Struggling to get to church in the summer

After years of figuring out how to get from the east side of Madison to Grace Church during Art Fair on the Square, Taste of Madison, IronMan, Ride the Drive, assorted races, parades, and marches, I thought I had my transportation plan down to a science. I looked online for the event map, the Madison Metro bus detours, and the city parking guides. Then I would choose the best combination of driving, bussing, biking, and walking.

That is until the Sunday that the Madison marathon brought me to tears. I had done my due diligence and decided that bicycling was the way to go. My son was in elementary school at the time and had spent the night at his grandma's house downtown. I was to meet up with them at Michaelangelo's Coffee Shop, and then we would all go to church together.

I followed the path I had set out. I was sure I knew which way the race course went around the square. I knew that there was no way to cross the course the last few blocks, and I was positive I was coming upon it from the north side: allowing access to both Michaelangelo's and Grace.

I do not remember how I ended up where I did. I only remember being blocks away from a crossing point, crowds too thick to ride my bike or even walk it, and this barrier between me and my destination.  

  

 

I can still feel the raw emotion as I stood there and, unsuccessfully, tried not to cry.

There have been other Sundays when I had my family with me while trying to navigate yet another downtown event that was making it hard to get to church. There were days when I really did not want to expend the energy or get up a few minutes earlier.

Why do I battle downtown events week-in and week-out? Because being in church every Sunday is important. Being in church when it is hard to be there is as important, or even more important, than being in church when it is easy to get there.

Communal worship is about building relationships: relationships with God, with yourself, with your family, with God's family.  Relationships strengthen and grow when they are tended to on a regular basis.

Darby

(I wrote this as I was trying to figure out how to maneuver around last weekend's Art Fair on the Square.)

Food as Prayer

I am reading The Quotidian Mysteries: laundry, liturgy, and "women's work" by Kathleen Norris. In it, Norris discusses the sacred task of everyday living within a feminist framework.

Today, I am also contemplating a question asked in the middle school health curriculum: "what are your natural highs?" When I was first presented with this question, I was frustrated. I don't know!  Exercise doesn't do it for me; although I have plenty of friends who get the runner's high. Adrenaline-producing activities don't do it for me; anything remotely exciting makes me fall asleep like a possum.

But Food!  Good food with good friends. Good food with a good book. Making food. Eating food at a restaurant. Eating at a friend's house.

As I sit in a café eating delicious food, drinking cappuccino, and reading Norris' book, I realize that I've answered more than just that one question. Food feeds me physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Appreciating the farmers who have grown the tasty ingredients, the cooks who have combined them in delightful ways, and the people who surround me at the table, I sink into the peace and fullness of God and creation.

Congregational confirmation

I've been a member of the United Church of Christ for three months now, so I still look at everything that happens at First Congregational through Episcopalian eyes.  Sunday's worship service included the confirmation of three teen boys.

I know none of the theology of the Congregational Church, other than it's congregational... A very flat hierarchy with most decisions made by the consensus of the individual congregation. So I have no idea why they have confirmation. In the Episcopal Church it was originally meant as a time for the bishop (who visited an individual church every few years) to confirm that the baptisms that had happened since he has been there last were legit.

From the sermon and liturgy Sunday, it seemed to be closer to what confirmation has become in the Episcopal Church: a time for adolescents to make their faith their own. The confirmands reaffirm their baptismal vows that were made for them as infants.

The part of the liturgy that was the most beautiful to me was the laying on of hands. Since there isn't a bishop, both pastors, and the ENTIRE congregation, lay hands on each confirmand.  As I stood there with my hand on the shoulder of the man ahead of me in the aisle, with the hand of another person on my shoulder, I prayed for the young men making this public statement of faith. I also prayed for the light of Christ to fill up every person in this physical chain of prayer.

Beautiful!

Looking for a confessor

As I mentioned in the post I'm Pretty Amazing, Right?, I have been dealing with trying to not let the ghosts from my past have too much say in my future.  While I was struggling with that particular decision, I realized that I still was carrying a massive grudge against a person that was not only upsetting, but holding me back from a potentially joy-filled and life-giving opportunity.

I want to put that grudge down.  Along with the other dozen or so ones that are sitting on my shoulders.  So, I considered finding a confessor: a person to whom I can confess my sins and receive God's absolution from.  But to whom would I confess?  I could not think of a single person.  I want to be able to name names and say swear words about the people I'm holding grudges against.  But even if the person I confess to doesn't know me or anyone that I'm complaining about, I'm still putting that negativity out there. And in as small of a city as Madison is, and as small as the circles I run in are, and the number of events I've attended or organized that involve church people are, there is no way that anyone I chose to confess to doesn't in some way know one of the people I need to forgive.

