Sent to Whom? Settled Into What?

This past weekend, as mentioned, I had the opportunity to hear the ELCA's Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson preach. His sermon was based on what I later found out is kind of a denominational mantra these days: We need to be a sent church, not a settled church.

Well, that's rather obvious. But to whom are we sent?

This past week I encountered an individual on Beliefnet who is obsessed with hell; who has posted serial topic threads on more than one forum asking things like, "I love God...what can I do so that I don't sin, so that I won't go to hell?" and "Does God send children to hell?" and "Are all sins the same or are some worse than others?"

I also encountered a newspaper feature article on a local teenager dying of incurable cancer, who is spending his last days worrying that members of his family aren't "saved."

Lutherans are practical folk. When we're told that we're called to reach out to others, the reaching-out is often in tangibles -- a quilt for a refugee; a roaster of food for a family in distress; a helping hand on a building project. But I might suggest that one of the most important ways we can reach out to people around us is to actually proclaim the Gospel -- not the Bible-banging, prooftexting blather of stereotypical evangelism, but the real good news of Christianity: That God's default characteristics are love and grace, not hate or anger or contempt for creation or a stony bureaucratic insistence on The Rules; that God loves us, no matter what, and has demonstrated that love through Jesus Christ, God With Us; that God has saved and is saving and will save us. This is frankly not a message that resounds through much of American Christianity today, as evidenced, at least to me, by the number of Christians cowering in fear of being kicked off the God bus into the abyss.

But being sent means no longer being settled -- no longer settled in the whiny, defensive self-pity that many of us mainliners seem to marinate in when we see our denominational membership statistics or Sunday attendance stats; no longer settled in our rhetorical comfort zones, wherever those may be, in our endless intra-denominational pissing matches; no longer settled in the drowsy mists of personal/tribal curvatus in se.

We're sent to tell other people -- including other Christians for whom this is news -- that God loves them. What a concept.

A Seasonal Friday Five

1. Share a highlight from this summer. (If you please, don't just say "our vacation to the Canadian Rockies." Give us a little detail or image. Help us live vicariously through you!)
I remember sitting up in the nosebleed seats of Comerica Park, watching the Detroit Tigers but also looking at the downtown skyline, thinking about how my mother spent some very enjoyable years -- probably the best years of her life -- working as a secretary there, before she got married and moved to Outer Podunk. I felt, for a moment, as if she were revisiting Detroit through me.

2. Are you glad to see this summer end? Why or why not?
In a way I am, because we've had a lot of illness and stress this season that I'd just as soon distance myself from. On the other hand -- as much as I love autumn, the discernably shortening days of late summer always make me feel melancholic.

3. Name one or two things you're looking forward to this fall.
I am looking forward to apple season, particularly looking for antique apples; and I'm looking forward to leaf-peeping "up north" as the season progresses.

4. Do you have any special preparations or activities to mark the transition from one season to another? (Cleaning of house, putting away summer clothes, one last trip to the beach)
Sadly, the rituals are all un-fun, practical ones: replacing and weatherstripping the storm windows; calling the furnace guy for an inspection and cleanup; pulling straggly annuals and spent tomato plants. Well...let me take that back: Going to the Wheatland Music Festival, the weekend after Labor Day, is an enjoyable transition; it usually still feels like summer proper, but the morning mist and chill, the drying grass of the fields, the scattered red and yellow leaves here and there along the roadsides, hint of a change.

5. I'll know that fall is really here when __________________________________.
When I hear the furnace turn on!


Hat tip: The gorgeous artwork is Ros Forbush's "End of Summer," available at South Street Gallery .

Mucho Salsa

The other weekend while we were tour-guiding the relation around Amish country we bought a pint of Amish salsa. It was very good.

"You know," Fellow Traveler mused, "we could can our own salsa."

This was true. I still had my mom's canner and jars and canning accoutrements. And the local farm markets are overflowing with raw materials.

Tonight, Ball Blue Book in hand, after FT spent an entire day peeling blanched tomatoes and chopping other vegetables, we began to can salsa. We are still canning salsa.

