a place for my soul to rest

In the past three years, I have moved as many times, crossing state or national borders each time. This last move was especially hard because I did not have a supportive faith community. My denomination does exist here, but it is not the same denomination I came from in the States. And most often I do not feel as if there is a place for me (a liberal, heretical, WOMAN pastor) here within my church.

This has caused much grief and sorrow as my denomination was one I CHOSE as an adult, one that allowed and encouraged me to bring my questions and my doubts, one that didn't require me to check my brain at the door, one that nurtured me and sustained me through my education and first decade of ministry. And now, I fear I may have to leave.

In many ways, the Unitarian Universalist Church would be an obvious fit for me. 1) On days when I profess a belief in god, I am more unitarian than trinitarian, and 2) If I consider the possibility of heaven, I would have to put myself into the universalist understanding of salvation. Unitarian? Check. Universalist? Check. And the UUs are so lefty and liberal. I love their commitment to social justice and to peace and the environment. And my Beloved is UU. So it should be a perfect fit. Except...

I am christian. At least, I am culturally christian. I may not take the stories in the christian scriptures to be literal truth, but they are my stories, the ones I grew up with, and the ones that resonate with metaphorical truth within my soul. Some of the christian stories I adore. And many I abhor. But they are the stories I know. I appreciate the sacred stories of other traditions, and I can find truth and meaning within them. But they are not my stories. They are not the ones which quiet the storms in my life or sing to my soul.

And I love christian liturgy, the hymns, the candles, the smells and bells, the familiar words, the stand-up-here-sit-down-there. There is a rhythm to it, and it matches the rhythm of my life. It's what I know.

When I visit the UU churches with Craig, I love the engaging conversations. I love the passionate commitment to serving on behalf of the others and the world. I love the diversity of thoughts, opinions, and perspectives (though not too diverse, not many conservative attend UU churches). But I miss the liturgy. And while the conversations are challenging and engaging, they are not engaging my stories.

