Sally writes:
When I began work here at Downham Market a wise friend told me that after one year I would see a few changes and sense God at work- years two and three would cause me to question and to wonder why I had chosen to accept the post here and in year four I might see the beginnings of something new.And so with that in mind alongside yesterdays celebrations I bring you Friday 5 Looking back, looking forward..
1. Share a moment/ time of real encouragement in your journey of faith.
It had to be the kitchen table Eucharist shared with a group of friends the night before my cancer surgery. I have this thing for kitchens--you can tell a lot about people from their kitchens. I love being in the kitchen. So in the face of uncertainty and illness, five of us gathered around a white tile table with Word, good bread and wine, and tears--intimate, earthy, and real. It was one of the most Spirit-filled times of my life, and I was at complete peace going into the hospital the next morning.
2. Do you have a current vision / dream for your work/ family/ministry?
I'm trying to work on two writing projects concurrently (a non-fiction book and a play) while being a single parent to two daughters and pastor of a four-point rural parish. My vision is to finish these projects and still manage to keep up as mom and pastor. I am deliciously happy in this rural setting, am enjoying ministry with these people, and hope God wills for me to stay here for a good long time.
3.Money is no object and so you will.....
Keep on trying to live simply and maybe take more time to write. I might travel more--see parts of the world and meet people I otherwise wouldn't be able to meet. Most of all, I'd be able to give when I want to, as much as I want to, and to as many ministries and non-profits whose work I'd like to support.
4. How do you see your way through the disappointments? What keeps you going? Disappointments are part of the journey. I try to recognize that reality and keep moving forward. My faith keeps me going and gives me endless hope in the face of whatever life dishes up.
5. How important are your roots?
Roots are important in forging a connection with the past and in placing myself in context within this grand narrative that's life, but I like to think I'm like rhubarb--I can flourish wherever I'm transplanted.
6. Bonus= what would you like to add ?
TGIF!!! Today I don't want to look back anymore. I'm good at that. Today I don't want to look toward tomorrow; it will arrive if it is supposed to be here. Today I want to focus on today--on each delectable moment of this beautiful summer day on the northern prairie. I want to feel the breeze on my face while I read on the porch. I want to pick flowers from the garden to arrange for the supper table. I want to savor the taste of homemade june berry pie and sweet tea. I want to finish my sermon for Sunday and funeral homily for Monday, but right now I want to practice being present in this moment.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Friday Five: Books, Books, Books...
1. Fiction what kind, detective novels, historical stuff, thrillers, romance????
I enjoy most kinds of fiction, although I really don't read romance novels. For light brain relief reading I enjoy thrillers and mysteries. I read a really fun series of liturgical mysteries a couple of years ago, but I can't remember the author. They were based on a major character who was a choir master for an Episcopal congregation, and had fun names like The Alto Wore Tweed or some such stuff. Anyone read those or remember the author's name? They were so funny I laughed out loud.
2. When you get a really good book do you read it all in one chunk or savour it slowly?
Word hog that I am, I prefer to guzzle it all in one sitting if possible; however, that said, reality usually dictates a few chapters a day.
3. Is there a book you keep returning to and why?
There's not one particular book I return to, but I do find myself drawn to daily doses of poetry. I will pick up volumes from my library and read a poem or two each day, and I also subscribe to "The Writer's Almanac" with Garrison Keillor.
4. Apart from the Bible which non-fiction book has influenced you the most?
Hard to say. I guess maybe it would be either Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship or any number of works by C.S. Lewis, William Sloane Coffin's Credo (which is wonderful for reading in small bits), or Henri Nouwen.
5. Describe a perfect place to read. ( could be anywhere!!!)
I have this wonderful old chair and ottoman with corduroy slipcovers in my sitting room. It's wonderful for curling up under a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book--especially early in the morning or late at night when the house is quiet and all the animals vie for a place on the chair with me (usually the cat around my neck on the back of the chair, the poodle at my side, and the Springer on the ottoman with his head on my feet). Where I previously lived there was also a fireplace to add olfactory and auditory stimulation--along with warmth!
