Spilling Over into Authenticity

I came in early to put the finishing touches on the slides for worship. It wasn’t long before I lit a few candles, to give me the familiar sense of sacred space. I couldn’t seem to settle in until the play of light and shadow was closer to what we see and feel while we sing. I began to quiet my mind and prepare to lead worship. Rodger had the “excuse” of being in Utah most of the last week, but even so, I was equally grateful to be back in our beloved basement. This was also the first time I was responsible for the order of worship and Rodger was curious about what I, and the Spirit, would do. Maybe he will share his take on what is happening in/with us.

Lindsey came in with her shawl arranged across her shoulders. I was surprised to hear she had worn it all week, and completely floored that she had slept with it, as well.

During the sermon discussion about joy, we managed to evidence it, sharing much laughter. After worship each week, the children usually eat any remaining communion bread. Tonight, though, Rodger broke the loaf in what turned out to be exactly the right number of chunks, reminding us that, as Bruggeman says, ours is a God of plenty. At this Table we have cause to be brimming over.

Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! --Romans 15:13 The Message

We walked up to the table to dip our soft croutons. My oversized chunk absorbed juice so fast it broke away to swim heavily in the goblet. “Well, everybody gets a little finger juice,” I proclaimed as for the briefest flash I felt a twinge- of embarrassment, of shame- that was gone just as quickly and replaced with rejoicing. [Too many communions in starched Sunday dress, in serious surroundings; hard pews and solemn faces, passing dry soup crackers and drops of wine in glasses too small for sipping and savoring. And what were we expecting? An arid nugget to explode into prayer in our bellies? Hmpf.] Alice, thinking quickly, handed me the paper towel that had covered the bread. Others were dripping juice and we laughed, taking care of the situation without breaking stride. THIS was a meal.

My heart awed, I found my way to a seat (no yellow chair tonight as I moved around to lead.) I felt more whole than I had in longer than I could remember. My mind murmured, “This is what “authentic” means.” I looked up to see Rodger, with gusto, draining the rest of the grape juice. Plenty, indeed. We were engaged in a celebration of gratitude and rejoicing, and my hungry heart was fed.

Sola Deo Gloria.

Ear to the Ground and Nose to the Wind

Pedigree is a term being tossed around a lot lately, especially in reference to whom it is “appropriate” to hear from regarding matters of leadership and church development in the PC(USA). Pedigree. It’s all about papers: papers that declare you acceptable by a select group of people. You are the right height. You are the right shape. Your coat is shiny. You walk, and trot and run through obstacle courses in appropriate patterns. You know how to perform for an audience. (Dare I say jump through hoops?) Out of necessity, you live a sheltered life. You never make noise. You have the right parents. You are -ahem- without blemish.

The last I heard, Jesus hung out with people vastly different from himself: people who had no education, no breeding, no voice, sometimes no limbs nor sight. People with little position or influence. People from the wrong country or wrong part of town: whores, felons, liars and cheats and all manner of unsavory types. Alley trash composed of the abandoned, forsaken and forgotten.

Veterinarians will tell you, that when it comes to a healthy, long-lived member of the family, to adopt a dog with mixed blood. Troublesome attributes tend to surface in animals bred to retain specific traits. Epilepsy and emotional disorders, for example, are common culprits. On the other hand, foundlings, particularly, are street smart. The strong and quick survive and are protective and contributing members of their pack-especially when their pack includes multiple species. The real world is the only one they know.

Peter was a big, sturdy fisherman: an unlettered, unpapered working breed. Andrew was adept at sniffing out local resources for outfitting his group. Bartholomew was the guile-less one: no hidden agenda. The disciples themselves were not a homogenous group. They had to work together with their differences, and learn to serve.

Jesus’ pack was always on the move and gathered in homes, in the streets, by the lakeshore, on the hillsides, in the fields and vineyards. The disciples came from the streets, the soldiers’ training ground, the waterfront and the marketplace. They were well-acquainted with where “the action is.” The sheltered types kept behind walls of separation, tending to observe the budding church rather than jumping in to engage and take part. Hence, the language for the community remained in the community. Sheltering walls, whether they are ecclesiastic, scholastic or civic, create a position removed from the kingdom of God at large.

Listen to the voices in the street, voices that call from reclaimed warehouse and basement, the forgotten field and storefront: the Holy Spirit is here, renewing, restoring and lifting up the Church of Jesus Christ. Let those who have ears, hear & fear not.

Lindsey's Prayer Shawl: Adventures in Community Part I

I had found a kindred spirit: like me, it seemed Lindsey’s Mom listens best when her hands are occupied. For two Sundays I was aware of her knitting during a part of our worship time. Later she explained that it was a prayer shawl for a dear friend’s wife living with brain cancer. She described how she had prayed while in the yarn shoppe to be guided to the right yarn. She explained how she had set on stitches in a multiple of three and that she would knit three then purl three, for the Trinity. She sparkled as she told us that her prayers and the prayers of our community were woven into the shawl as she knitted. She revealed she was making the shawl large enough for her friend, the husband, to benefit from wearing it as well. When it was complete, we gathered ‘round our round communion table and blessed and commissioned the lovely multi-moss-shaded work of art.

It had been years since I had knitted, and then only a very simple vest. I was so intrigued by the shawl idea, however, that I went home that night and found my needles and some purple yarn that had never been made into a pillow for a college roommate. In my mind, I knitted for my friend, Joanne, in her second year free from cancer. My early rows were comical. The men in our community enjoyed a gentle teasing. If you look carefully, the whole beginning section is on an angle because I somehow managed to set on more stitches than I dropped. But Lindsey’s Mom helped me take out selected mistakes, recognize what I did wrong, and set out again with new energy. Lindsey loved the little stitches of the purple shawl. My needles were half the size of her mother’s. The lavender shade was “c-o-o-o-l.”

