When the Impossible Becomes Reality

One of my church's mamas sent me a picture recently. She'd taken a snapshot of her daughter playing with scrap paper that morning. It just so happens that Mea had cut out a u-shaped piece of paper and draped it around her neck. She said, "Hey, Mom, I made one of those things Abigail wears around her neck!" Then she made two more, one for her mom and and one for her grandma.

Yes, she was talking about my stole. I'm probably the only person she's ever seen wear one of those. This particular kid has probably noticed that the stoles change with the season of the church year. The one I've been wearing this Advent is purple and gold; the ends have fringe. It's pretty cool in kid world. Yet, she's three going on four. The stole is just another accessory, similar to my boots that she also likes.

For her, making her own stole is part of figuring out life, learning new things, and the rich imaginative life that most children lead. It goes along with baby dolls and dress-up and play food. She has no clue that when I look at her, she reflects a reality that I long believed was impossible. When she plays pastor, she's imagining herself like me. For her, the image of pastor is a young woman--stole, cute boots and all. For her, this impossibility will always be reality; I can't stop wondering if this is reality.

Just this week, someone stopped by the church, carrying our Advent postcard with her. Every time we send something out to the broader community, we make sure to say explicitly that the LGBT community is welcome. She came to ask, "Is this really true?" I got to tell her yes. Yes, what you thought was impossible is a reality here. And I remembered, again, how strange it is when the impossible becomes reality.

That impossible turning to reality is so often a sign of God's reign coming just a bit closer. Because it has so long been impossible, the new reality comes with  incredulity and a zillion questions. It comes with suspicion. Eventually, when you realize that the impossible has actually, truly become reality, the new reality comes with deep, overwhelming joy.

Jesus knew that when he was approached by John the Baptizer's disciples, asking, "Are you the one who is to come?"

Jesus answered, "Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the dead are raised and the poor have good news brought to them."

In other words, the impossible is now reality; God's reign is near.

"I don't want people to think I'm gay."

Several times lately I've heard people point blank say in response to some life situation they're facing, "I don't want people to think I'm gay." They usually follow it up with something like, "Not that I have a problem with gay people."

Are you kidding me?

Because, you see, it's said with the same disdain used for any classification we don't want applied to us.  In my case, it's the same reaction I have to people when I say I'm a pastor and they mention the fundamentalist megachurch down the road. I rush to say anything to make sure they don't confuse me with that, which is so different from my faith.

There are a few words often spoken with that sort of disdain, words like poor, homeless, black, just to name a few. There are all sorts of things folks say with an edge to indicate they'd never want to be confused with one of those people, and yes, gay is often on the list. That's ridiculous. Here's why.

First, if it's that big a deal for you to get hit on by someone you're not interested in (which seems to be the number one concern), grow up. I attract guys who say in the most disgusting way possible, "Hey, baby." Guess what? I don't go out with those guys. Problem solved. Of course, this is assuming the getting hit on fear scenario ever actually happens.

Second, you sound like a homophobe. This isn't a statement of religious or political conviction. It's a statement that says, "There are few things worse than being gay." So stop saying homophobic crap.

Third, and most important, get some new priorities. Make sure people don't think you hate your neighbor. Make sure people don't think you're stingy. Make sure people don't think you're a snob. Jesus said a lot about those things. Ok, he said a lot about the inverse of those things--love your neighbor, be generous, and Jesus hung out with people on the margins of society. They're pretty awesome priorities, actually. They might actually change your life.

Some Thanksgiving Thoughts

Holidays are weird. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who thinks that, though I may be one of the few who says it out loud. They make us all a little crazy. They often end up being high pressure events. They tend to make things that are already stressful that much more stressful.

Thanksgiving happens to be the holiday that I usually spend with other people. The last Thanksgiving at my parents' house was in 2006. Since then, I've eaten with friends' families and just friends. One year, I was told to smile and nod when I was introduced to the "roommate" of a forty-something man since a good Southern family wasn't ready to talk about the gay member of their family. One year, I ate with mostly international students who had a heated debate about the proper title of Princess Diana and yeah, I'm just going to call her that. I'm pretty sure that's not the correct title.

