Rejoice! We have olives!

I was making tuna salad for lunch and I asked my husband if he wanted olives.  (It’s not tuna for me without olives – or a holiday dinner or a picnic for that matter.)  He said “Okay” with a shrug in his voice.  That’s not the way I talk about olives.  I didn’t expect a song and dance, but “Great” or “Terrific” or even a hearty “Sure” would have been nice.  Yes, I know that all I had to do was open the refrigerator, get out the jar, open it and put a few olives on his plate.  But that’s not the point.  What do olive-loving children say when you ask them if they want olives?  What do almost all children say when you ask them if they want potato chips?

How many of you are gagging and feeling embarrassed for me?  Thank you for continuing to read.

If you are around children, particularly if they’re not yours, you see how much they enjoy things -- pizza, M and M’s, the letters in alphabet soup, riding past a field full of cows, stopping to wait for a train to go by.  (When they are yours, you worry about what the M and M’s will do to their teeth and wish that they wouldn’t count the number of cars with outdoor voices.)  I sometimes wonder if adults just don’t get excited (or at least pleased) by things, or if they do and are too embarrassed to say so, perhaps because they will be thought insincere or, even worse, silly.

Episcopalians are known as “the frozen chosen.”  We may not like the idea that people think we think we are chosen, but we have a sneaking, defensive pride in the “frozen” part.  We (almost) brag that most Episcopal priests are introverts.  (To which an evangelical might ask, “Then why did they become ministers?”  Beats me.)   When we call someone “sensible,” it is high praise.  “Very nice,” is on a level with "terrific". 

You may think that I am probably annoyingly perky (bad enough in a cheerleader, but even worse in a Senior Citizen), but that is my writing persona.  If you met me, you might think, “Doesn’t she ever open her mouth?”  And today I am Kathy Lee Gifford compared to my younger self.  But I have to admit that this is the face I would love to present to the world “live.”  

The point I am trying to make is not that I have issues of some kind, but that maybe we should be a little bolder and noisier in our liking of things.  (The “a little” makes this an Episcopalian comment.)  What do your prayers and hymns of thanks sound like?  What do you sound like?  Never mind the usual platitudes about gratitude.  We are all grateful, even if we don’t realize it.  But do we express it?  When a co-worker brings in donuts, how do you say thank you?,   When someone says, yes,  you  can pet their dog and the dog acts as if you made his day, how do you say thank you?  How to you say “Amen” when you receive the bread and wine at communion?

We are told that we should “pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17) and that we should be “bold” as the Book of Common Prayer says we are when we say The Lord’s Prayer.   We can do this not with words but just by living and offering whatever we do to God.  Another way to pray is to be grateful for everything.  And to boldly show it.  God likes enthusiasm.

No matter what our parents or teachers have told us, let’s be bold in our thanksgiving.

Thanks so much for reading and commenting on this post.  I hope you think it is terrific or at least very nice.

 

Imagine there's no heaven? I don't think so!

The Lectionary of the Episcopal Church lists the bible readings to be used each day.  Today the Gospel was John 14:1-14, in which, shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus comforts the disciples, telling that He is going to prepare a place for them in His Father’s house where there are “many dwelling places.”  So there were probably a lot of sermons and a lot of thoughts about Heaven.  And I wonder how many people agreed with the ideas presented in the sermon. 

When I decided to start a blog, I bought a copy of Blogging for Dummies, which suggested doing a trial blog to learn the techniques.  So I created a fiction family sitcom, Meet the McDonalds, a blog written by Charlotte (Charlie) McDonald, a thirty-something wife, mother, librarian, Episcopalian and recovering Unitarian.  Also prominent are Charlie’s girlfriends Karen and Nicole.  In the post “Reflective Discussion with the Girls, Mrs. Fields, and Ben and Jerry,” after the murder of another friend of Charlie’s, they share their ideas of the next world:

Karen, Nikki and I got together at Nikki’s house for girls’ night in (after we’d gotten dinner for the troops at home; you know how it is.) . . .  After the second glass of wine, we started talking about heaven.  We decided that:

1.        You get to know anything you wanted. We all decided we wanted to know the truth about the Kennedy assassination.  I said I wanted to know if Elizabeth the First was really a virgin and they said I was naïve.

2.       You can eat anything you want and not get fat.  If you are fat when you die, you will become your perfect weight.  You will never have a bad hair day.