I enjoy most kinds of fiction, although I really don't read romance novels. For light brain relief reading I enjoy thrillers and mysteries. I read a really fun series of liturgical mysteries a couple of years ago, but I can't remember the author. They were based on a major character who was a choir master for an Episcopal congregation, and had fun names like The Alto Wore Tweed or some such stuff. Anyone read those or remember the author's name? They were so funny I laughed out loud.
2. When you get a really good book do you read it all in one chunk or savour it slowly?
Word hog that I am, I prefer to guzzle it all in one sitting if possible; however, that said, reality usually dictates a few chapters a day.
3. Is there a book you keep returning to and why?
There's not one particular book I return to, but I do find myself drawn to daily doses of poetry. I will pick up volumes from my library and read a poem or two each day, and I also subscribe to "The Writer's Almanac" with Garrison Keillor.
4. Apart from the Bible which non-fiction book has influenced you the most?
Hard to say. I guess maybe it would be either Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship or any number of works by C.S. Lewis, William Sloane Coffin's Credo (which is wonderful for reading in small bits), or Henri Nouwen.
5. Describe a perfect place to read. ( could be anywhere!!!)
I have this wonderful old chair and ottoman with corduroy slipcovers in my sitting room. It's wonderful for curling up under a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book--especially early in the morning or late at night when the house is quiet and all the animals vie for a place on the chair with me (usually the cat around my neck on the back of the chair, the poodle at my side, and the Springer on the ottoman with his head on my feet). Where I previously lived there was also a fireplace to add olfactory and auditory stimulation--along with warmth!
Friday, May 4, 2007
Friday Five: Parties, Birthday and Otherwise
1) Would you rather be the host or the guest?
Hmmmm.....I enjoy entertaining, and throwing a party is one of the very few ways my house ever really gets a good cleaning, so I suppose I'd rather be the host. That said, I'll be the first to say that I'm not a particularly good host--I panic too much about preparations and amounts. So I work best as a member of a team. Plus, it's a lot more fun to do something as a team or group.
2) When you are hosting, do you clean everything up the minute the guests go home? Will you accept help with the dishes?
I used to be a fanatic about cleaning up the dinner party mess before going to bed. I'm way over that now. Sometimes, cleaning up at a leisurely pace the next day even allows one to revisit the party and savor the best moments in the joyous fog of memory. One thing's for sure--the mess won't go anywhere. And yes, I gladly accept help with dishes.
3) If you had the wherewithal, and I guess I mean more than money, to throw a great theme party, what would the theme be?
If money, time, and creativity were of no concern, I'd probably throw an awesome Epiphany Open House for the parish with oodles of candles, scads of luminaria outside, and food from many countries with attention at the same time to sustainability, simplicity, and fair trade food--light to the world.
4) What's the worst time you ever had at a party?
Usually I enjoy a good party, but I guess the worst was a dinner/dance for new faculty members at the boarding school where I used to teach. It was on a river boat, so we were a captive audience. My now former spouse was getting good and sloshed and saying absolutely ridiculous things and making ludicrous claims about himself. I wished I could have dissolved into one of the chafing dishes. It was totally embarrassing.
5) And to end on a brighter note, what was the best?
The best would have to be my birthday this year. I turned 46, and the parish helped me celebrate all week long. On April 1, one congregation had a lovely "trick cake" (a beautifully decorated cardboard box) followed by the real thing after worship. They all got a real kick out of watching me try to cut it and remain polite and pastorly.
The Sunday school children decorated a huge card, gave me a pectoral cross made of horseshoe nails, and sang happy b'day to me.
And finally, on the actual day about 22 women in the parish took me out to a fancy restaurant for a party with cake, laughter, and some really cool cards and presents--one of which was a quilted wall-hanging from which 30% of the profits of the sale of the fabric are donated to breast cancer research (I'm a cancer survivor, so that was really thoughtful). These folks wrapped me in arms of love and caring and made my first birthday away from all my friends and family back east and down south a wonderful experience.