This is either one of our most inspired or most insane summer projects.

I am designated lid-pop listener. If the lids don't pop, we are going to have to throw one heck of a taco party.

Says Fellow Traveler: "I will never, ever complain about the price of store-bought salsa again."

A Joke...Sort Of

This joke comes to you courtesy of theologian Marva Dawn, by way of my blogpal Andy at Sinning Boldly:

A worldwide survey was conducted by the UN. The only question asked was: "Would you please give your honest opinion about solutions to the food shortage in the rest of the world?"

The survey was a huge failure.

In Africa, they didn't know what "food" meant.
In Eastern Europe they didn't know what "honest" meant.
In Western Europe they didn't know what "shortage" meant.
In China they didn't know what "opinion" meant.
In the Middle East they didn't know what "solution" meant.
In South America they didn't know what "please" meant.
And in the US, they didn't know what "the rest of the world" meant.

Birth of the Blues?

During my commutes back and forth to my retreat this weekend (I still chuckle at calling my trainings "retreats" -- we don't retreat very far, do we), I was listening to Eric Clapton's excellent From the Cradle, his paen to the blues greats. These blues are so low-down that you get road rash on your belly just hearing them.

Juxtaposed against the Psalm laments -- they were the perfect soundtrack. Serendipity!

Being There

Quite a celebration they had for our synodical bishop's installation on Saturday.

It was really quite a moving event -- seeing all the clergy there (especially all the female clergy) decked out in their red and white vestments (even my generally ecclesiastical-swag-averse pastor was clad in a regulation red stole); the music, which featured everything from a massed choir with brass and woodwinds to the bishop's son, who performs in a folk-rock duo, singing a song he and his musical partner composed specifically for the event; seeing and hearing Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson, whose sermon about striving to be a sent church rather than a settled church I hope our laity takes to heart; the actual installation ceremony, in which the entire congregation was invited to raise a hand and symbolically add our blessings to those of the clergy actually laying hands on him.

As Constant Readers know I have equivocal feelings, to say the least, about Church, Inc. But I truly wish our new bishop well. Earlier in the morning he'd stopped into our lay ministry classroom for a few minutes, and he was most gracious and supportive.

I would love to be a part of a church that has gotten over its sentimentality for 1950's-era white-gloved cultural Christianity and its self-pity over its changing demographic fortunes, and is ready to get on with it and live Christ into the future.

Anyhow...you can read about the installation here .

A Culturally Engaging Friday Five

Sally from the RevGalBlogPals offers the following challenge this week:

I have spent the week at Summer School studying the Gospel and Western culture, we have looked at art, literature, music, film and popular culture in their myriad expressions. With that in mind I bring you the cultural Friday 5.

Name a

1. Book

2. Piece of music

3. Work of art

4. Film

5. Unusual engagement with popular culture

That have helped/challenged you on your spiritual journey.

Bonus: Is engagement essential to your Christian faith, how and why?

Wow...having just gotten back from my commuter retreat with a case of major fatigue/brain fry, it is going to be difficult to be very thoughtful here...but I will make the attempt:

Book. Robert Farrar Capon's Supper of the Lamb is a delightful book that explores the connection between spirituality and food. Even though it's been around awhile, I recently noticed it featured in a cookbook-of-the-month club; it made me happy to think of it reaching a wider audience in this way. As I've noted in other blog entries, I've never thought of myself as much of a hostess-with-the-mostess, but offering hospitality has become a greater part of life over the past year and a half; and I'm interested in approaching this from a spiritual perspective.

Piece of music. The Godspell soundtrack was a formative influence on me when I was still a fluffy young LutheranChik.

Work of art. I love the artwork of Carl Larsson, which celebrates home life and a simple but aesthetically mindful lifestyle. To me his paintings of his home and farm and neighborhood represent a kind of ideal of an integrated life.

Film. I'm so tired I can't answer this one. Casablanca. That's always a good answer; right? Virtue exhibited by a flawed individual?