So, I sat down with a cup of coffee to chill with God this morning, and we talked about it.  Well, God mostly listened while I worked through stuff.  Why would I need to confess to a human to get absolution from God?  Can't I just rant about my grudges directly to God?  Say, over a cup of coffee?  God can deal with my crap... all of it.  No need to worry about putting negativity out there; instead, my negativity can be safely removed, like the toxic waste it is.

As I began listing the people and offenses that I don't want to carry on my back anymore, I wondered aloud:  "Do I have to do forgiveness in person, face-to-face?  Like Step 8 in the AA program?  I sure hope not.  I really don't want to talk with that guy."  I also wondered, as I contemplated a person from my past that I haven't seen in over a decade, "For the people or offenses that I've already forgiven, do I sometimes take that forgiveness back?  It's hard.  Sometimes, it seems I've moved on, but then something--a passing comment, being involved with activities around it, etc.--brings all that crap back to the surface."

Obviously, the answer is that forgiveness and letting go of grudges is on-going work.  Yuck!  I am eager for forgiveness from me and to me that gets the poison out from inside myself instantaneously and never lets it back in.

For those of you left wondering, "Has Darby forgiven those people she is holding grudges against?"  The answer is, "I'm working on it."

Cup of coffee with God

Susan asked me, "What have you been doing with God so far this Lent?"

I started to list all the events that I've gone to at church. Susan laughed and shook her head. "That wasn't my question. I didn't ask what Church things you are doing. I asked what God things.  What are you doing with God?"

Susan is the friend that I go to for spiritual direction. She doesn't like that term, because our interaction is more of a two-way discussion than anything directed. But we meet monthly for a cup of tea and some discussion, because she asks great questions and tries to help focus me on "being" instead of "doing."

I wasn't planning on a Lenten discipline this year. I wasn't going to give up a specific food. I wasn't going to stop using Facebook. I wasn't going to say morning prayer daily.

Following Susan's advice, I'm not going to "do" something for Lent. I'm going to "be" with God every day, like I'd be with a friend. Every day, I'm just going to sit (maybe with a cup of coffee or maybe not), and hang out with God. Maybe I'll talk. Maybe God will. Or maybe we will just sit in silence and enjoy each other's company.

I'm pretty amazing, right?

I am pretty amazing. I have a lot of disparate skills that make me able to see big pictures and be able to break them down into reasonable steps and goals. I'm great with people of all ages. I have a deep-rooted faith that leads me to social justice and do-goodery.

And most people see that and appreciate it. But a few don't. I know intellectually that not everyone is always going to like me, especially if I am putting myself out there and pushing for change or improvement.

The problem is that a significant percentage of the people who bully me and put me down are in positions of power. They were my boss. They were the leader of the volunteer project.

And now I'm presented with a volunteer opportunity in an organization I don't know very well. I am impressed with the organization from the outside, but I'm scared that the closer I get to the inside the more disappointed I'll be...

Writing this post has helped me think through the fear I have about saying yes, and I will say yes. Because maybe this organization is as solid on the inside as it seems from the outside; but mainly, because I shouldn't let the few bullies in my past dictate my future.

Four letter words

I admit it!  I like listening to pop music.  Sometimes as I'm singing along to a catchy tune, I will realize that the words are inappropriate and I quickly change the channel.  But other times, I hear great theology in a song (which I imagine wasn't what the artists meant, but it still works for me).  One of those songs is Counting Stars by the band One Republic.  Besides reminding me of Romans 7:15*, the song has a great line:

"Hope is a four-letter word..." 

Which I identify with.  Hope is a scary, scary concept.  Think about the statement, "Don't get your hopes up."  Being hopeful can be very hard when there is evidence of evil all around us.  Heck, being hopeful is difficult even when nothing particularly bad happens.

I often equate hope with joy:  neither are synonyms for happiness.  Both hope and joy are much deeper than that.  Hope and joy are rooted in our souls, but can easily be hidden in a heap of fear and anger.

So the scary part is allowing hope to push up through the crap that is fear and allow it to see the light of day... all the while knowing that opening our hearts like that can lead to great joy and love...and great heart-break.

Other scary four-letter words:

* I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.