? The moment when we hold our child for the first time and dream of the possibilities of the future; the moments of suckling and cooing and baby talk that fill a room when happy families bond in a net of met needs; the moments of unbridled pride when our beloved child stands out slightly from the crowd, singing a song, hitting a ball, passing a test, acting in compassion, standing up for what is right, or standing up against all odds for themselves – can these be stitches in God’s fabric – a fabric that binds us together in love? For a parent it is like this precious life is forever set apart – completely unique in a sea of the common, the risky, and the dangerous. (Is that a modern reflection of Clint Eastwood’s “the Good, the Bad, & the Ugly?)

What if this child, so precious, was truly part of an at risk community. What if we could see that our child was 8 times more likely to attempt suicide, 5 times more likely to become addicted to drugs and alcohol, 2 times more likely to contract a sexually transmitted disease? Where would our anxiety levels be then? Would we want to seek help? Would we want to seek community? Would we want to go to any length to reduce the danger and increase the security? Most of the time, our children are not at risk. There are no food insecurities. They don’t live in abject poverty. Most of our children are part of the dominant cultures among their peers. For most of us, identifying this increased risk and eliminating it would be socially acceptable, even a cultural mandate.

 

Yesterday PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbian And Gay) sponsored an event that brought significant awareness and hope to the families of our community. Dr. Caitlin Ryan, a clinical researcher in the community of Social Workers, has identified significant pathways to reduce the danger to our precious, at risk youth. She says it is low cost, it is low tech, but it is not easy. She says “it’s about relationship.” The at risk youth are the LGBT (Lesbian Gay Bisexual & Transgender) youth. The solution is a love that defeat’s shame.

When our culture identifies a person’s identity as a source of shame, the danger is profound and measurable. Measuring the negative impact of shaming an identity is just what Dr. Ryan and her team has done. Since 1906, when the term Homosexual was invented, the culture of shame for this particular group has continued to grow. The identity of an LGBT child is such a dreadful possibility in our various cultural realities that the process of “coming out” could be more dangerous and difficult than the original process of “coming out” (birth). We have children saving up their allowances because they know that when their parents find out, they will be homeless. We have children convinced by the rampant phobic behaviors in their homes, schools, and churches that their natural identity is a disappointment and hardship to their families. This is shaming an identity and it has consequences.

Dr. Caitlin Ryan, PFLAG, and other community health organizations want us to know not just the consequences, but also that there is a solution within our grasp. The statistics of risk that I mentioned above are the statically measured consequences of shaming the LGBT identity. I would venture a guess that many other marginalized identities that are the object of unjust shame carry similar statistics (Poverty, Physical and Mental abnormalities, or even Racial Identities). Dr. Ryan demonstrated that families that are able to respond to their children with their natural tendencies to love, protect, and cherish their children, greatly reduce the risks to the child with a shamed identity. Shouldn’t we all be able to act like the parents with whom I opened this blog? Shouldn’t every child have a guardian that fights for her/his ability to thrive? Shouldn’t every child feel the fabric of community being knitted, by God, into swaddling clothes?

If our culture stands in the way, we must change our culture. It’s the culture of shame that causes us to turn a blind eye. Parents are torn between the beliefs of their faith community and the love of their children. Parents are torn between the “ideals” of our dominant expectations of gender and attraction and the reality that the object of their affection is not in the pattern of “ideal.” Parents are afraid that they will lose the status of “normal” or “faithful” or “good parent” when the truth is known. We Can Change this, “Si, Se Pueda.” Faith communities like ours can draw the circle wider. We can tear down the walls of shame and we must. Our walls of shame don’t just exist at the doors of our churches; but when we build them, they exist in the schools and in the homes that are under the umbrellas of our cultural influence. The time for silence is gone. Get your trumpets and this wall will go the way of the wall in Jericho.

 

Why? This is why. Dr. Caitlin Ryan demonstrates in her research that when a GLBT child experiences change in the family acceptance levels from great disapproval to disapproval, the suicide attempts drop from 800% of normal to 400% of normal. Addiction and STD dangers are also cut in half. This is not the result of erasing shame completely. This is just toning it down. We can do this, and we can do even better than this. Shouldn’t our community be a place where avoidable risks to our children are actually avoided? Dr. Ryan shows that we don’t even need to change people’s beliefs to make a difference. We just need to make it safe for people to change their behavior, safe for all parents to do what comes naturally anyway –to love and cherish their children, safe for all identities to find validation. We have love and love has power over shame. Now we have the science to prove it. You have ideas about how to put our love to work. I know you do. Let’s talk.

Enjoy God,

pg

Healing at the Pool of Wisdom

Everybody Hurts. This is not only the truth, but it is a song by U2 that plays in my head like a balm. We talked in church about what it means to know each other spiritually. We said that often we want to introduce ourselves by our qualifications. We want people to know that we can justify OUR presence in this place, OUR demand for respect, OUR right to privilege and honor. Then we demonstrate that a spiritual introduction is not about promoting ourselves; but rather, it’s about demonstrating how God is living and working in and through our lives – in essence, promoting God. We can see it well in the healing and hope that we get through God’s grace – a contrast of celebration and renewal, in the midst of our deepest sorrows – moments of resurrection. I have been impressed frequently by the power and presence of God in this pool of wisdom that we call Merced.