Unusual engagement with popular culture. I think that having circles of friends and acquaintances well outside the circle of "church people" -- a neighborhood where many of us folks of faith would, in our heart of hearts, prefer to dwell -- has done nothing but benefit my faith walk. Spending a significant number of years on a Christianity vacation has also provided me with a kind of outsider's perspective that I now find most helpful in engaging with the wider world. And I'd truly rather be here on the margins than anywhere else. I think it's where God has called me to be.

Good Things

In many ways this has been a very frustrating summer at our house -- neither of us have felt our best physically or emotionally much of the time; and then there was Fellow Traveler's tumor scare; and we've had various obligations steal our time away; and I've had the added stressor of extreme job dissatisfaction. And let's not even talk about the constant negative drumbeat of current events.

Despite this, we have found ourselves counting a number of blessings, big and little this summer. They include:

FT's nephew, who just spent a weekend with us. He's a smart, sensitive, thoughtful and wryly humorous young man who went through an incredibly difficult childhood that forced him to, more or less, grow himself up. He's also had to live through the trauma of his sister, his only other sibling, being murdered, and carries the burden of caring for and worrying about parents who've made poor life choices they're now paying for physically and otherwise. We were so happy to get to know him, and help him reconnect to his extended family history, and offer our support to him.

The recreational area that is just a hop, skip and jump from my house. When I was a kid, this was a private sportsman's club; it later became county property. We love to take the dogs here to run around, and we've also spent enjoyable times fishing and picnicing here. There's winding roads and trails; a river with an observation deck; picnic tables, barbecue grills and horseshoe pits; even a log lodge that groups can rent. I can't believe that I never took advantage of this wonderful recreational spot before.

My front porch -- another unused gem right under my nose. My parents never sat on their porch; my mother, particularly, was afraid of bugs and bats and weather. We have reclaimed my porch -- have a table and stadium chairs set up; have my houseplants, outside enjoying summer camp, nearby for ambience. It's the bestest place to drink coffee on a weekend morning.

Jones Sugar-Free Cream Soda. It rocks. It contains sucralose, which the Jones Soda folks maintain is a better tasting artificial sweetener, so if you're put off by other sugar-free beverages you might want to try this.

Chateau Chantal Naughty Red Wine. This is the actual name of the wine -- a red wine from the Grand Traverse region, which is more well known for its Rieslings and other white wines. This wine is very light, and just a teeny-tad sweet; it's actually better chilled, and as the label suggests, you can be "naughty" and pair it with fish or other light foods that are typically served with white wines.

Our grills. I am a grilling newbie; my dad would clean the cobwebs off our old charcoal grill maybe once or twice a summer for a hot dog roast, and that was it. This year, I've really gotten to enjoy experimenting with our charcoal grill -- trying different charcoals and wood chips. (A major discovery -- pork steak, usually thought of as po' food, grills up really well, especially when it's flavored by apple chips.) We've also gotten a lot of use out of my old George Foreman outdoor kettle grill, which is now on Fellow Traveler's patio; it's easy and fast and a good cooking alternative to the stove on a hot day. I'm told that I can use wood chips in "The George," as we call it...we'll have to try it out sometime.

Wasabi-coated almonds. Very addictive, especially as road food.

The Yoder kids. These are two engaging Amish lads -- Prince Valiant haircuts, straw hats, no shoes -- who sell quilts, baskets and canned goods on a well-traveled intersection not too far from Outer Podunk. The older brother is the salesperson, and a good one; the younger brother mostly looks charming, but occasionally joins in the conversation. We have bought numerous items from them and gotten to know them. This past weekend, when we were taking FT's sister and nephew around the neighborhood, we felt sorry for the boys sitting there in the heat, and on the return trip we brought them pop and Snickers bars -- their surprise and delight was itself delightful.

Putumayo music. It's funny how we go through music phases. This summer, after listening to an album by a group called Inanna, I really started wanting to listen to more world music. We listen to Music From the Coffee Lands and Music From the Wine Lands quite a lot; "Puerto Claridad," from the latter compilation, is my favorite song...quite friskifying, if you get my drift.

I'm sure I could think of more Good Things, but I'll stop now.

