It's a World Gone Mad

It all started when I saw municipal workers in a neighboring town putting up Christmas decorations the week after Halloween. It continued when, soon after, our local McDonald’s placed a lighted Christmas tree and reindeer display on its front lawn. Then, the weekend we went up north, we found to our shock a radio station that had already switched over to an “All Christmas Music, All the Time” format. And then came the Christmas television and radio commercials. Meanwhile, Thanksgiving is two weeks away.

Will you join me? One…two…three…

STOP IT! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IT! STOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPIT!

Thank you. I feel better now.

"Here Comes Jesus Christ, Right Down Jesus Christ Lane..."

Comment by a three-year-old to his grandmother during the Eucharist today, while she was whispering an explanation of what was going on: "Why doesn't Jesus come to our house like Santa Claus?"

The Story Continues

Fellow Traveler and I spent much of last evening at a church fundraiser for our friends, a financially struggling family whose dad was diagnosed with Stage 3 melanoma and whose prognosis is pretty bleak. We held the event at the township hall down the road from our church: a spaghetti dinner, cake walk and other games of chance, and auction. Almost all our active members lent a hand in some way. We contributed two cakes and several auction items.

Our teenage friend was there with her family. She defied parental instructions by periodically coming around and talking to us until a sister or parent called her away. At one point she slipped us a piece of paper with her MySpace address.

Meanwhile, we made an effort to be friendly with the parents. At one point the mom actually took the initiative to make small talk with us.

I'd like to think that shared concern about a beloved member of our church family was able to overcome this thing between our households, at least for an evening. But I don't want to keep going back; keep starting over. I wish I could ask the adults in the family, Why?

Bigotry Hits Home

I think I've talked here before of the low-level anxiety I always feel at church, as inclusive as our congregation is; that I'm always waiting for the shoe to drop regarding the issue of sexual orientation.

Well...I guess that's happened.

We've always had an especially friendly relationship with one of the teenagers in our congregation; she's an animal lover who likes our dogs and hangs out by the Jeep when they're with us, and we've also worked with her on various church projects. We've encouraged her in her academics and sports activities.

In the past few weeks she's grown more distant. I had chalked this up to the sort of anti-adult adolescent sulks that I used to have at that age, when Fellow Traveler told me that the girl had finally told her that she had been instructed by her mother not to talk to FT anymore because FT was "a queer." (I didn't seem to be included in this assessment; I'm not sure if Mom simply hasn't done the math yet, or can't believe that a good Lutheran girl can also be "a queer," or if I'm bundled into the prohibition as well.)

I could be angry. I guess I'm more disappointed, and frustrated. This is a family who worships with us each week; with and for whom we've prayed, to whom I've preached and whom I've helped commune; who's been involved with us in any number of church projects; whose kids' summer camp tuition and other youth ministry activities FT and I have consistently financially supported. What is so awful about us that a parent would ban her kids from interacting with us? What is she afraid of?

I know that the best antidote for this kind of thinking is to simply keep showing up, being who we've always been and doing what we've always done. And of course that's what we're going to do. But I wish this individual would understand how hurtful her behavior is, and how foolish it is for her to bar her daughter, at such an important and vulnerable age, from interacting with other caring, supportive adults.

An Era Passes

Cold Comfort Cottage is now officially in the 21st century, television-and-Internet-wise.

With help from Fellow Traveler, who did all the service provider wheeling and dealing, I now have satellite TV and Internet, for an amazingly discounted price. (CCC is now officially a "second home.")

Considering the direction heating prices are heading...I may be sitting in the living room in my winter coat and mukluks as my breath crystalizes in front of me...but at least I'll also be able to watch Ace of Cakes and download tunes while the frostbite sets in.

From the Mouths of Babes

Awhile back I blogged about a self-identifying "sister" who runs a local mission for the needy and who, in her spare time, writes rambling letters to the editor in the hometown paper that are politically to the right of the John Birch Society as well as rabidly homophobic. I pondered, on my blog, the wisdom of walking into the mission one day with a clothing donation -- maybe out of cussedness or defiance or the ol' coals-on-head holy-passive-aggression thing.

Well, my friend S's church -- specifically its children -- beat me to it. S belongs to another ELCA congregation. S's pastor and co-parishoners have repeatedly gone head-to-head with Sister X in the local paper's Letters to the Editor column. This congregation zigs where Sister X zags.

The other day a group of kids from S's church visited Sister X's mission with a delivery of food to be given away there. They had composed a song about Jesus that they sang to the mission workers.