Hmmmm.....I enjoy entertaining, and throwing a party is one of the very few ways my house ever really gets a good cleaning, so I suppose I'd rather be the host. That said, I'll be the first to say that I'm not a particularly good host--I panic too much about preparations and amounts. So I work best as a member of a team. Plus, it's a lot more fun to do something as a team or group.
2) When you are hosting, do you clean everything up the minute the guests go home? Will you accept help with the dishes?
I used to be a fanatic about cleaning up the dinner party mess before going to bed. I'm way over that now. Sometimes, cleaning up at a leisurely pace the next day even allows one to revisit the party and savor the best moments in the joyous fog of memory. One thing's for sure--the mess won't go anywhere. And yes, I gladly accept help with dishes.
3) If you had the wherewithal, and I guess I mean more than money, to throw a great theme party, what would the theme be?
If money, time, and creativity were of no concern, I'd probably throw an awesome Epiphany Open House for the parish with oodles of candles, scads of luminaria outside, and food from many countries with attention at the same time to sustainability, simplicity, and fair trade food--light to the world.
4) What's the worst time you ever had at a party?
Usually I enjoy a good party, but I guess the worst was a dinner/dance for new faculty members at the boarding school where I used to teach. It was on a river boat, so we were a captive audience. My now former spouse was getting good and sloshed and saying absolutely ridiculous things and making ludicrous claims about himself. I wished I could have dissolved into one of the chafing dishes. It was totally embarrassing.
5) And to end on a brighter note, what was the best?
The best would have to be my birthday this year. I turned 46, and the parish helped me celebrate all week long. On April 1, one congregation had a lovely "trick cake" (a beautifully decorated cardboard box) followed by the real thing after worship. They all got a real kick out of watching me try to cut it and remain polite and pastorly.
The Sunday school children decorated a huge card, gave me a pectoral cross made of horseshoe nails, and sang happy b'day to me.
And finally, on the actual day about 22 women in the parish took me out to a fancy restaurant for a party with cake, laughter, and some really cool cards and presents--one of which was a quilted wall-hanging from which 30% of the profits of the sale of the fabric are donated to breast cancer research (I'm a cancer survivor, so that was really thoughtful). These folks wrapped me in arms of love and caring and made my first birthday away from all my friends and family back east and down south a wonderful experience.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
The Movement of the Spirit and a very “Improper” Preface
I think that sometimes those of us in ministry tend to overlook the working of the Spirit in our lives. Take sermon preparation, for example. As a Lutheran, I was schooled in the art of carefully crafting a sermon through prayer, study, and a solidly written homily. We were taught that it was irresponsible to think that the Holy Spirit was going to bail us out if and when we failed to adequately prepare our sermons. This makes sense to me, especially given my past life as an English teacher and freelance writer. A potential problem with this approach is that it can lead one to become too “text-bound.”
Aileen, my wonderful intern supervisor, provided bold and helpful critique, praising my careful writing and good content, but wondering if my devotion to the printed page didn’t hamper my ability to engage the congregation. Her challenge was to find some way to become less bound to my written page. So I’ve tried various techniques—writing the manuscript and then summarizing it in bullets on cards, or outlining it, or even printing it small and book-fold so that I could slip it in my worship book—with the goal of not having the appearance of delivering an academic paper at a professional conference. Working hard to not look like I was working so hard, it’s easy to forget the working of the Spirit in the creation of the word to be delivered. But as I’m out in the parish and becoming “at home” in this particular context, it becomes more and more apparent that the Spirit does move and breathe each week in the art and craft of the homily.
A few weeks ago I was having a horrible time putting anything together that made any sense. I struggled all week with it to no good result. Finally, on Saturday night, in a fit of desperation, I looked in my files for the last time I preached on that particular text in Year C. With apologies to God and self, I reworked it for this present context and put in a couple of fresh illustrations and then went to bed. I was still frustrated that my original direction had led only to dead ends. So at the early service at the country church I got up and preached the revised, reworked, rehashed sermon. It felt awful the whole way through—like wearing pointy-toed, too-tight stiletto heels. But I chalked it up to just one of those days that wouldn’t work. We all have a couple of dreadful sermons, right?