3.       You can meet famous people and they will be gracious. You may even become friends with them.  Nikki, who is not religious, said that some people, like Elvis, wouldn’t have time.  I explained that should we be there ten thousand years there would be no less days to schmooze than when we’d first begun.  I’m the only church goer (or, as Nikki says, church lady) among us.  Karen is spiritual, but not religious.

4.       You can drink and abuse drugs, but it won’t hurt you.

5.       We didn’t get to discussing sex in heaven until the third glass.  And since I’m a church lady, I’m too embarrassed to tell you what was said.
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Frankly, I like this Heaven better than anything I’ve heard about in church.  And I don’t think that’s a problem.  We are told that we can’t imagine Heaven.  That used to bother me.  But I’ve decided that since I’m not a pastor or theologian I can imagine whatever I want and not get in trouble on Earth.  I’m sure that if I’m wrong I’m not going to get in trouble in Heaven.

So if you’ve been feeling guilty or unsophisticated because you don’t understand what you’re hearing in church, don’t worry about it.  Imagine the best Heaven you can.  How much can it hurt?

 

 

Hey, Gene! Wanna go for coffee?

The pending divorce of Bishop Gene Robinson has stirred up discussions, arguments, and emotions.  Opponents of LGBT people, LGBT marriages, and those hybrids of disapproval who don’t mind either as long as they don’t defile their churches, are having a snarkfest of satisfaction.  Facebook pages and blog comment sections are overflowing and some administrators are terminating threads or passive-aggressively observing that the topic has been beaten to death.  This provokes lots of Amens and condescending “I stay out of other people’s business” remarks.

But not all the comments are snide or hateful.  Many of us are trying to process this.  Bishop Robinson is one of my heroes, who in spite of all kinds of pressure, attacks, and hardships, stood up for what he believed in and has been an inspiration and a symbol of hope to millions of people.  And from what I’ve seen of him on television and read of his work, he seems to be a very nice man.  (This is high Episcopalian praise, almost gushing.)  I like him.

So I, and I’m sure a lot of other people, need to keep talking about this, even if we are not saying anything very new.  One way to deal with upsetting things is to think and talk and even cry about them until you are bored with the whole thing.  Then maybe you’ll find some peace.  It is very puzzling to be upset about bad things happening to someone you don’t know.  That makes it even worse.  You say, “I can’t believe how much this is affecting me” and wonder if there is something wrong with you and if your life is so empty that you have to spend emotion on a stranger

I don’t know Bishop Robinson.  If he were my friend, I could send him an encouragement card, maybe a bit cutesy, but not mushy, with an adorable dog or cat, with a note ending “Love, prayers and hugs.”  (Gag if you must.  This is what I do since I got saved.)   I could call and invite him out for lunch or coffee.  If he wanted to talk about the elephant sitting in the booth with us sticking his trunk in the latte, we would.  If he didn’t, we could talk about whatever.  There’s always the pets and grandchildren or what’s on PBS or HBO. (I can hear some people say, “If you want to help people, go volunteer at a soup kitchen.”  I don’t know how to answer that.) 

But I can’t do that.  If I want to have any connection with anyone about this, it has to be through talking with other people, even though it is none of their business either. 

The point I am trying to make is that yes, someone else’s divorce is none of my business, but my feelings about it are.  And everyone has a right to his or her own truth and feelings.

So, Bishop, if you ever read this (or even if you don’t), I am sending love, prayers, and hugs, and if you ever want to have lunch or coffee, just click on the No Comment button.  (I don’t understand that either.)

I saw Jesus. He was stealing money from the Coffee Hour kitty.

This past Sunday (May 4, Easter III), the Gospel reading was Luke 24:13-35, the story of the meeting on the road to Emmaus.  Two followers of Jesus (not Apostles) were walking down the road , discussing the Crucifixion and Resurrection and met a man who asked them what they had been talking about.  Flabbergasted that anyone would not have heard, they basically said,  "What cave did you just crawl out of?”   It was Jesus, but they didn’t know Him until much later when, after they had asked Him to stay for supper, He broke the bread. Then he disappeared.

Bummer!

Often the sermon based on this passage deals with how we fail to recognize Jesus.   He is everyone, of course, and the sermon points out that we usually fail to recognize him in the “marginal” people – the poor, the homeless, the mentally ill.  The preacher may tell a story about how he or she recognized Jesus in such a person (or didn't and felt bad later).   

We leave church feeling guilty (“I really should be more loving and sympathetic toward others.  I must be an awful person.”), indignant (“The church wants too damn much!  We’re doing the best we can.  We try and try and it still isn’t enough.”), or indignant and guilty (the same as the preceding reaction with a sheepish ‘Sorry, God’ tacked on at the end).