I wonder if this isn't the way to start chipping at the Great Polarization on a grassroots level; just show up.

My pastor, a few of his mainline clerical friends and some of our people "just showed up" at a local National Day of Prayer event that has traditionally been a rally for Falwellian sociopolitical types; when it was their time to join in prayer they prayed for the masses of un- and underemployed in the area; for strength and wisdom to weather the changes in geopolitics, in economics, in environment that are changing life in this region; they prayed for protection from the hopelessness and frustration that lead to nihilism and scapegoating and hate.

Maybe I'll just show up at the mission with my grocery bag of clothes and some canned goods, after all.

Friday Five: Extravagantly Unbusy Edition

RevGal Sally writes:

"I am writing in my official capacity of grump!!! No seriously, with the shops and stores around us filling with Christmas gifts and decorations, the holiday season moving up on us quickly for many the time from Thanksgiving onwards will be spent in a headlong rush towards Christmas with hardly a time to breathe.... I am looking at the possibility of finding little gaps in the day or the week to spend in extravagant unbusyness ( a wonderful phrase coined by a fellow revgal)...

So given those little gaps, name 5 things you would do to;

1.to care for your body

2. to care for your spirit

3. to care for your mind

4. to bring a sparkle to your eye

5. to place a spring in your step

Enjoy the time to indulge and dream.... and then for a bonus which one on the list are you determined to put into action?"

Oh...how timely is this in light of our recent couple's retreat? Here's my list, adapted for those "unbusy" moments:

To care for my body: Exercise 15 minutes a day.

To care for my spirit: Follow the Daily Office more faithfully. (Because it really does make a difference. Really.)

To care for my mind: Read for enjoyment, at least a couple times a week.

To bring a sparkle to my eye: Visit an arts-and-crafts show or art exhibition.

To place a spring in my step: Contribute to our local "Angel Tree" project, where people in the community can purchase gifts for needy kids or vulnerable adults.

As far as what I'm most committed to -- FT and I sincerely want to commit to moving more. And now that our respiratory infections are finally starting to subside, we are going for it. Elliptical trainer, here we come!

Eatin' Good in the Neighborhood

After several days of surviving largely on chicken broth, I thought that peaked Fellow Traveler needed some more substantial eats. Plus, it's cold and snowy -- yes, snowy; time for something hearty.

So I pulled some beef short ribs out of the freezer. After thawing them and seasoning them with salt, pepper and mixed herbs -- I wanted thyme, couldn't find any because I'd left my bottle at The Other Domicile -- I browned them in olive oil; took my time until they were nicely browned and caramelized.

After removing the short ribs from the pan I poured off some of the oil and added a mirepoix -- a fine dice of maybe 2 cups of onion, 1/2 cup of celery and 1/2 cup of carrots -- sauteeing it while scraping up the browned bits from the bottom of the pan. When the vegetables were soft, I returned the short ribs to the pan and added a can of beef broth, 2 garlic cloves, more seasoning and about 1/4 cup of fresh parsley.

After heating up this mixture on low for a bit, I transferred it to a crockpot and refrigerated it overnight. The next day, Fellow Traveler put the crockpot on low and let the mixture simmer all day. Served over some homestyle noodles -- what a feast. And -- today after work I added some chopped tomato, extra onion, celery, parsley and broth to the leftovers, and made a terrific soup.

The Best-Laid Plans...

Well, it’s been almost a week since our couple’s retreat, where we examined the health of our bodies, minds and souls and created what I think are some good goals for us to strive for in the next year – and our plans were almost immediately kerfuffled – partly by the lingering “bug” that’s left us stuffy, headachy and listless; partly by the “fall back” time change, which is always disorienting, even after gaining an hour that first day; partly by basic inertia. We’re basing our daily success this week on being able to maneuver vertically through space; anything else is above and beyond.
Our very modest commitment to more daily exercise – nuh-uh. My commitment to less evening snacking – if anything, I’ve become more ravenous, almost Dagwoodian, after 7:00 pm. Daily devotions together? Not yet.
I’ve heard this phenomenon framed in terms of cosmological battle: As soon as you begin on a journey of wellness, spiritual and otherwise, the Adversary immediately gets busy setting roadblocks in the path, or creating distracting avenues to nowhere along the way.
I’m not sure that I want to be that cosmic about our kerfufflement. What I think is that human beings hate to change. We really, really hate it. As soon as we commit to a change, a part of our psyche digs its heels into the ground: Noooooooo! You can’t make me! Knowing the strength of the mind-body connection, I’m thinking that even our slow recovery from our illness is a kind of defense mechanism against change: How can you expect me to do all this new stuff when I feel so bad? Ditto the mechanism behind my increased hunger: Omigod! I’m going to starve! I’d better load up now before the food gets cut off!
I think one of the values of both spiritual direction and of cognitive therapy is to remind us that these sorts of reactions to change and growth are natural; but that once we have more insight into the “whys” of our feelings and behaviors, we’re more empowered to counter their irrational elements, and discover better strategies for overcoming those things that keep us stuck where we are.
Julian of Norwich compared the spiritual path to carrying a heavy load home to one’s master while walking along a ditch; every so often one becomes unbalanced and falls into the ditch. Knowing that our God is a God who understands, in a most intimate way, our burdens and weakness, who loves us and who forgives us when we take that periodic header into the ditch, can give us the faith and courage not to give up; to rebalance ourselves and keep going. And Christian community, in our own homes and without, can give us a continued hand up back onto the path.

