Resistance & Rebellion – Living with My Inner Artist

She went with us to the Caribbean,
in all her multiple-quotation,
list-of-affirmations,
call-to-creativity glory.
And I dutifully read all of the introductory
material and chapter one,
learning about such things as 
the brains we all juggle
(Logic/Artist);
the principles of creativity 
and why we need to live by them;
the powerful voice of the Inner Censor.
And most appropriately,
I learned about the Creative Block.
Why appropriate, you ask?
Because at the end of it all,
I found myself in the middle of
a big, fat, nasty one,
 that’s why.
I was on vacation.
And Julia asked me to commit to
WORK.
Morning pages,
an Artist’s Date,
Weekly Check-Ins,
a timeline look back at my life,
in search of Monsters who might
have stifled my budding artistic genius.
But here’s something you may not know about me:
I am, at heart, a Rebel.
I know, I know.
I don’t look like a rebel at all.
I am a ‘good girl’ 
(if people of my age are allowed 
to refer to themselves as ‘girls’).
I’m a pastor, for pete’s sake.
I’m older.
I dress conservatively
(except for the occasional wild and crazy color 
and a whole lotta jewelry).
I take care of others.
Yes, I do a whole of that last one.
I take care of others.
I read the Bible and I do so
because I believe that I meet God there.
I am a centrist theologically.
I am a centrist in most things.
But.
I resist following the rules.
I resent being told how to do things.
I don’t tolerate what I perceive to be ‘fluff’ too well.
My eyes tend to glaze over when
I read the words ‘affirmation’
or ‘ creative recovery.’
Imagine my response, then, to this volume.
Oh, I’ve underlined it aplenty,
I’ve even got stars and creased corners on
lots and lots of pages.
I actually liked a lot of what I read,
agreed with it, too.
Until I got to the part where I had to do something about it.
Yeah, that’s when the Rebel showed up.
Don’t know if she’s related to the Inner Censor,
but I have a hunch they’re kissin’ cousins.
Because once I started reading about what I
needed to do to release my Inner Artist –
I started to push back, HARD.
First of all, I don’t do longhand anymore.
Never was good at it 
(yes, that’s the voice of the Inner Censor – 
but it’s also the voice of reality), 
I hate doing it and can’t really read what I write anymore.
(Of course, we’re not supposed to read this stuff.
We’re just supposed to write it.)
And I’m not a morning person.
AT ALL.
And in my dotage,
I indulge my non-morning-ness whenever I can.
So the two times I actually did write the dang pages,
it was well into mid-day. 

The Artist’s Date?
Now, that’s something I can wrap my mind around.
In fact, it’s something I actually already do, 
although I’ve never called it that.
I seek solitude, often at the beach or a favorite restaurant,
and I look for beauty wherever I go.
That one was a cinch.

The timeline I got to today.
And here’s what I discovered –
the biggest Monster in my story is…
ME.
Yup. I get in my own way more than anyone else ever has.
Sure, my mom (and my dad) had hopelessly high
expectations for me when I was a child.
They were both artists in their own way
and my small muscle development was lousy
(remember what I said about handwriting earlier?).
So I just quit trying to do anything with my hands.
And I quite trying very, very early. 
I couldn’t play piano like my dad or my brother.
I couldn’t draw or create beauty like my mother,
so I didn’t do it.
Ever.
Until I went to college and no longer felt the weight of my parents’ abilities pressing in on me every single day.
And when I began to venture out a little here,
a little there, it turned out I could do some things
acceptably well. 
Not great, but okay.
But the real, true chicken-heart was inside me,
not my parents, not my teachers, not my friends,
not my employers.
Me. 

So.

Now I’m facing this HUGE block.
No ideas.
No desire.
No sense of call.
No sense of giftedness.
Nada.
Zilch.

Think maybe I’m just the teensiest bit resistant?

The Rebellious Resistor.
Pretty much my middle name.

Sigh.

Joining with Lyla and the gang over at Tweetspeak Poetry for the interactive posting about Julia Cameron’s classic book, “The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.” As you can tell, I have a lot of inner work to do. Oy vey. Lord, have mercy.

 

 

Why I Am Hopeful for the Future of the Church: a Photo Essay

Four days at one of the most spectacular Catholic retreat centers in the country, just outside the great city of Chicago.