By the time I reached the town congregation for the 11:00 a.m. service, I was still fretting over the sermon. During the entrance hymn, I looked out at the congregation and suddenly knew—deep in my gut—that I couldn’t preach the revised, reworked, rehashed sermon. So I prayed—VIGOROUSLY. I also knew—again, deep in my gut—that this one was not meant to be delivered from the pulpit (my usual style). I’d worked long and hard on trying to get this idea to gel, so which direction to take was not a problem; what I didn’t have a clue about was how to end it. Yes, the Spirit was goading me, driving me into a place I would rather not have gone.
The end result was nothing short of amazing and God-breathed. I knew from the expressions on the faces of folks in the congregation and from the tears in the eyes of a particular few and from the energy I felt that this was a Spirit moment and the word of God, with me being purely and only the instrument on which it was played out. After worship the organist came up to me (she played at both services) and asked “Where did that come from? It wasn’t the same sermon!” So I shared the story with her. “Well it was powerful, and it worked,” she said. Chalk one up for the Holy Spirit. Humble and amaze one pastor.
The most recent time I experienced the gift of the Holy Spirit in worship came this past Sunday at our Synod Assembly with what I'll call the story of the “improper preface.” I was on the planning team and had to miss a couple of meetings due to parish conflicts so told them to plug me in wherever they needed me. Well, they did, as presiding minister for the Sunday a.m. worship when the bishop was preaching. That should teach me to miss meetings in the future! But like Ado Annie, I'm just a girl who can't say no.
Typical of the overstressed and overbooked, I forgot a couple of things. First of all, I left my collar at home. I woke Saturday morning out of a sound sleep to that realization. Fortunately, the two voting members from the Norwegian town church hadn’t left yet, so they were able to bring it with them (I’m one of the few women in my synod who doesn’t wear a tab collar, so I knew there would be no replacements to be had.). I also forgot that they don’t use a leader’s ritual edition on the altar at assembly, so there was no proper preface for the Eucharist. Things had been so crazy before worship began that I totally overlooked that fact. I was more worried that there was no font for the affirmation of baptism (we ended up with a plastic punchbowl).
Talk about silent panic! I pondered whether I had enough time during the offering to run around to the Augsburg Fortress store and grab one, but no, that wouldn’t work. I asked the bishop what he would do. Very pastorally he replied to either forget it or make something up. So I prayed—VIGOROUSLY. I could remember the beginning and the ending of the preface but not all of the middle part for Easter (memorization is not my strong suit), so I quickly jotted something down, took a deep breath and plunged ahead. It all worked fine; in fact, I had a more difficult time breaking the bread (a delicious and crusty sourdough that proved quite stubborn). In the end no one castigated me, and clearly the Spirit was at work because I couldn’t have come up with those words on my own. A couple of folks thought it had been written especially for the assembly (well, it had been—sort of).
Lessons learned? First, never underestimate the power of the Spirit in what we do as rostered and lay ministers. Second, just like they say in seminary, never rely on the Spirit when you haven’t done your part of the work. Finally, be as forgiving to yourself as God is to you. Life generally works out, sometimes better than other times, but the end of the world hasn’t come yet, and the use of an “improper preface” probably isn’t going to hasten its happening. Grace and peace to all ya’ll. Keep up the good work in a world that sorely needs the Good News. And if you wear a collar, don’t forget to pack it when you travel. Pax et lux.
Aileen, my wonderful intern supervisor, provided bold and helpful critique, praising my careful writing and good content, but wondering if my devotion to the printed page didn’t hamper my ability to engage the congregation. Her challenge was to find some way to become less bound to my written page. So I’ve tried various techniques—writing the manuscript and then summarizing it in bullets on cards, or outlining it, or even printing it small and book-fold so that I could slip it in my worship book—with the goal of not having the appearance of delivering an academic paper at a professional conference. Working hard to not look like I was working so hard, it’s easy to forget the working of the Spirit in the creation of the word to be delivered. But as I’m out in the parish and becoming “at home” in this particular context, it becomes more and more apparent that the Spirit does move and breathe each week in the art and craft of the homily.