Easter came, and I decided to have a Vigil on Saturday night and knit. I would knit until it was time to put together the casserole for our Easter sunrise breakfast. I sang and prayed with Joanne in my thoughts while my needles clicked. Lindsey’s “ooo” on Easter morning warmed me. For a couple of weeks we’d all been tossing about ideas of what, if anything, to do with two mistakes that had formed perfect little boxes near the beginning of the shawl. Lindsey’s diagnosis: “Smiley-face beads!” Inwardly I grinned at the idea and clicked on. Sometime while Spring was first beginning to wear her colors, it hit me that I wasn’t knitting for Joanne. Lindsey’s Mom shared with me her hope that Lindsey might soon want to begin confirmation. Someone asked me the purpose of a prayer shawl, and I decided, “It’s like giving someone who really needs it, a hug that doesn’t end.” All of a sudden I knew there was a smiley-bead purchase in my future.

Lindsey's Prayer Shawl: Adventures in Community, Part II

And so I knitted, taking twice as long with the smaller stitches. Lindsey’s Mom had already completed a second shawl for our student intern. But this labor of love is endlessly fascinating because of the metaphors I find in Lindsey’s shawl. To represent the forever “hug” of the shawl, I knitted in two bands of dark purple to lie across Lindsey’s shoulders. I wanted the texture of the bands to be rows of solid knit stitch, and in the process of experimenting, learned how different knots and colors relate to each other when they face each other on the needle. I couldn’t help thinking of all the little knots as people. Then, because of choices I had made, the shawl has a top and an underside. No, this shawl is far from perfect, but its character has a lot to say to Lindsey and our community when she decides to begin the conformation journey and I present it to her as part of her “gear” for the trip.

When I was a little younger than Lindsey, the rite of passage was called “Communicants’ Class,” and the point being to understand a little of how the church “worked” especially regarding the sacraments and pledging, and to take a written quiz. This took four Sunday afternoons and a couple weeks later, without question, we all joined the church. Since we received our Bibles in fourth grade, upon joining the church, we received our individually numbered, personalized offering envelopes and a blank Time and Talent form. Ugh!

No one would design the shawl I’m knitting: it has been prayed, revealed, experienced. Sure, it has a pattern of stitches to follow, but in my hands it becomes unique. Just like Lindsey. Just like my little faith community that has worship–in-the-round in a t-shaped basement, uses no paper bulletins or newsletters, rather keeps up with each other through weekly e-mail updates from the pastor and has song lyrics and prayers projected onto a screen. Couches, end tables, throw rugs and not-really-overstuffed chairs furnish our space. When folks ask me what it’s like, I say, “It’s like worship when you go on retreat. It’s creative, and less formal. All the parts are there, like a prayer of confession and the Word proclaimed when Communion is served. Instead of an organ, our band is sort of a cross between James Taylor and John Barry. And when we light candles to remind us that we, too, are Light in the World, I make sure to light five candles, one for each one in my family.”

Lindsey's Prayer Shawl: Adventures in Community, Part III

The difference is that everything starts with community for us. Instead of gathering a group of teenagers and separating them out to “get them done” in confirmation class, most of all of us will be on the journey with Lindsey, should she choose it. She will have several mentors and her experiences will happen in and be related directly to this community. I hope she will have certain conversations at this point in her life, instead of, like me, so much later on. I treasure for her the marvelous people she will get to know in her confirmation journey.

Lindsey’s confirmation experience will be different. Rodger is requiring she blog about what happens. I am going to be sure she has some hands-on face-to-face mission project development experience, but it’s really up to her. She decides when she’s “done.” Lindsey’s experience will grow, will emerge, from the heart of our community. It will not be some separatist hoop-jumping festival. It will challenge Lindsey’s mom to let go and to practice trusting Lindsey’s judgment. It will be an amazing journey when Lindsey’s spirit will weave together with the Holy Spirit.

Tonight I have finished Lindsey’s shawl. And you know what? I’m pretty good at binding off! The smiley beads are in place. They actually fall on the wearer’s back. The tassels are made of three shades of yarn. The one on the right front corner has a string of beads that spell out her name. I sure hope she likes it.

I am so excited about this journey for all of us in the Basement. If you are reading this on my blog, it means that Lindsey has decided to pursue a confirmation experience. As Snoopy proclaims in his gospel, “COWABUNGA!” Stay tuned.

If You Had Been There Last Night. . .

You could have eaten hotdogs and hamburgers. You would have been able to catch up with some folks that have been missing for a few weeks. You could have enjoyed a break from the heat in our nice, cool basement. You would have met Tim and Daisy (not their real names.)

There was a shared sense of awkwardness at first, but it lessened as conversation continued in the way it does when folks get acquainted with each other. A woven cloth sack held all their belongings. They were without funds or a place to stay. It was unclear whether they would still have jobs the next morning. They planned to spend the night in the park. They took us up on our offer of a meal.

The younger children sat with our guests and were their usual exuberant selves. I hope they weren’t overwhelming. I imagine all of us as a group WERE overwhelming. Daisy had grown up in Charlotte and connected with Rodger who was born here. I wasn’t surprised when the rival High School sports comments came up.

Just as I sensed a budding level of ease, they were gone. I wanted to do more, but they slipped into the dusk like the comfort of a cold drink at the end of a hot day’s work.

I hope we see them again. There will be more Tims and Daisys. It’s a given because our basement is in the middle of a large metropolitan area.

If you had been there last night, you would have been part of one of The Teacher’s lessons. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, befriend the lonely, free the captive. We’re all learning together.