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.

Gilbert

I found out today that my friend Gilbert, who has been missing for over a month, is dead.

I did not know Gilbert long (though we were introduced in September, making him one of the first people I met in Edmonton). And I did not know him all that well, having only gotten together with him a handful of times. But Gilbert was one of those individuals for whom small talk was impossible, so the few gathering we had (two Sunday brunches in the weeks before he died) involved long discussion on morality and ethics, religion and atheism, art and culture, politics and justice, you get the idea. Gilbert went deep - immediately. And as a chaplain (one who spends all day everyday nudging folks, encouraging depth, and supporting openness), I appreciated this quality in Gilbert. Conversation with him was engaging and didn't require "work".

That Gilbert suffered with depression was something unknown to me until I read the article about his disappearance in the paper. How easy it was for me with training in this area not to pick up on the signs. And how well his warm laugh and welcoming personality masked his inner despair.

I did not know him long. And I did not know him well. But Gilbert was a man I had hoped and planned to get to know better. And I mourn both his death and the death of our friendship in its earliest blossoming stages.

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.

looking closely at Looking Closely

I established this blog to "look closely", to examine my world, and to evaluate if my life is indeed indicative of the world I want to live in. The Alice Walker quote in the blog title box pretty much sums it up.

Recently, I have gotten off-track. Some recent posts seem to be motivated more by anger, hurt, and despair than by love, healing, and hope. Now, I want my writing to be true and to reflect my world, and I don't want to sugar-coat serious ills, problems, hypocrisy and even evils. At the same time, I do believe that words are powerful. And they do shape reality. And as I examine my world, and record it, I have the opportunity to use my words to shape the future I am constructing.

As I wrote in a response to a recent anonymous commenter,

I don't want my world to be one where I use sarcasm as a weapon. I don't want my world to be one where my past wounds and past hurts cause me to wound and hurt others. As I "look closely" at [some of these posts], I see my writing motivated by hurt and anger. And life lived in hurt and anger is not the "future I dream of".

I intend to be more mindful with my words, to continue to strive at becoming my better self, and to construct my dreamed-of future in my everyday life.

discernment (Facebook style)

Yesterday, I took one of those quizzes that are all the rage on Facebook these days (you know, the ones, the results of which, the new Facebook platform plasters all over your friends' home pages*). No, I didn't take the quiz to find out which Twilight character I am or what my easter bunny name would be or what Southern city I should live in or my "true" age or even what color crayon I would be. Rather,t he quiz that caught my attention was "what is your ministerial calling?". I took the quiz mainly so I could mock whatever answer came back. However, the results were interesting and surprisingly accurate:

Missions and Outreach Minister
"You are called to make a difference beyond the walls of traditional church.
You think Sunday morning church is important, but how you live out your beliefs
is even more important. You may be called to share the gospel by building
communities for Katrina Relief, or Habitat for Humanity. You may be called to
start a volunteer program to help out your local schools. You may be the person
in the walls of the church who advocates for justice and peace. You are called
to reach out and make a difference."

This does depict my passion for justice and my hope for the world and the church. However, after years of trying to be this voice for justice and peace in the church, I know how truly exhausting this role can be. And, as a result of my years of serving in this very position, I have come to doubt seriously that the church, despite its protestations otherwise, has has any intent or desire whatsoever to be an agent for change or good in the world. I may be "called to reach out and make a difference" "beyond the walls of the traditional church", but I don't think I can do that from within those walls.

*If you want to learn how to take those quizzes without bombarding your friends with the results, let me know. I have figured out a way to do so, and I will gladly teach you.

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.

compassion fatigue

I was "on-call" all weekend. And unlike previous hospitals where I was employed, at my current workplace, we don't get compensation time or recovery time after working a 24-hour or 48-hour shift. See, they don't "require" that we stay in the hospital when we are on-call. We are only "required" to respond to all urgent calls within a a certain amount of time. Since it's possible that we could end up spending the entire night in our own beds, getting a full-night's sleep, we are expected to work our next shift.

My weekend wasn't hard. Until Monday morning, when my pager went off at 1:30 am, 4:30 am, and again at 7:00 am. I didn't get much rest. And I was expected to work. If we "really need" the time to recover, we can take it. But then we are often grilled on whether we "really need" it. And always being in a defensive posture is draining in and of itself.

Yeah, I am bitter. And I am on-call again in two days. So I have anticipatory bitterness, too.

I am also beginning to recognize symptoms of compassion fatigue. Which causes me to question my vocation - even more than I have already been questioning. Sure, I can still provide care, as required by my job description. And I can surprise myself in providing good care, as evidenced by the tokens of gratitude I receive from patients and family members. But I lack joy. And I lack hope. And I lack a genuine desire to be with people in pain and to help ease their suffering. These are kind of essential to my work.

So what do I do? Honestly, I am too tired to even think of doing anything else, much less look for or apply for jobs. So I am stuck.

I realize that this insane, god-awful week will soon be over. And I trust that soon I'll be seeing life through a different lens. But right now, I am exhausted. I am tired. And I am burnt-out.

Question: why is it that so much of our training tells us to practice self-care, to prevent this type of burn-out and fatigues, yet no institution (church/hospital/school) make self-care so dang hard? I have just about given up all hope in having any institution (especially church) care for me, but do they have to make it so difficult for me to care for myself?

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. :)

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.