Reading the ancient texts of the Hebrew people, we often experience reference to the pool of Siloam and ritual purification before approaching the temple. The pool of Siloam wells up in the midst of the city of Jerusalem. It comes from an underground river, seemingly a resource that springs up naturally in the city to provide for the needs of the community. You can see that this pool still exists today. There are stairs leading to it; places to sit and bath.

A pilgrim needs to bath. A pilgrim is someone on a journey to a holy place. Those who would go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem would take time as they approached the holy to bath and prepare. Maybe they just wanted to knock the dust off after miles of travelling. Maybe they needed to look presentable in the temple. Some have suggested that bathing was a legalistic ritual – a requirement that demonstrated the appropriate level of righteousness for devotion. What is the spiritual significance of bathing? After all, spiritual health was as important then as now.

The resources in the holy city of Jerusalem have proven to be deep and enduring. For thousands of years, fresh water has come to this city and nurtured its community. How could anyone enter the city and not acknowledge the attributes that caused it to thrive. The pool of Siloam was a way of connecting with a life source of the city. I can visualize soaking in this water and knowing that I am surrounded by what makes Jerusalem vital. I am being made clean by the resources that were indigenous to my destination. I will be nurtured, myself, by this resource as I endeavor to dwell in this place. Soaking in the pool will give me a heart of gratitude and deep respect. A pilgrimage is a spiritual journey; wouldn’t the pilgrim find a spiritual significance in this bath?

I too am a pilgrim taking a bath. As I continue to have spiritual introductions to the community of Merced, the rich presence of God in this place and the natural spring of wisdom that surrounds me are bringing me healing and wholeness. Here is a taste from the spring that nourishes both the inhabitants of this community and its pilgrims.

Centering prayer happens on the first day of my work week. Ten to twelve people gather to release all of the busyness, worries, accomplishments, and suffering in our lives. We take an hour and 20 minutes together to just intentionally give our complete devotion to the Holy and gently let go of everything else. The practice alone is an amazing source of peace, but the people bring wisdom and hope that heals. We knew that the room contained grief. Jeanne Sanford was leading even though her husband Bill will have his celebration of life at 1:00pm on August 10^th, 2013. Jeanne shares powerfully, “I need church. I knew that I had to get back right away. I knew that I would cry, but I needed the comfort and the community.” Everybody hurts, and another shared her grief; as well as, the wisdom that each tear has a unique chemical identity. The tears that we produce are made specifically by our bodies to be the exact balm that we need for all that caused our tears in the first place. Wow! The way that this community makes room for one another, honors one another, strengthens each other; who wouldn’t want or need to bath in wisdom like this?

Marge Barger is 94 and welcomed me this week to her bedside in Country Villa. She painted vivid pictures of Merced for me with her memories that go back to her arrival in 1950. We talked about the loved ones that continue to be her joy and support. We also talked about the loved ones that still occupy her heart but no longer walk among us. A pearl of wisdom was noticed when she described her home on Olive St.  She built it herself; planned every inch of it. She knew that it was 35 years old and needed work when she sold it. Yet the young couple that bought it tore down everything but the breaker box. “Can you imagine; they call this a remodel?” She chuckled and appeared to take it lightly. I couldn’t help but think of the ways that we are “remodeled” spiritually. What stays? What goes? Are we ever taken all the way down to the breaker box? And, why would the breaker box stay? Is it because our connection to a source of power is the essence of our identities? What a bath.

Then I met Mary Cedarholm with the sparkling blue eyes and the enduring smile. She was so happy to talk about her connection to the church (she still wants to be the wedding coordinator). Rev. C.K. Ault was her father, a Methodist pastor. She said that she loved being a P.K. (Pastor’s Kid), “except for some of the parsonages. We always had to have enough pots to collect the rain in bad weather because the roofs weren’t doing the job. And sometimes the houses were so small that we didn’t have any place to put our clothes.” She talked about admiring her mother’s patience, “when the house was too small she would tell us to take a picture of it and we could have it enlarged.” Mary clearly knows what it means to deal with realities that we can’t change. From her place in this time and space, she shared the wisdom of looking at things a different way and it gave me goose bumps.

Joann Sasaki was having a particularly good day when we visited. As soon as she saw us she smiled largely and welcomed us to the room. Seconds later she shared that she had just turned 84 years old. She has been at Hylond for years and is unable to leave the bed, as a result of her condition. Yet grace abounds. She was eager to pray. When I asked what she would like to pray for, she said, “everybody, everybody, we should pray for everybody!” I don’t know about you, but sometimes the smallest things get me into a spiral of self-pity – thinking almost exclusively about myself and my problems. It is a wonder and a gift to visit Joann who is dealing with much more and hear her thinking on such a broad scale.

So everybody hurts and this pilgrim has come to his destination to approach the pool and become spiritually ready for my time in the temple. Instead of finding the pool of Siloam, I found this pool of wisdom. I see the resources that have made this community thrive. I can see how I will be nurtured and cared for in the future. I can experience healing and wholeness that doesn’t come from the bags I packed for the journey, but rather in the bath I receive at the pool. In this Holy place, I see God.

Enjoy God,

pg