What I really want is the intellectually rigorous sermons I heard preached in the churches of my denomination back in the States. What I want is to hear somebody wrestle with my stories, really wrestle with them: to explore the historical and cultural context in which the texts were written, to examine the original languages and see what might have been lost in translation, to ask whether there is meaning in these ancient texts for contemporary followers, and to empower listeners (i.e. me) to respond.

~~~~~
From my apartment, I can see the steeples of two churches just blocks from where I love (when asked about my religious views, I should give this answer sometime). One of these churches is Robertson-Wesley United Church. Earlier this spring, I knew I wanted liturgy for the first Sunday of Lent, so walked down the block, through the park, and through an alleyway, and slipped into the pews for a wonderful reflection (by both ministers!) on the idea of "journey". In the bulletin, I saw an announcement for a bible study which I attended several times in cognito. I have worshipped there on several other occasions since.

I was initially disappointed on Pentecost (my favorite liturgical holiday) when instead of the Pentecost story, the minister began a series on, of all things, the doctrine of the trinity! But the sermon was fascinating - giving the history of the doctrine, acknowledging the lack of biblical support for the concept of a three-for-one, I mean three-in-one god. It was challenging, inspiring, uncomfortable, and I LOVED it. I may not be a trinitarian christian, but I can certainly appreciate how many people find meaning in understanding divine revelation in three different ways. I personally think the number three is limiting, but I get that others appreciate it. And this is pretty much what was said from the pulpit at Robertson-Wesley!!! "We don't need to chuck the whole thing out, but let's understand why people, why our tradition, thinks this is important, and you can decide for yourself if this is meaningful for you."

Yes, this is a place where my soul can rest. After these many years and many moves, this is what my soul is needing. And I think I may have found some companions for the journey.

Life Before Death

I face death each and every day. This morning, my day began with stroking the hair of a woman who was dying all alone, unresponsive to words but able to be soothed by human touch. Later, I gathered with a large, boisterous family as they laughed and told stories of their loved one, who left life amidst the merriment and celebration of his many years. I held the hand of a young bride as she gave the word to "go ahead" and withdraw the machine that were no longer supporting her new husband's life but prolonging his death.

You ask me how I can do my job, with death and dying confronting me all day long. You may assume it's a heavy burden. Grief is heavy. Pain and suffering, they can be tremendous burdens. But death, in and of itself, is not such a heavy load.

Death is very real. It's all around us. It's the only certainty we have in life - we will die. Denying this reality, I imagine that could be a laborious task. But I can't do that. Mortality is all to present for me, as I hold the hand of a dying patient as she takes her last breath,or embrace a grieving loved one in my arms.

As I watch people die, I realize that, in many cases, we die as we have lived. If we live life in fear, we die fearful. If we live life in anger, we die angry. If we live life in meaningful relationships and connected to loved ones, we end life loved.

You ask if I believe in life after death. I know for many people, the hope of an afterlife, the idea that somehow, in someway, they continue (or that they will be reunited with loved ones) gives them comfort and peace. I also see that for others, the threat of eternal damnation means they spend their lives afraid.

You ask if I believe in life after death. I am avoiding your questions, I know. [we chaplains are trained to deflect]

You ask if I believe in life after death. Well, no. But I don't necessarily disbelieve it. I just don't think it really matters for me.

You ask if I hope that there is more than this life. Well, no. This life, lived well, is all I could ask for. And it is my desire and my calling and my hope to live the best life I can: to be in healthy relationships, to care for others, to work for peace, to create beauty, to make love, to learn, to grow, to laugh, to live...

You ask what I do believe in. And that's easy. I believe in life. Maybe not life after death. But certainly life before death. What about you?

More on Torture

CNN reports that the more religious a person is, the more likely s/he supports torture:

More than half of people who attend services at least once a week -- 54 percent -- said the use of torture against suspected terrorists is "often" or "sometimes" justified. Only 42 percent of people who "seldom or never" go to services agreed, according to the analysis released Wednesday by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life.

As one who opposes the use of torture, I find this disturbing. Why are the religious faithful more willing to suport torture than the "godless, immoral heathens"? What does this say about religious faith? Is anyone else troubled by this?

Religious, But Not Spiritual

For a while, I tried to think of myself as "spiritual but not religious". I think what I was trying to say was that I had a sense of wonder and awe, but I felt that religious institutions could be destructive and harmful.

But recently, I have started to think of myself as "religious, but not spiritual". In this, I am saying that I think being in community with people who share my values is important. And I think ritual is meaningful and significant in my life. But I don't hold belief in any specific deity any longer. Oh, I have a sense of wonder. I have a profound sense of the sacred. And I believe there are higher powers than myself (love, justice, to name two) at work in the world. But god? I don't disbelieve. But I have enough doubt to keep questioning. (I used to say that my faith was in my questions. I don't know what that means anymore.)

Having said that, I do feel that religious belief, specifically belief in God, CAN give people much meaning, strength, and hope. I see it every day in my job as a chaplain. And it can be a great motivating force to work for justice and peace in the world. I also know that participating in ritual, even if I don't believe that ritual creates an ontological change in the world or myself, can help to connect me to something bigger than myself, namely community.

I still think that religious institutions can extremely damaging and hurtful, both to individuals (I count myself among the wounded) and to communities and societies. And religious belief can give people and peoples justification for perpetuating injustice and oppression. But I also know it can be a positive and healing force in our world. And while I may not personally have a spiritual connection with any deity, I do feel as if my religious connections provide me with strength, support, nourishment, and hope.

Risen

So, I actually preached an Easter sermon in which I never once asserted that the resurrection took place. And the crazy thing? I don't think anyone (other than Craig) noticed.

I have no problem with the resurrection story. It's a powerful story. And there is truth there - truth that the message of one who broke down barriers of class and ethnicity, who preached justice and and the end to oppression, truth that this message cannot be contained , even by death.

Here is the text I used:

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. ²And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. ³They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” ⁴When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. ⁵As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. ⁶But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. ⁷But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” ⁸So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. - Mark 16:1-8a (NRSV)

What I love about Mark's version of Jesus' resurrection is that we never get to see Jesus risen from the dead. Instead, the women are told to return to the beginning, to go back to where Jesus commenced his ministry, go back to the Galilean poor, continue the work he started there, serving the poor, working for justice. And there you will see him.

Mark's version allows more room for myth. And when I say myth, I don't mean an untrue story. Rather, I agree with Dr. Tony Nugent, Presbyterian minister, who describes a myth as "a story that, at least at one point in time, had a very powerful spiritual resonance." With the other gospel accounts, it's easier for folks to read the accounts as literal, historical fact instead of "theologically constructed history". But Mark's abrupt ending (the likely original ending, not the two that were added later by folks who couldn't stand the ambiguity the author seemed to intend), "and they said nothing to anyone because they were afraid", is actually one that allows the readers to interpret various layers of meaning for themselves. And it can be read as an opportunity, even a imperative, for the reader to finish the story, to answer the call of discipleship and to do as the man said, to go, to tell, and to follow.

Go...

• from our places of comfort
• into the hurting world
• to the people
• to the authorities...

And tell...

• of his death (at the hands of the empire)
• of his life (lived serving the "least of these")
• the message of hope, of love, of justice, of reconciliation

And follow...

• his teachings
  
• his example of living and loving
• to Galilee, to live and serve among the Galilean poor in our world

To Galilee. There we will see him.