A few weeks ago I was having a horrible time putting anything together that made any sense. I struggled all week with it to no good result. Finally, on Saturday night, in a fit of desperation, I looked in my files for the last time I preached on that particular text in Year C. With apologies to God and self, I reworked it for this present context and put in a couple of fresh illustrations and then went to bed. I was still frustrated that my original direction had led only to dead ends. So at the early service at the country church I got up and preached the revised, reworked, rehashed sermon. It felt awful the whole way through—like wearing pointy-toed, too-tight stiletto heels. But I chalked it up to just one of those days that wouldn’t work. We all have a couple of dreadful sermons, right?
By the time I reached the town congregation for the 11:00 a.m. service, I was still fretting over the sermon. During the entrance hymn, I looked out at the congregation and suddenly knew—deep in my gut—that I couldn’t preach the revised, reworked, rehashed sermon. So I prayed—VIGOROUSLY. I also knew—again, deep in my gut—that this one was not meant to be delivered from the pulpit (my usual style). I’d worked long and hard on trying to get this idea to gel, so which direction to take was not a problem; what I didn’t have a clue about was how to end it. Yes, the Spirit was goading me, driving me into a place I would rather not have gone.
The end result was nothing short of amazing and God-breathed. I knew from the expressions on the faces of folks in the congregation and from the tears in the eyes of a particular few and from the energy I felt that this was a Spirit moment and the word of God, with me being purely and only the instrument on which it was played out. After worship the organist came up to me (she played at both services) and asked “Where did that come from? It wasn’t the same sermon!” So I shared the story with her. “Well it was powerful, and it worked,” she said. Chalk one up for the Holy Spirit. Humble and amaze one pastor.
The most recent time I experienced the gift of the Holy Spirit in worship came this past Sunday at our Synod Assembly with what I'll call the story of the “improper preface.” I was on the planning team and had to miss a couple of meetings due to parish conflicts so told them to plug me in wherever they needed me. Well, they did, as presiding minister for the Sunday a.m. worship when the bishop was preaching. That should teach me to miss meetings in the future! But like Ado Annie, I'm just a girl who can't say no.
Typical of the overstressed and overbooked, I forgot a couple of things. First of all, I left my collar at home. I woke Saturday morning out of a sound sleep to that realization. Fortunately, the two voting members from the Norwegian town church hadn’t left yet, so they were able to bring it with them (I’m one of the few women in my synod who doesn’t wear a tab collar, so I knew there would be no replacements to be had.). I also forgot that they don’t use a leader’s ritual edition on the altar at assembly, so there was no proper preface for the Eucharist. Things had been so crazy before worship began that I totally overlooked that fact. I was more worried that there was no font for the affirmation of baptism (we ended up with a plastic punchbowl).
Talk about silent panic! I pondered whether I had enough time during the offering to run around to the Augsburg Fortress store and grab one, but no, that wouldn’t work. I asked the bishop what he would do. Very pastorally he replied to either forget it or make something up. So I prayed—VIGOROUSLY. I could remember the beginning and the ending of the preface but not all of the middle part for Easter (memorization is not my strong suit), so I quickly jotted something down, took a deep breath and plunged ahead. It all worked fine; in fact, I had a more difficult time breaking the bread (a delicious and crusty sourdough that proved quite stubborn). In the end no one castigated me, and clearly the Spirit was at work because I couldn’t have come up with those words on my own. A couple of folks thought it had been written especially for the assembly (well, it had been—sort of).