One year, I arrived at Thanksgiving dinner to find the hosts were vegetarian, so we were having meatless meatballs for dinner. Another year, the host family had agreed even holidays would be low carb. For the record, I believe Thanksgiving should involve white mashed potatoes and a nut topped sweet potato soufflé; thanks to the family in denial about the gay uncle for introducing the wonderful delight that is sweet potato soufflé.

Last year, I bravely cooked for guests. And it was pretty darn good, if I do say so myself.

But I haven't spent Thanksgiving Day with anyone who would be defined as family in several years, and won't again this year.

These Thanksgivings have been just fine, too. Blessed. Enjoyed. I'm even pretty grateful for the absence of football from these Thanksgivings.

I'm also grateful that there have always been people whose company I enjoy to share that meal with. It made the weird-to-me menus not matter so much. It also points to a re-definition of family.

Some people don't have any biological or adopted family, at least not in the traditional sense. Some have jerks for family. Some have been kicked out by their families. The list could go on.

So celebrate this year with whomever says, "You're welcome here." Family comes in as many different packages as Thanksgiving dinner does.






PS: And if you don't have anyone saying, "You're welcome here," find a church. We're often a bit screwy and a bit weird, but any church worth its salt will say, "You're welcome here." Seriously.

With My Ornament Cup in Hand

If you haven't heard, there are six fewer shopping days between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year compared with last year. That's the excuse being given for the fact that I've already heard Christmas music playing in stores for a few days even as I type this. The same excuse for the fact that I'm drinking from a cup printed with ornaments and snowflakes. (PS: snowflakes looked kind of ridiculous in Atlanta; they're absurd in Phoenix.) You know what, Christmas comes early for pastors, too. I've already put together a basic Christmas Eve service, already asked folks about time of that service, already publicized Advent activities.

In a lot of ways, I'm not too concerned about the early breaking in of a season that's mostly about warm and fuzzy feelings and attitudes. The consumerism that comes with the season is a symptom of a widespread culture of consumerism, not the only time we see the disease.

Except this year, some stores will be open all Thanksgiving day, and all Thanksgiving night, closing some time late on Black Friday. They're hoping to draw in the folks who would like to enjoy some shopping during their time off, of course. But they're doing it at the expense of their employees--employees who now won't be able to eat dinner with their families or enjoy time home with their kids who are on school break or even travel a short distance to be with friends or family.

We can talk about evil corporations all we want, but the truth is no entity concerned with profit would pay employees to stand in an empty store on a day when they've normally been closed. The stores are opening on Thanksgiving because they're pretty sure they'll have plenty of people come through the doors somewhere around their time with friends and family. Shopping while someone else cooks? Great. Shopping after dinner? Great. Leaving those who care about football to watch it and going shopping? That sounds like an awesome plan!

So stay home. You who have heard Jesus' words, "Love your neighbor as yourself," stay home. You who know that Jesus calls us to love the poor, give the retail employees making minimum wage a day off, too. You who remember that even God rested on the seventh day, help someone else enjoy a Sabbath.

Watch football. Take a walk to get rid of some of Thanksgiving dinner. Go ahead and tackle some of those leftovers the same night if you like. Play an endless game of Monopoly. Just sit around in a turkey and mashed potato induced stupor. Do something or nothing, but don't go shopping.

Don't go shopping. The love of Christ compels you to do something, anything else.

Living Among the Saints

Some days, it's old lady perfume. Other days, it's cigarette smoke. Still other days, it's the stale odor of sheets slept on by infrequent bathers.

These are the smells of ministry, smells that often linger in my clothes as the day goes on, smells that are stirred up again when I change clothes at the end of the day. Some are more pleasant than others, but all remind me of holy people and holy moments. If I tried to name every single scent that reminds me more of ministry than anything else, I imagine the list would be very long.

That list would include Play-Doh and rental cars, a certain brand of cleaner and a few other unknown factors that give rooms distinct smells. That list would include the stale odor of clothing closets and the fresh clean smell that wafts up from children's carefully packed bags, a scent I never seem to replicate with my own laundry. While I said I wouldn't make a list, I have managed to begin quite a list to which I must add the smell of a bag of Dum-Dums, and unscented candles that have a smell all their own, and the smell of wood that was made into furniture many years before I was born.