Today's a new day. We'll see where it takes us.

The Nearly Great Thanksgiving

Fellow Traveler and I just sent out our invitations to our second annual family "open house"-style Thanksgiving dinner for folks we know (and, by extension, folks we may not know yet, whom the folks we know may know) who for whatever reason aren't going to be with their biological families this year during the holidays. We love doing stuff like this, and hope we get some positive responses. We will be serving locally raised turkey from our pal Farmer Ken, plus a groaning board of side dishes. (The number of same dependent on our RSVPs.) We're also going to go around the table and talk about our collective blessings during the past year. If we could somehow "virtualize" our feast to include our online friends, we'd do it!

Shameless Commerce Pitch

One of our best discoveries this past weekend was the Cherry Republic flagship emporium of all things cherry, located in Glen Arbor.

I'd known about it for ages -- and it has retail outlets elsewhere in the region -- but I'd always figured that it was kind of a tourist trap. Cherries are to northwest Michigan what oranges are to Florida, so once you get into Grand Traverse and Benzie and Leelanau Counties you pretty much can't spit without hitting cherry-themed merchandise. (Smoked cherry-whitefish sausage, anyone? I'm not making that up.)

This place, though, is fun, and self-consciously kitschy: It declares itself an independent republic, flying a banner of "Life, Liberty, Beaches and Pie." And the cherry products it sells are excellent; there are opportunities in the store to taste nearly every product. We'd been introduced to cherry salsa at Joe's Friendly Tavern in Empire last year, so we stocked up on it last weekend; the store also sells a very tasty cherry barbecue sauce, a host of cherry preserves ranging from jam to chutney, and lots more.

Adjoining the store are a winery and a cafe, both spotlighting cherry products.

And -- this is cool -- one percent of all sales go toward preserving the area's agricultural land, which is being quickly swallowed up by land developers and subdivisions; the old story of people moving up north to enjoy the rural atmosphere, then destroying the very thing they love until "up north" looks no different than any other suburb. One of the things I love about this part of the state is its commitment to community-supported agriculture and to planned growth with preservation of what makes the area special. (Mid-Michigan isn't there yet, and may never be, for a variety of socioeconomic reasons.) Anyway, it made us feel good to know that doing our Christmas shopping at Cherry Republic was also, in its own small way, helping local farmers, not only by purchasing their products but by helping finance programs that give them incentives to stay on the land and preserve their families' farming heritage in the face of encroaching development.

Cherry Republic does a brisk mail-order business, so give their website a visit. Oh -- and even though I try to keep this blog non-partisan, I would note that an election is going on, on the Republic website, giving you an opportunity to, among other choices, anoint a queen. Not that I'm trying to influence your vote or anything.

No More Whine For Me, Please

“Christianity’s Girly God” trumpets a new Beliefnet headline, above a lavender-tinted photo of a clapboard church. It’s a teaser for an interview with John Eldredge, who seems to have developed an entire literary career out of advocating for a Christianity more dispositionally suited for he-men like himself.