~~~~~
Do I believe in the resurrection? Absolutely. I have seen it again and again when people (the body of Christ?) rise up and speak truth to power, work for peace, fight for justice. As Carlos Mejia Godoy writes, "I believe you are resurrected in every arm raised against injustice." So yeah, I believe in the resurrection.

Do I believe the man Jesus was physically raised from the dead? I don't think it matters.

lacking communion

How many times have I come to this table? How many times have I taken this bread, blessed it, broken it, and given it out? How many times have I told the story of Jesus sharing the Passover meal with his disciples in that upper room? My theology, my understanding of God, is centered around this table. My ecclesiology, my understanding of church and community, is centered around this table. I have preached sermons about this table. I have composed songs about this table. I have written fiction and poetry about this table. So I should be able to crank out a sermon for Maundy Thursday with no problem, right? But you know, it doesn't work that way. In preparation for tonight's message, I have been pondering this table, reflecting on this loaf, contemplating this cup, and I realize: I have absolutely no idea what it means.

So began my sermon for Maundy Thursday. Somehow it all came together for a message that the few who gathered there seemed to find meaningful. But how I struggled with it.

It's hard to preach on communion when you feel as if you are not in communion with the folks gathered, with the tradition, with Church, with God.

Don't get me wrong, I feel tremendously blessed to have such rich communion in my life - with my partner, with our friends, with our COMMUNity, with my family. But I just don't get that from the church or from religion these days. For years, my spirituality has been shaped around communion. So with the face of communion changing in my life, I need to figure out what that means in terms of my spirituality. Or if I even want to articulate my sense of communion in spiritual terms anymore.

my shoulders hurt

My new favorite blog is Unreasonable Faith, which tells of a former Christian's journey from fundamentalist faith into skepticism. Recently, guest blogger vorjack posted an amazing essay which resonated deep within me. It begins with this quote:

Most of the advanced schools of theology, feeling less adequate in a time of science's empirical miracles and permanent, mathematical truths, protected themselves with scaled-down promises and vague imitations of the scientific method....

Theology, which had once ruled all science as well as all being, was resorting to more and more elaborate shrugs.

Taylor Branch, Parting the Waters, 91.

Vorjack then goes on to describe his personal journey from "unreflective" moderate Christianity to the liberal Christianity he found when reading the writings of Spong, Borg and the like...

I have to admit, there was a sense of relief to the transition. Finally I was finding a way to be Christian that didn’t inflict cognitive dissonance. But the price of that was a Christianity that was vague and maddeningly complex. Spong called it a state of “radical uncertainty” — I called it exhausting.

Christianity had become a series of increasingly elaborate shrugs, and after four or five years my shoulders were worn out.

Wow, my shoulders are also exhausted. I have been journeying through liberal Christianity for well over a decade now. And while at times, the communities with whom I have encountered have been nourishing and supportive, right now, I feel disconnected and isolated. And I have experienced the liberal church being as dysfunctional and abusive as our conservative counterparts. I guess I didn't mind the shrugging so much when I was in the fellowship of other skeptics. Those reciprocal back rubs surely helped. But alone, my shoulders hurt.

Sunday Morning

So, one of us is the heathen, the other the hypocrite. Guess which one I am?

Blogs I Read

So RevGalBlogPals wants to know what blogs I read regularly. And I am supposed to limit it to only five. Yikes! I have over 30 subscriptions in my Google Reader alone.

So I'll start by saying that I read the blogs of many of my friends, check out their recipes and cute pictures of their babies. I read what's in their hearts and on their minds (and in Lisa's case, in her fridge). But I won't list those blogs among my five though these friends often do challenge me, inspire me, and make me laugh.