Four days of some of the most intense work I’ve done since my retirement at the end of 2010.

Four days living in a small dormitory, individual rooms, shared bathrooms, one large living room with a fluorescent light buzzing loudly enough to wake the dead and a heater occasionally cranking out warm air with a deafening whoosh.
Four days with nine other people, only a few of whom I knew at all, each with their own ideas/opinions/working styles/life experiences/biases/favorite talking points.

The work was exhausting, confusing, challenging, amorphous, multi-layered, intense, demanding and important. It was also rich, rewarding, exhilarating, and very, very good.

While breathing in a glorious whiff of springtime in the Midwest, walking to the dining room, finding long-time friends by accident, discovering shared connections with new friends, hearing stories of gospel good news from all corners of this country we share, somehow – by God’s grace – we became a team. 

Not always in agreement, sometimes dissatisfied with results, often overwhelmed by the task – we joined hearts, heads, prayers, and vision to do the work before us.

Our task? To create a weekend retreat experience as part of our denominational tool-kit; something that could be led by a trained facilitator in a variety of church settings; a brief slice of time in which people might begin to discover what it feels like to truly listen and to be fully heard.

How often do we come together with other followers of Jesus and feel as if we are invisible? Not seen, not heard, not understood. Very little in our day-to-day living – filled as it is with tight schedules, too much ‘should’ and ‘ought’ and ‘How are you?’ and ‘Oh, I’m fine…just f.i.n.e’ – very little in our lives allows enough space to practice listening well. 

We wanted to create something that would help people to find and nurture true spiritual companionship as we journey together through life. Something that would introduce the basics of attentive listening, something that would encourage the thoughtful sharing of stories, something that would include an enlivening thread of liturgical worship, a shared meal, the sacrament of communion.

We hammered away at it from Sunday night through Wednesday noon, sampling things like dwelling in the word, taking a Cleopas walk, using art or music to fill in the gaps, thinking about lifemaps and technology and crafting a blessing. 

It was tough sledding at a few points and there is much still to be done. 

But here’s the greatest gift of this time away, this intense stretch of little sleep, lots of questions and not quite enough answers:  

I discovered a beautiful sprouting thing in the center of my spirit – a thing with wings and light-filled, buoyant beauty. And it’s name is HOPE. 

And right here is where much of that hope is centered: three women who are pastors. Three beautiful-to-the-core, loving, creative, committed, intelligent, Jesus-loving, kingdom-building, forward-thinking, open-hearted, life-giving leaders in our denomination who will change the church as we know it. ALL FOR THE GOOD. Becky from Ohio, Diana from Illinois, Michelle from Massachusetts – each of them gifted by God and called ‘for such a time as this.’ Each of them eager to follow the Nazarene wherever he may lead them, each of them fearless in their faith, pushing the envelope of ‘that’s how it’s always been done,’ seeking the pearl of great price, no matter the cost.

So, as I flew home on Wednesday night, I gave deep thanks for the work of the Spirit in our midst. I basked in the afterglow of new-found friendship. I rested in the knowledge that the God we serve is ever-faithful, ever-present, ever-guiding and guarding the church.

As the California ground got closer and closer, I marveled at the rich communion just enjoyed in Chicago, all of it centered around our shared commitment to the deep ways of God. I rejoiced in the wisdom of older saints, in the commitment of denominational leaders to finding new ways of going ‘higher up and further in,’ and the energy and probing thoughtfulness of the entire group. One woman ran a marathon on Sunday and flew west that night. One man participated in a spiritual directors’ graduation ceremony on Sunday and took the red-eye east to join us on Monday morning.

We all thought this was important work, creating the last in a set of three retreat options for the broader church, this one focusing on leaning into and learning from one another. That sense of shared values and high commitment fueled each piece of the discussion and experimentation of our time together.

Over the next two months, I must assemble all our notes, all our thoughts and prayers and goals and guesses into some sort of cohesive whole. This will be a work in progress for a number of months, with pilot experiences in the fall.

We hope to end up with something that encourages people to journey more deeply together. For if there is one thing I know at this end of life’s twists and turns, it is this: there truly are NO ‘Lone Ranger’ Christians. We need each other, we are better together, we are meant to be a living body of believers, connected 
by the binding, energizing power of the Holy Spirit, 
by the shed blood of Jesus Christ who shared our flesh, 
by the creative, living presence of Almighty God.