Now, my first reaction to such stuff was a kind of knee-jerk defensiveness: Who you callin’ girly, Ponytail Boy? And then I sighed at yet another pop-psych example men-are-from-Mars/women-are-from-Venus stereotyping that really does violence to complexity and diversity of human existence. I thought about the undertones of sexism and homophobia that usually accompany appeals to “muscular Christianity.” I thought of the kenotic irony involved in dismissing as “wimpy” and unchallenging Christian values like compassion and self-sacrificing love – which not only dismisses Jesus, but also dismisses the truly hard work of love and compassion. And then I had to laugh at the creative audacity of accusing an institution run almost exclusively by men for two millennia, and either tolerating or actively promoting misogyny for much of that time, of being “feminized” – sort of like kicking a woman down to the ground, holding her there with a jackboot to the neck and then criticizing her for not getting up and making the fight more interesting.

But then…after getting all lathered up about this interview, I wandered into the Beliefnet discussion forum and visited the Lutheran neighborhood, where a discussion is going on about the new hymnals in both the ELCA and LCMS, and about general hymnal vs. bulletin vs. projection worship modalities. One of the posters reported hearing a complaint from a fellow parishioner that the new hymnal in their church was “too heavy.”

Oy veh.

I had the same reaction, reading that, that I had watching a recent news report about children’s increasing alienation from nature, following a group of suburban schoolchildren taking a field trip in a nature preserve: One kid about 10 years old – a strapping lad who looked to have a bright future in caber-tossing or bear-wrestling or some such thing – was actually weeping on camera, whining, “The grass scratches my legs when I walk through it! I hate being outside!”

Oh my God, I thought. We have become a nation of utter wimps, and we are spawning more.

I don’t think that American Christianity’s problem is with a “girly God.” It’s with a wimpy membership whose enculturated intolerance of anything resembling effort or personal discipline or discomfort, much less sacrifice, spans genders and ages and socioeconomic strata.

And – here’s more irony – whiny-ass men who threaten to stay home and pout with their football and beer because they feel that church worship is too sissified, or because they can’t always be the bosses there, are as wimpy, ineffectual and annoying as any other societal whiner. Boo freaking hoo. I’m gettin’ out the world’s smallest violin, fellas.

I don’t know about you, but loving God and loving my neighbor – even and especially the neighbors who make me want to smack them upside the head – are pretty tough assignments; not for the weak of heart or mind or will.

A Pensive All Saints' Day

I'm sitting here in front of the fire at 9:00 -- no, 8:00 -- in the morning, having some quiet time before we check out and head for Suttons Bay, the next stop on our journey.

Last night, after our day of excursioning, I was really sick -- feverish, runny-eyed and runny-nosed, having a hard time breathing and generally miserable. I woke up bathed in sweat but feeling and breathing much better; a hot shower and bowl of oatmeal have made me feel almost entirely human again. (My viral adventure seems to be about two days behind Fellow Traveler's; she was in pretty rough shape Thursday night on the way up here.)

The original plan had been to do some spiritual tourism this morning at a local church. Problem is...there aren't any. Not many, anyway. And no friendly churches, if you know what I mean, within 25 miles. It's disappointing.

I've been feeling somewhat introspective this All Saints' Day. A good friend and fellow parishoner of Fellow Traveler's and mine, one of the has been diagnosed with Stage 3 melanoma, with a prognosis that's less than encouraging, and seeing him physically fade over the last few weeks makes us sad. How does it feel, on All Saints' Day, to ponder one's own passing from one existence from one to the other?

Right now -- and this is pure coincidence -- I'm listening to Catie Curtis' song "Passing Through," written with Mark Etelli:


We are passing this world on to our kids
From the day when they climb from their cribs
We'll try and teach them well, show them that they're loved
But in the end all we can do is hope our best was good enough
They'll witness how this life can be so beautiful and cruel
We can't shelter them forever but if we show them all the tools
They might leave this world in a little better shape than me and you
We are only passing through

Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through
Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through

We are watching this world from our living rooms
Near forty years since we walked on the moon
This big blue ball is shrinking and I don't know if that's good
But for better or for worse now this whole world's our neighborhood
And there's no place left to run to, to stay above the fray
We better learn to get along not just to get our way
Not only for each other but our children's children too
We are only passing through

Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through
Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through

And I wonder sometimes what will I pass on
How much can one voice do with just a song
Sometimes injustice and indifference are all that I see
But I refuse to let my hope become the latest casualty
So I'll sing of love and truth and try to practice what I preach
If I can't change the world, I'll change the world within my reach
What better place to start than here and now with me and you
We are only passing through

Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through
Passing through, passing through
We are only passing through
We are only passing through

Greetings From God's Country!

Whoddathunk that our rustic retreat venue, tucked against the Sleeping Bear Dunes, had wi-fi?