Lessons learned? First, never underestimate the power of the Spirit in what we do as rostered and lay ministers. Second, just like they say in seminary, never rely on the Spirit when you haven’t done your part of the work. Finally, be as forgiving to yourself as God is to you. Life generally works out, sometimes better than other times, but the end of the world hasn’t come yet, and the use of an “improper preface” probably isn’t going to hasten its happening. Grace and peace to all ya’ll. Keep up the good work in a world that sorely needs the Good News. And if you wear a collar, don’t forget to pack it when you travel. Pax et lux.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Monday's Small Pleasures
Easter and Low Sunday are past--this year the Triduum sped by in a blur of activity, illness, and worship. After attending the UND Writers Conference at the end of March, I managed to contract a nasty cold that lingered until post-Easter mid-week. During the Good Friday Litany, while kneeling at the foot of the cross in one of the country sanctuaries, I had the pleasure of a rare coughing fit--the organist ran for water and a parishioner slipped up behind me with a cough drop. I ended up with tears running down my face and into my collar from a combination of being overcome by the service and the physical act of coughing so hard. The moment of epiphany came when I processed out of the sanctuary in the evening stillness and looked northward across the fields--a stunning sight. Tones of earth brown, tan, yellow, and white gold interspersed with flecks of green, bluish evening sky, and the brilliant sunset colors embodied both the reality of Christ's death and the hope of the resurrection to come. It was one of those frozen moments in time that I won't forget.
But this morning I sit with a delightful cup of chai, lazily coming round from last week's busyness before facing the week ahead, and counting the small pleasures of the Monday day off and the blessings of this vocation. There's the bliss of a good quality, freshly-sharpened pencil--the scent of the wood and graphite combined, the graceful way the words in my journal roll out beneath its point. And then there's the sight of my faithful companions all three gathered on the parsonage office futon--Spatchy the pastel tabby sprawled across the back, Pete the beloved companion and Springer Spaniel stretched across the seat amongst the papers that should be dealt with and the upcoming week's confirmation lesson, and the newest addition, Truffles, my daughter's toy poodle puppy, curled at Pete's side. The notes of Vivaldi's Four Seasons surround my head, remind me of time's gentle passage this day, and calm my heart that would seek to be "doing" instead of "being". Just for a time this brings comfort. It's a comfort much needed before a routine of stretching and praying and walking. After that, the rhythm of this day will take flight, carrying me along on its waves until at long last I am able to settle in with a cup of peppermint tea, a good book, and what I hope will be a peaceful night's sleep. Shalom to you all. May your Monday be blessed.
But this morning I sit with a delightful cup of chai, lazily coming round from last week's busyness before facing the week ahead, and counting the small pleasures of the Monday day off and the blessings of this vocation. There's the bliss of a good quality, freshly-sharpened pencil--the scent of the wood and graphite combined, the graceful way the words in my journal roll out beneath its point. And then there's the sight of my faithful companions all three gathered on the parsonage office futon--Spatchy the pastel tabby sprawled across the back, Pete the beloved companion and Springer Spaniel stretched across the seat amongst the papers that should be dealt with and the upcoming week's confirmation lesson, and the newest addition, Truffles, my daughter's toy poodle puppy, curled at Pete's side. The notes of Vivaldi's Four Seasons surround my head, remind me of time's gentle passage this day, and calm my heart that would seek to be "doing" instead of "being". Just for a time this brings comfort. It's a comfort much needed before a routine of stretching and praying and walking. After that, the rhythm of this day will take flight, carrying me along on its waves until at long last I am able to settle in with a cup of peppermint tea, a good book, and what I hope will be a peaceful night's sleep. Shalom to you all. May your Monday be blessed.
Monday, March 12, 2007
A poem for Monday, March 12, 2007
12 March 2007, common era
Surrounded by family, censed with love, pain, and tears,
the weary patriarch leaves life for eternity even as the
morning sun in ruby-red glory rises above yet fallow fields.
Styrofoam coffee cups in hand, the Cenex regulars
talk of spring calving and the price of winter wheat
while outside, on the streets of town, passing trucks
crush the leavings of winter’s snow and ice.
Walkers navigate a topography of silt-laden run-off,
in bitter reminder of Lent’s somber, ashen warning
that all, yes all creation, returns to earth.
Later, by a windswept grave off County Road 1
parents bury again the memory three years past of
black ice and a daughter, an almost bride, lost to life.