I Didn't Say It -- My Therapist Did

My therapist, on maintaining one's internal locus of control in the face of constantly critical/uncomprending presences in one's life -- the kind of people who suck the soul and morale and energy out of you:

"You know, it's okay to listen politely, nod your head and say you understand...and then walk away thinking, Fuck you."

Pawn Meets Bishop

I got an invitation to a bishop's installation this Saturday. Actually, it's at the church where I'm having a lay ministry retreat.

How does one dress for an installation? My retreat-wear usually consists of blue jeans and MSU sweatshirts; guess I'll have to gussy up a little.

Reunion Recap

Hey -- family reunions are cool. Especially when they're not mine. I mean -- one side of my family is a little too hoch und heilig to be much fun, and the other (the barbecued beaver on a bun side) is a little too jackpine savage. Fellow Traveler's reunion, by contrast, was a great deal of fun. I even won a golfing-practice thingmabob during the reunion auction.

A good time was had by all.

Friday Poetry Blogging

With the beginning of school just around the corner, here's an ode to a teacher who made a difference. I hope we all had a Mrs. Krikorian in our young lives.

Friday Five: Word Play

This Friday's RevGalBlogPals' Friday Five asks us to free-associate using the following words, taken from this coming Sunday's lectionary readings:

vineyard: When I was a kid my experience of grapevines was limited to the wild ones that meandered through the brush along the side of the road and the sprawling Concord vine, covering a length of fence and taking over the nearby yardlight pole, that my aunt and uncle had in their backyard. So when I first saw an actual vineyard, I was shocked at how short and stubby and frankly ugly the grapevines were; it seemed impossible that so many grapes could come from these unpromising rows of gnarled stumps. Thinking about it, though, especially as I try to live a more mindful and ordered life -- what a metaphor for the benefits of wresting order from chaos; for selective pruning of those parts of our behaviors and reactions to life that aren't necessary, that draw the life away from that part of ourselves that's creative...that's fruitful. Although once in awhile we also need to get away to those wild, tangled woodland vine arbors for refreshment and inspiration.

root: Roots have been on my mind lately because my container tomatoes -- which is all of them, because keeping them in pots close to my house is the only way I can protect them against marauding deer -- are becoming potbound at this point of the year. Their soil has become a solid root-sponge; I have to constantly water and feed the containers to keep the plants alive. The same thing seems to happen to our spiritual roots when we deprive ourselves of the soil of Word and Sacrament and when we don't give ourselves room to move intellectually or emotionally or relationally in our faith lives -- we become potbound; stunted; sickly; easily dried up.

rescue: Once upon a time, when I was exploring alternative forms of medicine, I bought myself a little bottle of a Bach elixir called Rescue Remedy, to use when I was feeling anxious and scattered. (The Bach flower remedies are -- and I'm sorry if I offend anyone here -- a little bit of homeopathic hoo-doo; the Bach people shake and dilute, and shake and dilute, and shake and dilute, to an exponential degree, tiny amounts of plant material until, they claim, one is left with the "essence" of the plant. They then mix this water with brandy in a little bottle. You're supposed to squirt a few drops of this substance on your tongue to derive the medical benefits of this "essence.") Anyway, the Rescue Remedy did not rescue me from my next bout of acute anxiety. And that's what I think of when I think of rescue -- a feeling of relief and closure and beating back chaos.

perseverance: I used to work in an office with an ex-Marine whose favorite exclamation, whenever he was frustrated or confused or under a deadline, was, "Persevere!" I have to say -- while that particular job was forgettable, I often find myself falling back on his self-reminder when I am in a jam.

divided: On one hand I think of unhealthy divisions, like the various issues that divide faith communities. On the other hand, I also think of my perennials, and how if some of them, like irises, aren't divided from time to time, they tend to lose their vigor and fade away.

(Note to the RevGals: As helpful as it sometimes is to think about The Big Things, I'm ready for some fun and frivolous Friday Fives again...just a suggestion!)