I realize that a sermon is supposed to make you think, but do you have to feel bad to come to a good conclusion?

So here is my Emmaus story.  (Maybe I was a preacher in prior life.)

I was huddled in a chair at the ophthalmologist’s office, mentally in a fetal position, hoping no one would say anything to me and trying to look engrossed in some magazine.  (I think it was Newsweek.  No Peoples, unfortunately.)  Several weeks ago, I had come in to find out why I had seen a double moon, expecting that I would just need stronger glasses.  My old doctor had retired, and the new one said, “Well, your cataract is bigger.”

This came as a surprise, to say the least,  since my former doctor had very sensibly decided to wait to tell me until it was ready to be removed.  Now, after a lot of worry and internal drama, I was back to book the operation.  People who had had “the work done” (That sounded trendier than “the operation.”) told me it was “no big deal.”  I knew they weren’t lying, but it was hard to believe them.  And, of course, there are always exceptions.

I did not want to talk to anyone.  The waiting room was full of people who were probably as scared as I was.  For some people, the best thing to do in such a situation is to keep talking so you won’t start thinking.  I’m not one of them. 

A few chairs away a little old lady was fiddling with her cell phone.  The woman sitting next to her, who was not with her, offered to help.  The lady’s son had given it to her recently and she hadn’t quite figured it out.  The other woman diagnosed the problem, explained it to her, and then chatted until the old lady was called in.

I did not think of it in those terms, but I had just seen Jesus in a woman wearing nice clothes who could afford eye care.  I thought she looked like a social worker or perhaps even a minister.  (I realize this is occupationist.  She could have been a corporate defense attorney.)  He is not just in the outcasts.

Seeing Jesus can be recognizing other people being kind.   And when we do, it can inspire us to try to be more Jesus-like ourselves, instead of making us feel angry, frustrated, and guilty.  Then maybe someone will see Jesus in us!

By the way, a cataract operation really isn’t a big deal.  It beats a colonoscopy and you get better vision and free sunglasses!

The Kitty, the Buttons, and the Dresser

I am not a tidy person.  I am careful keep my workspace neat, but when I get home, I don’t get paid for straightening up.  (Maybe I’m exaggerating.  After all, I couldn’t bear to watch Hoarders when it was on.)  My standard way of judging messiness is, “If it bothers me, then you know it’s bad.”  Years ago, it was almost a political statement to be a bad housekeeper and it was said that “Dull women have clean houses.”  So years ago, I fit right in.

Unfortunately for me, there are two neatniks in my family.  Even more unfortunately, one is my husband, who is not going to grow up and leave home.

The bedroom is the worst.  I won’t go into details, because even though I am not embarrassed to talk about Jesus or my colonoscopy, I have my limits.

So I am surprised, to say the least, that my dresser has been cleaned up.  Papers I didn’t feel like dealing with have been filed or thrown out, all those free buttons that come with new clothes have been put in the hollow Hello Kitty who came with someone’s Happy Meal, and the piled up books are in the bookcases.  It’s even been dusted!   And no, the angels didn’t do it.

It has been said that God will arrange the disorder of our lives and one of the ways to help him do it, is to have a “rule of life,” with a schedule of prayer, study (Does Facebook count?), exercise, and even going to bed. 

About two years ago, my Bible Study group did the course “Forty Days in the Word,” by Rev. Rick Warren.  This is serious stuff – you have to set aside time every day to study.  I was surprised when I made my forty days.  And even more surprised that I have kept up.  Some days I drag myself out of bed, muttering “Gotta read the Bible,” wishing I could add some expletives.  But I do it.  And it does get easier.

I decided to give myself another hour of sleep, which meant going to bed earlier.  This is not easy.  One of things I expect to enjoy in Heaven is never having to go to bed.  But, with a few lapses, I do it.

(It occurred to me just now as I’m writing this, that I do these things with God’s help!  Seriously!  I never saw it that way before, although I certainly should have.)

But the really interesting thing is that without any help from me, it seems easier to manage my life, including meetings, doctor’s appointments, writing, and even Bible study.

For Lent, I made a list of things I should take care of – giving away clothes I no longer wear, cleaning out the guest room (more accurately the junk room) closet, organizing my papers.  And I managed to complete all but one before Easter.

So one day, when I didn’t have anything particular to do, I straightened out my dresser.  Now my dog and cat knickknacks have an orderly home.

This may not seem all that important to the neatniks.  But the rest of us understand.

Thank you, God