My deep thanks to Doreen Olson, Executive Minister of the Department of Christian Formation of the Evangelical Covenant Church, to Millie Lungren, Director of Covenant Resources and overseer for Prayer Ministries for the DCF, and to Diana Shiflett, spiritual director and Associate Pastor at Naperville Covenant Church, for her skill and grace in facilitating this experience.

The rest of our team consisted of:
Ron Ferguson, Associate Pastor, and spiritual director from Keene, New Hampshire
Jim Gaderlund, retired pastor, spiritual director, coordinator for Re-Visioning and Sabbath Retreats for the denomination from Mountain View CA
Letha Kerl, spiritual director and Regional Co-Director for Missions in Europe and Africa from Lyons, France and the Seattle area while on home assignment
John Kiemele, spiritual director, Founder and Director of Selah Contemplative Retreats, Seattle WA 
Becky Przybylski, Associate Pastor, Toledo OH
Michelle Sanchez, Associate Pastor, Medford MA, in training for spiritual direction 




I will be posting this with Michelle at Graceful, with Jen at Finding Heaven, with Laura at The Wellspring and with L.L. at Seedlings in Stone. You can find their buttons on the sidebar to the right.



The Source of Life…a Guest Post

I am writing with the good folks over at bibledude.net today about some of the words in 1 John 5…

When you stop to think about it, the longevity of the church of Jesus Christ is pretty remarkable. Over 2000 years and the church still stands, proclaiming the miracle of transformation through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Jesus – who was, is and will always be the Son of God, embodying for the world the essence of God’s love. Just last week – churches all over the world walked through Holy Week, climbing to the cross in remembrance of Jesus’ sacrificial death. And just yesterday, we celebrated the glory of the empty tomb – the perfect picture of the new life found in Jesus. The vitality of our story is unchanged over time; the center remains.
Because let’s face it, without Jesus right there at the center of it all – the church is not the church. And the writer of 1 John wants to remind these early believers to hang onto to Jesus for dear life. He writes from the loving heart of a concerned pastor, someone who cares deeply about the believers in and around Ephesus. And he writes to remind them to be the church…
Joining the Community Bible Study series on 1 John today – over at The Bible Dude’s good space. Join me over there to read this whole reflection?
http://bibledude.net/testimony-concerning-the-son-of-god/#more-17691  

Ashes…

Today is Ash Wednesday. We held a small, intimate service at midday, maybe 30 people came. Dan played the guitar beautifully, everyone sang so well and the space was welcoming. Jeanne and Alice set up a beautiful Lenten tableau of bare sticks, rocks, dark candles and Spanish moss, all of it calling us to a quiet space, a simple space, a sober space, a remembering space. Because this is a day for remembering, for remembering who we are – the dust of the earth – and for remembering who God is: the one who comes in love, willing to suffer on our behalf.

Three members of the gathered community read the words of scripture for us, the familiar words for this day from the prophet Joel, the apostle Paul and Jesus himself, in Matthew’s gospel. Arleen read so beautifully, her voice full of pathos, almost to the point of tears as she closed out her passage…”The priests, who minister in the Lords’ presence, will stand between the people and the altar, weeping…” Frank worried about his voice holding up, but he made it through the verses from 2 Corinthians just fine. Jim wondered if he’d still be there when the gospel reading came to pass, as he had a commitment at 1:00 p.m. He had time to spare, and then stayed longer anyhow. It was a rich time, filled with grace and tenderness and I am grateful to have, once again, been privileged to lead and to offer ashes to dearly loved friends and even a few strangers. We missed Don very much, but are grateful for his and Martha’s ministry in Kenya these early weeks of Lent.

Dan was the last to receive ashes from my thumb, and then he impressed them on me, offering the ancient words, “Remember you are dust; repent and believe the gospel.” We offered prayers on behalf of others, we passed the peace and we read the final blessing to one another as we went back out into the world. And even though the dark marks on my forehead brought strange stares in the supermarket, I was grateful for their presence. For these dark specks in the shape of a cross testify to this day, this season, of reflection and repentance and remembering. May God bless us all as we live Lent this year.