That said, these are the blogs (by people other than my friends) I regularly read:

Reason, Skepticism, Atheism:
As a person with a complicated relationship with organized religion (at times, I have hope and believe that religion can be a positive and healing force in our world and in the lives of individuals, but I have also seen how, too often, religion and faith can be so destructive to people, to communities, and to societies at large), I am drawn to writers who engage me on an intellectual level, challenge my religious beliefs (or lack thereof) and force me to wrestle with my understandings of self and systems and the world. I am especially interested in the discussions around ethics and morality from a non-religious perspective. First of all, I think the dialogue around ethics gets much more interesting and complex when you move beyond "'Cause the Bible tells me so." Secondly, I am discovering that without a god to blame or a god to forgive, people are challenged to articulate and to live into their ethical values in more integrated and consistent ways. My favorite blogs skeptic/atheist blogs are Unreasonable Faith and Pharyngula.

News and Politics:
I am a political junkie. The US election is over, but still I check DailyKos everyday. Sometimes several times a day. And recently, in my desire to learn about the Canadian political scene (I do reside here in the Great White North) despite my inability to vote here, I have begun to read InformedVote. I may even start writing for them!!

Friends' Health:
I have several friends recovering from injury or illness. Last year, when working at the Children's Hospital, I discovered the CaringBridge website which allows families and patients to update their friends and loved ones about their status. It's a great service they provide, so I am happy to plug their site. I do check in on my friends Grant and Anna everyday.

Humour:
So I must confess my guilty pleasure: laughing at these photos of cats and dogs and silly captions (with horrible spelling and grammar). I was pleased to learn that I was not alone in this addiction to the adorable LOLcats.

Rachel Weeps

Working as a hospital chaplain, I see much pain and suffering. But these past two weeks have been especially hard. It seems that in the past two weeks, I have had a disproportionate number of deaths of babies and young mothers than would be expected for my clinical assignment. I have held several dead or dying babies in my arms - blessed them, prayed over them, baptized them, and/or named them. And I have held the hands of women my age and younger as they have taken their last breath and left us. And I am a little surprised at the intensity of cumulative emotions I am feeling around these deaths.

Last year, I worked in a children's hospital. I saw many more babies die. But I also held healthy babies. And I was able to see hope as health improved and many babies went home. This year, since my assignment is not the neo-natal ICU nor Labour & Delivery, I don't have the opportunity to balance the deaths by celebrating the lives of healthy children. This have given me a skewed sense of what is normal and it has stirred fears in me for my friends and sister-in-love who are currently pregnant.

In addition, as Craig and I embark on our journey of covenanted life together, the topic of children has arisen. So these sad deaths of babies and mothers fills me with doubts and fears for myself.

But whatever the rationales for my reacting internally the way I have, I need to acknowledge the emotions I am feeling. And the primary emotion I feel is sorrow. Yes, I feel fear, and anxiety, and anger, and rage. But mostly, I just feel sorrow. Sorrow for these babies who will never get to grow up. Sorrow for these mothers who will never get to bring her child to her breast.

And in my sorrow I weep. This Rachel is weeping for her children...for they are no more. (Matthew 2:18)

Mid-Lent Check-In

Sophia at RevGalBlogPals comments that "halfway through the season we have often found it very challenging to live up to our original plans" and thus issues the invitation to "check-in" on our Lenten goals or hopes with these five questions.

1. Did you give up, or take on, anything special for Lent this year?
I gave up Facebook for Lent, only allowing myself to "feast" for one-hour on the weekends. In addition, I "took up" blogging again. I have only blogged sporadically for the past year or so, and I have missed it.

2. Have you been able to stay with your original plans, or has life gotten in the way?
I have stuck with it, though at times I have really missed connecting with people through Facebook.

3. Has God had any surprising blessings for you during this Lent?
At this point, I am not too comfortable ascribing to "God" any actions with regard to my life or journey. That said, I have experienced self-awareness, learning, and, yes, blessings during this season of Lent. I realize how much time I wasted (and continue to waste) online and how Facebook can be a tool to communicate only on a superficial level. I also have discovered that the social networking site does allow me to keep in touch with a wide breadth of people from various chapters of my life, and how I can and do use the site to maintain depth in relationships. I imagine when I return to FB after this season of fasting from it, I will do so with more intentionality in my interactions with folks.

4. What is on your inner and/or outer agenda for the remainder of Lent and Holy Week?
I plan to continue to blog. I hope to make better use of email and telephone to keep in touch with loved ones far away. And I will be returning to the pulpit for three sermons during Holy Week.