Pink roses and birdsong counterpoint their mourning
while beyond the evergreen sway, across snow-melt pastures,
children’s laughter and playground fancy signal another grief—
a school called this night to greet its own death justified
by declining numbers, increasing cost and board vote.
Meanwhile the price of diesel rises and reality rubs raw
against the advent of soil and seed turning.
Such is this March day on the Dakota prairie.
Weatherbeaten winter and hopeful spring dance,
unsteady partners in time’s gaited passage.
Sturdy stock, these good Norwegian folk
will brush away the mud, disregard the chill,
and go on resolute, backs to the wind, chins set
against the howl of life.
Surrounded by family, censed with love, pain, and tears,
the weary patriarch leaves life for eternity even as the
morning sun in ruby-red glory rises above yet fallow fields.
Styrofoam coffee cups in hand, the Cenex regulars
talk of spring calving and the price of winter wheat
while outside, on the streets of town, passing trucks
crush the leavings of winter’s snow and ice.
Walkers navigate a topography of silt-laden run-off,
in bitter reminder of Lent’s somber, ashen warning
that all, yes all creation, returns to earth.
Later, by a windswept grave off County Road 1
parents bury again the memory three years past of
black ice and a daughter, an almost bride, lost to life.
Pink roses and birdsong counterpoint their mourning
while beyond the evergreen sway, across snow-melt pastures,
children’s laughter and playground fancy signal another grief—
a school called this night to greet its own death justified
by declining numbers, increasing cost and board vote.
Meanwhile the price of diesel rises and reality rubs raw
against the advent of soil and seed turning.
Such is this March day on the Dakota prairie.
Weatherbeaten winter and hopeful spring dance,
unsteady partners in time’s gaited passage.
Sturdy stock, these good Norwegian folk
will brush away the mud, disregard the chill,
and go on resolute, backs to the wind, chins set
against the howl of life.
Days Like This!
"Mama said there'd be days like this,
there'd be days like this, my mama said..."
...but she didn't say anything about weeks like this, or even months like this. Egads!
North Dakota in March is a strange and unpredictable place. One minute you're freezing your eyeballs out and the next minute you're awash in a sea of mud and melting snow runoff without the benefit of adequate storm drainage systems. Life takes on this odd rhythm that I'm sure is somehow linked to the precocious patterns of the weather.
In "Little, Little Town," the mood is stormy. Tonight is the final vote on closing our school. In all reality we merged with the larger district in the south of the county last year, but somehow not all the folks in "Little, Little Town" realized the implications of the merger--especially that if our K-6 campus couldn't maintain a certain number of students the board "may" reassign those students to the main campus in "Little Big Town." The board has taken the word "may" to mean "shall," while the residents of "Little, Little Town" heard hope. The school is the largest employer in "Little, Little Town," so people will lose jobs, and another empty shell of a landmark will grace the northern plains horizon. Some folks are calling it (quite dramatically, I think) a crucifixion. Others are ignoring it and pretending it isn't happening. Still others are saying we have no options and it's simply a fact of life in a dwindling area.
The thing that disturbs me about the whole issue is the decided lack of vision and willingness to be innovative. There is here a sort of collective malaise, a resignation, and a sense of inferiority that is absolutely maddening to the "outsider." As pastor, citizen, parent, and newcomer, I walk this fine line of what I can and cannot say, what is appropriate and inappropriate, and what would be politicizing from the pulpit. I've alternated between taking tearful, angry calls from parishioners to keeping my mouth shut in front of another parishioner who is on the board that's decided to close the school. So now there will be grief issues to deal with that are as insidious as cancer within the parish body and the community.
Add to that the personal dilemma of having eldest daughter home from college for a week. She was bored to tears within 24 hours and settling back into the familiar pattern of sparring with youngest daughter (who's 13 with a vengeance and resenting the encroachment upon her queen bee status). Both of them complain with great gusto about Single Pastor Mom's vocational responsibilities.