Living the Psalms

One of my required readings for my upcoming lay ministry retreat is James Limburg's Psalms For Sojourners. It occurs to me that, with all the medical Sturm und Drang we've been through this spring and summer, we've been living a lot of the Psalms in a very immediate way.

I recall whining to someone once about the diminished or even vanished role of the Psalms in Sunday liturgies, and their response was that, because the Psalms are so emotionally raw, they're perhaps more fitting for individual and small-group worship anyway. He may have had a point.

Family Reunion

I'm going to a family reunion this weekend.

Big deal;right? Well, it is if it isn't your family, biologically speaking. And it's a big deal in our household because we'll be bringing along Fellow Traveler's sister, a former wild child of the 60's and 70's who has been estranged from the rest of the clan, and whom FT herself hasn't seen in 20 years; her sister and her nephew are flying in this weekend and staying with us.

I don't have a lot of experience with family reunions; my extended families, for various reasons, weren't too keen on rendevouzing. I do remember one reunion, when I was a tween, of my paternal grandmother's side of the family; these folks were all avid hunters,fur trappers and fisherpeople, so the reunion potluck was rather...eclectic. (Barbecued beaver on a bun, anyone? And, no, I didn't make that up.) When I was in college the paternal grandfather's side of the family got together; but at that point my interest in familial bonding was at low ebb, so I stayed away.

In some respects I find it something of a relief to go to a reunion where I'm an "other" biologically, if not relationally, and don't have any family baggage to tote along. And I like the members of Fellow Traveler's family I've met so far, and they seem to like me in return; they keep asking FT, "You're bringing LutheranChik, aren't you?" But in a way this actually makes me feel more protective of FT's sister; I want people to be as kind and welcoming to her as they've been to me.

So...we are bringing Amish pies from our friend Lydia and my famous Chinese cabbage salad, and some tschotshkes for the family secondhand auction. I'm hoping we have a great time, and that FT's sister's family-baggage load lightens up a bit.

A Sign That the End is Nigh

Today, for about 30 seconds, I seriously considered ordering and reading Accounting For Dummies.

Life Is Good

Fellow Traveler's tests came back today negative for any sign of cancer.

When people ask me where God is during times of trial...to me God is in the hearts and hands of God's friends who reach out to help. So thank God, and thank all of you.

To Hell and Back

A discussion on the Beliefnet Lutheran forum about hell -- a trollish correspondent is having a fit because, in his perception, not enough Lutherans have a sufficient appreciation for the horrors of hell and all the people that, presumably unlike said correspondent, are headed there -- reminded me that I took a trip to Hell last week.

Hell, Michigan , that is.

We made a side trip to Hell, a village in Livingston County, on the way home from Ann Arbor. Hell is pretty empty most of the time, although it's a popular tourist destination at Halloween. There's a party store in Hell, and a tavern called the Dam Site (there really is a dam), and a tourist-kitsch/ice cream place. The residents of Hell we encountered were unfailingly nice, and also articulate and enthusiastic promoters of their hometown.

We'd intended to have an ice cream cone in Hell, but thought the better of it. I did find it interesting, though, that the kitsch portion of the store seemed to be hedging its bets, because in addition to the hellish merchandise it also carried a buff Jesus action figure.

I had my semi-sister-in-law snap a photo of my dog Cody peering out from a signboard proclaiming "I'm a Little Devil From Hell"; unfortunately it's still in her camera.

Anyway...now I can say I've been to Hell and back.

Who Da Man? He Da Man

This summer, more than ever, I have let my Inner Jock -- consigned to a dark corner of my psyche ever since I was a fat, gym-challenged kindergartener -- run free.

It's fun. I watch the Shock. I even watched golf the other day. But most of all, I watch the Tigers.

Curtis Granderson is awesome -- I mean, that guy is everywhere and does everything. Pudge Rodriguez rocks; what a team player. But my fan-ish heart belongs, most of all, to...Magglio Ordonez. I would wear a Maggs jersey any day.

One Perspective on the 2007 General Assembly

Before the 2007 ELCA General Assembly: Chop wood, carry water.

After the 2007 ELCA General Assembly: Chop wood, carry water.