5. Where do you most long to see resurrection, in your life and/or in the world, this Easter?
I long to see new life springing forth from the ground. After months of snow, a blade of grass would be worthy of sonnets and arias. On another level, I long to find a sense of renewal in my vocation. Or maybe not renewal, since I don't know that I want to return to a former calling. Perhaps I need "newal" in my sense of vocation. Also, if I am thinking about Easter in it's pre-Christian form, then I have some hopes and desires along those lines, too, with my new niece or nephew entering the world very soon. Finally, I continue to hope for and work for peace and renewal of right relations in our world.

~~~~~
So, what about you? How would you answer these questions?

in cognito

So I am going to a bible study at the church across the park from our place. I happened to visit the church a few Sundays back, on a day when I was too lazy to get up in time to make it across town to a church of my denomination, but not so lazy that I slept in. When I visited, I saw in the bulletin that they were starting a new study from the Living the Questions series, a series I have read about but hadn't had the opportunity to experience. So I decided to attend.

I called Nancy, the woman leading the study, whose number was listed in the bulletin, and she informed me that the class was not full and they would be delighted for me to attend.

"I want to ask you," she began, "have you ever done any bible studies before?"

"Oh, yes. I have."

"Oh, good. Well, are you familiar with the LTQ series?"

"Yes. That is what attracted me to the class in the first place."

"Oh, good, so you know how it works."

Actually, I didn't - exactly. But I really appreciate how Nancy wanted to make a newcomer feel welcomed. And I can understand what a baffling situation I put her in; it is not a usual occurrence to have a visitor to the church (this was only my second time to come - in eight months) want to attend a bible study. In my decade of church work that happened exactly zero times.

I assured Nancy that I wanted to come and that my level of interest was high and my ability to keep up with the class was adequate.

I did not tell her that I have a seminary degree nor that I am an ordained minister. I decided to go in cognito.

I went to engage in theological discussion with thinking people without having everyone in the room turn to me for answers. And I know that once I am out as a minister, I am doomed. I won't get to be a part of a community of questioners without people questioning me. So I kept silent about my education and vocation.

Which has not been so easy. I have so far avoided the "what do you do?" aspect of my story by telling what people really want to know: where the "y'all" is from (Texas) and what on earth brought me to Edmonton ("my partner is at the University"). And I have tried to stay quiet, to listen and to learn without adding my two cents here and there. But I am a loquacious gal, and despite vague attempts to dodge the professional question, my familiarity and grasp of the topics at hand have been evident. On Monday, our second class, Nancy called on me, "Now Rachel, this is obviously not new to you..." and continued asking me what I had gotten from the first session.

I replied that, yes, I had some previous exposure to the liberal theological ideas espoused in the series, so the thoughts weren't new or paradigm-shifting for me (anymore). And I continued to say that what I was taking from the course was the discourse around the room and the input, thoughts, and experiences shared by the people in the course. So another successful dodge.

I am enjoying the course. I really love the dialogue. And while it is somewhat exhausting to evade, I find it energizing to be able to be just "Rachel" and not "Rachel Rev", to ask questions in a circle without having to come up with answers, to let people teach me, and to learn what people really say when they think their ministers aren't listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Interestingly, at one point last night, one gal asked if I was a professional musician because I wore socks with music notes on them. Actually, the socks prompted the question about my interest in music, to which I responded saying that I sing and accompany myself badly on piano and guitar. I never once mentioned that I have my undergraduate degree in vocal performance. So I am a bit surprised that my musical socks outed me as a trained musician while theological discourse has not outed me as a trained theologian. Perhaps I am not as learned as I had thought. :)

wilderness

I have always envisioned the wilderness of Lent as a desert with shifting sands. But after my commute into work this morning, I am certain it is the streets of Edmonton, with shifting snows.

Temperatures dropped over 20 degrees (that's Celsius - about a 36 degree drop in Fahrenheit) last night. And it snowed. Actual snow fall was probably only a few inches, but the wind caused snowdrifts, covering sidewalks and pathways.

Normally, my walk to work takes about 40 minutes. Today, it was an hour. It wasn't just snow I was battling, but wind and slick sheets of ice under the foot of new snow.

And my route was changed. The landscape had shifted. I was thrown off-course by thigh-high piles of snow (courtesy of the snowploughs) blocking sidewalks. And paths that existed yesterday just aren't there any longer. (the photo is the exact same park I pictured yesterday, sans pathway through)

It was quite a trek. But finally, I arrived. Face chapped. Legs sore. Breathless and exhausted. And drenched with sweat.