Yes, it's been a weekend of improbables...beginning with Fellow Traveler's and my raging head colds, which came upon us full force Thursday, on the way here, and almost jettisoned our retreat.


Another improbable: The idea that a personal retreat plan from the Calvin Seminary website could be morphed into a very fruitful couple's retreat for two middle-aged lesbians. Ah, well..,the Lord moves in mysterious ways. Equally improbable is our retreat location, Duneswood, a "womyn-friendly" resort up here; I rather think our little cabin has never heard so much overt Godstuff going on.

Anyway, the programmed segment of our retreat went wonderfully...so much so that we've decided to go on retreat as a couple every year. The "Body, Mind and Soul" theme really helped us gain an appreciation of our strengths and weaknesses in this area, gave us some goals to work on, and underscored the idea that we are in a partnership with God and with one another in working toward wholeness.


Today is a free day. We'd taken a little break yesterday between segments to go provisioning in nearby Glen Arbor and give the dogs a chance to run around on one of the abandoned farmsteads that are part of the Sleeping Bear park system. Today we're in total "play" mode; we're heading off to our favorite area coffee shop for ginger scones, then doing a local culture crawl, then coming back to watch the MSU-U of M game. Hope you're all having nearly as much fun as we are today!

For All the Saints

As two simul iustus et peccator saints-in-training -- cold-sniffly-sneezy but determined saints in training -- prepare to head up north for our retreat...some music of the season for you -- have a blessed All Saints' Day and great weekend:

Ooh...Now, That's Scary

Cody loves his food. Actually, he loves food more than any other living thing I know loves food, including me. He will go head to head and bite for bite with his 55-pound golden retriever sister Cassie, and usually winds up eating more than she does...all the while -- sigh -- maintaining his svelte nine-pound training weight.
When given a favorite food -- chicken, cheeseburgers and "s'ghetti" -- he literally dives into the bowl, so great is his enjoyment. Oftentimes we make our dogs a homemade stew of hamburger, rice and vegetables; here is a picture of The Codeman after a recent repast: "I loves me that burger an' gravy!"

Well, It's Got a Beat, and You Can Dance To It

For your viewing and listening pleasure: The Reformation Polka, courtesy of YouTube:

Word Up

Well, it's been about a week since I started journaling on the day's Gospel lesson on my Beliefnet home page .

It's been an interesting experience, and a good personal discipline, dashing off these drive-by reflections. I'd like to think that my lay ministry studies have helped inform my reading to a certain extent, although I'm approaching the readings from a less thinky, more intuitive angle.

(Un)Happy Reformation Day

I assisted at the service yesterday...a last-minute scheduling change which worked out beautifully, because I had to find someone to sub for me next Sunday while I'm at Fellow Traveler's and my retreat.

Throughout my childhood and into my college years, Reformation Sunday was always a big deal at church -- thunderous renditions of "A Mighty Fortress" with brass accompaniment and choral descants; "Yay, Team!" sermons; a feeling that we, as Lutherans, had been part of an astounding moment in history.

Things change. Today in these ecumenical times many Lutherans and other children of the Reformation are uncomfortable with Reformation Day; "Yay, Team!" has given way to a more introspective and even self-critical assessment of Luther and his legacy.

But there's something else. I assisted yesterday morning at our quite modest Reformation Sunday service; as the pastor gave a brief explanation of the significance of this day on the Church calendar, and as I looked out into the congregation and saw blank faces looking back at me, it occurred to me that we as a faith community -- and I mean all Lutherans, not just my congregation -- have lost so much of our shared narrative; our common understanding of Church history, of the wheel of the Church year, of the basics of our theology. That saddens me. I think we are diminished by that.

Also disheartening is the reaction of so many contemporary Christians to the Reformation message of God's unmerited grace -- the good news that our relationship with God isn't predicated by our "earning points by doing stuff"; that God always comes down to rescue and befriend us. This concept is as offensive now as it's always been, in the Christian community. The need for a Reformation is as timely now as it was in 1517.

You Can Take the Lutheran Out of the Potluck, But You Can't Take the Potluck Out of the Lutheran

This evening we're headed to a catered thank-you dinner that our church is putting on for everyone who helped, in any way, to build our new addition. What I find amusing is that, for the last month or so, the bulletins and Sunday morning announcements have reminded parishoners, "This is not a potluck. You don't have to bring any food. Please don't bring a dish to pass."

For any bettin' folks out there: What do you think the odds are that, when we get to church, we'll nonetheless find a few bubbling crockpots of sauerkraut and baked beans?