I will stop there, because I could keep going and going and going. I could keep going and going and going because there are always more wonderful memories of people and places that I would not know apart from the Church. On this All Saints' Day, I celebrate the joy of living among the saints, rather than the saints who have joined the cloud of witnesses. Sometimes, it's easy to forget our own place as one of the holy, one of the beloved, one of the many witnesses to what God is doing in this world.

I see them, though, most every day and am often overwhelmed with my love for these saints of God. They don't know it, most of the time, 'cause that would be a little bit awkward, but they're all around me, even in this broken being that is the Church. They're all around me--living, loving, being transformed and transforming by their lives and love.

So today, on All Saints' Day, blessings upon all the saints who still walk this earth. Your presence matters. And after all, isn't that what we remember on All Saints' Day most of all: those people whose presence touched our lives deeply and make us long for them to be nearby? We who are so fortunate to live among saints, let us celebrate today!

Witch Hazel & All the Rest

I love all things scary and spooky. Horror movies, haunted houses, TV shows that I don't always confess to enjoying, at least in public. It started young, with my love of the TV show Unsolved Mysteries, and has only gotten worse as I've gotten older.

The other part of that story is that all things scary and spooky were off limits when I was a kid, mostly thanks to church. I discovered horror movies in college about the same time as I discovered peanut butter and jelly. (No, no one thought PB&J was immoral, we were just more of a grilled cheese sort of family.) Halloween came with churchy Halloween alternatives, the worst version of which was a Hell House or Judgment House, basically, a really scary house telling people venturing there all the reasons they're going to hell. Or creating what they imagine to be hell and ending the tour with, "So here's what to do if you don't want to go to hell!"

And here I am, this year, with a witch costume much resembling Witch Hazel from Bugs Bunny and enjoying every minute of it. I've had a few kids edge away from me with my scary make-up. One kid came up to me and asked, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" I assured her I am a good witch. I'll be sporting the costume again this Thursday, on actual Halloween, when hanging out at my church's coffee shop. Yep, we'll be handing out candy to any trick or treaters as well.

I still hear the echoes of my childhood and many of my friends wrestling with, "Is it ok for us to celebrate Halloween?" There are plenty of articles about Halloween's origins and plenty more talking about its ties with the demonic/satanic/take your pick. Some of them are probably true. Most of them have some kernel of truth.

And you know what? I don't care.

For about 99%* of the people who celebrate Halloween, it's about having fun dressing up. Or enjoying handing out candy. Or liking being scared. Kids get excited and they look darn cute. Adults get to be silly, too. And there's chocolate involved. Lots and lots of chocolate.

There are way worse things in the world.


*Don't think this is a real statistic or anything like that.

Cat Vomit and Getting It Together

Some mornings are better than others. This morning was not particularly good for multiple reasons, including the fact that I had to clean up cat vomit before I left my apartment. I was also awakened by the cat vomiting at some point in the early morning hours, which certainly didn't help the morning along. At least with cat I was welcome to ignore her and her vomit until my normal getting up time.

Mornings like this make me think I don't have it together at all. Mornings like this make me think it's really obvious I don't have it all together. And mornings like this make me more gracious to folks who don't have it together at all. And more gracious to folks trying to get it together a bit better.

It took most of my life up to this point for a bad mood to turn to graciousness to others rather than annoyance with them. Some days, annoyance still wins, but it wins a lot less than it used to.

At church, we're really good at whispering the things that we still need to get together--the kids throwing tantrums and the college classes we're trying to take and a crazy sibling or two. But the day to day I wish this were better things are most always whispered. We want to look like we really, truly have it together or are pretty darn close.

I think of the man who asked Jesus if he could go bury his father before he followed Jesus. Jesus told him no. On some level, that was the question of, "Can I go get it together before I do this?" And Jesus answer was, "No. Come on any way." There was a graciousness in that answer that I've mostly missed, a graciousness that said, "Don't worry about having it all together."

A church that follows that Jesus will probably help me laugh when I realize there's still cat vomit on my shoe. There's a great deal of Gospel in not having it all together after all.