And to top it all off, beloved patriarch of close-knit farm dynasty dies at 6:00 a.m. in hospital 23 miles away. The family has me called at 3:00 a.m., but do I hear the phone? No. Does said hospital also call my cell phone which was on my nightstand? Of course not. Fortunately they do call a colleague in "Bigger Little Town" who is pastor to one of the children, and she was able to be with them. I know I can't be all things to all people, but events like this are frustrating. Thankfully, on Sunday afternoon, I was able to take communion to the hospital, so that the family (who filled the room and hall) were able to share the meal with beloved patriarch. It was truly one of the most touching things I've experienced to watch beloved matriarch help her husband receive the wine and real presence of Christ. This will be a hard funeral in one sense, but it will be a celebration, as well. We'll be opening up one of the buildings from a congregation closed some years ago for the service--out on open prairie with a commanding view and a cemetary surrounded by the sheltering presence of tall evergreens.
Enough venting for one Monday morning. At least I'm now fully awake and ready to start on funeral homily notes, sermon prep for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, homily prep for Wednesday evening prayer, and confirmation prep. Will Easter ever really get here?
there'd be days like this, my mama said..."
...but she didn't say anything about weeks like this, or even months like this. Egads!
North Dakota in March is a strange and unpredictable place. One minute you're freezing your eyeballs out and the next minute you're awash in a sea of mud and melting snow runoff without the benefit of adequate storm drainage systems. Life takes on this odd rhythm that I'm sure is somehow linked to the precocious patterns of the weather.
In "Little, Little Town," the mood is stormy. Tonight is the final vote on closing our school. In all reality we merged with the larger district in the south of the county last year, but somehow not all the folks in "Little, Little Town" realized the implications of the merger--especially that if our K-6 campus couldn't maintain a certain number of students the board "may" reassign those students to the main campus in "Little Big Town." The board has taken the word "may" to mean "shall," while the residents of "Little, Little Town" heard hope. The school is the largest employer in "Little, Little Town," so people will lose jobs, and another empty shell of a landmark will grace the northern plains horizon. Some folks are calling it (quite dramatically, I think) a crucifixion. Others are ignoring it and pretending it isn't happening. Still others are saying we have no options and it's simply a fact of life in a dwindling area.
The thing that disturbs me about the whole issue is the decided lack of vision and willingness to be innovative. There is here a sort of collective malaise, a resignation, and a sense of inferiority that is absolutely maddening to the "outsider." As pastor, citizen, parent, and newcomer, I walk this fine line of what I can and cannot say, what is appropriate and inappropriate, and what would be politicizing from the pulpit. I've alternated between taking tearful, angry calls from parishioners to keeping my mouth shut in front of another parishioner who is on the board that's decided to close the school. So now there will be grief issues to deal with that are as insidious as cancer within the parish body and the community.
Add to that the personal dilemma of having eldest daughter home from college for a week. She was bored to tears within 24 hours and settling back into the familiar pattern of sparring with youngest daughter (who's 13 with a vengeance and resenting the encroachment upon her queen bee status). Both of them complain with great gusto about Single Pastor Mom's vocational responsibilities.
And to top it all off, beloved patriarch of close-knit farm dynasty dies at 6:00 a.m. in hospital 23 miles away. The family has me called at 3:00 a.m., but do I hear the phone? No. Does said hospital also call my cell phone which was on my nightstand? Of course not. Fortunately they do call a colleague in "Bigger Little Town" who is pastor to one of the children, and she was able to be with them. I know I can't be all things to all people, but events like this are frustrating. Thankfully, on Sunday afternoon, I was able to take communion to the hospital, so that the family (who filled the room and hall) were able to share the meal with beloved patriarch. It was truly one of the most touching things I've experienced to watch beloved matriarch help her husband receive the wine and real presence of Christ. This will be a hard funeral in one sense, but it will be a celebration, as well. We'll be opening up one of the buildings from a congregation closed some years ago for the service--out on open prairie with a commanding view and a cemetary surrounded by the sheltering presence of tall evergreens.
Enough venting for one Monday morning. At least I'm now fully awake and ready to start on funeral homily notes, sermon prep for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, homily prep for Wednesday evening prayer, and confirmation prep. Will Easter ever really get here?
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