But, at the same time, I felt empowered, triumphant, and invincible.

You see, I realized that if I can make my way. Even as familiar paths disappear and obstacles block my path, I can find my way through this wilderness. I always do.

safe and secure

Three years ago, I embarked on a journey of discovery and wonder, leaving behind security and relative vocational comfort (i.e. a rut) to venture into the unknown streets of Chicago and attempt to create a new faith community in Chicago's South Loop. I had no salary. I had a teeny-tiny bit of institutional support. I had very little - except hope, a vision and some amazing friends and colleagues. As Carrie Newcomer sings, I was "filled with hope and good intentions, bare to the bone."

Just prior to this endeavor, I had come through a season of great loss - a colleague died, a relationship ended, my ministry of 4+ years was cut for budgetary reasons, and my dream job had fallen through because of lack of funding. I remember feeling crushed and overwhelmed by all the pain. But I also remember feeling surprising strong and amazingly free. I often quoted Janis Joplin, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." In that time, it seemed like so much of the pain I was experiencing was caused by the other people's fear. And I became determined not to live my life in fear. "You either lose your fear or spend your life with one foot in the grave, " sings Over the Rhine. I didn't want my life to be dictated by fear, mine or anyone else's. So, I bravely stepped into the unknown, feeling fearless and feeling free. At the same time, I felt more like myself than I had in years. I realized that fearless and free was who I am.

It is no wonder that I met my life partner in this fearless, free, authentic, self-aware season of my life. Craig and I met upon my first arriving in Chicago. And as I was falling in love with the Windy City, I was growing in love with this man. Ultimately, my love for the fella that took me away from the beloved city. And eventually brought us here to Edmonton. (yeah, this Texan gal had been thinking Chicago was cold, and didn't have a clue what the northernmost major city in North America would hold).

Now, I am enjoying Edmonton. It's no Chi, but it's a nice city. And I love the community of friends Craig and I are building up around us. I truly delight in being in a covenanted, lifetime relationship with my Beloved. But right now, vocationally, I am in a funk.

It's more than just a matter of not knowing what I want to be when I grow up (the answer to that is still the same as it has always been - a world famous singer, of course). But the questions nagging at me go deeper: who am I? who (not what) do I want to be? what am I called to do?

I know, without a doubt, that I am called to be in relationship with Craig. As much as I have ever felt "called" to any ministry in the past and even more so, I feel called to this man. But beyond that, who am I? who do I want to be? what am I called to do?

Right now, I am serving as a hospital chaplain. And I like to work, for the most part. And I know that I am good at what I do. But I am not sure I feel up to doing this for much longer. I am not sure if this is the ministry to which I am "called". And see, the real issue here is that I am not sure I feel "called" to "ministry". Period.

But if I am not a minister, who am I? and what am I supposed to do? My training is all in either vocational ministry or vocal performance. I know I have myriad skills that are transferable to other fields. But my only "credentials" are in the ministry racket.

At present, ministry for me feels like a safety net. It's what I know. Its what's comfortable. But I don't like having a safety net. I feel I am my best self when I am fearless and free. I long to soar through the air on the flying trapeze or walk the high wire. But right now, I feel stuck, tangled up in this darn net. Scared to cut myself out. And scared of what that would mean if I did.

Steaming Heap of Walking Compost

A patient received some difficult news today. The results of the various tests have come back and surgery is no longer an option. In his mind, his death is imminent.

"I'm a dead man walking," he said to me. "You're looking at a corpse, nothing but a steaming heap of walking compost."

With such vivid metaphors, he continued to express his grief, rage, frustration, and despair. "What's the point of it all? There is no point. I'm going to die. We're all going to die. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We're born, we suffer pain and loss and rejection, and we die. You, me, everyone - all nothing but walking compost."

I couldn't help but think of the smudges on the foreheads of so many Christian people today. It's Ash Wednesday. And so many who profess the Christian faith have been marked with ashes, smudges into a cross. They have heard the uttering of the words, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Death is certain. For me. For you. For the man who heard the difficult news today. But while I can empathize with him, I cannot share his present belief that this certainty of death makes life meaningless. If anything, the uncertainty of tomorrow gives me the opportunity to grasp today with passionate abandon: to love deeply, to be completely honest with myself and others, to release anger and guilt and those life-sucking bad vibes. If I am nothing but walking compost, I want to be the richest, most stable, most nutrient-filled, most purposeful biodegradation of organic matter I can possibly be.