Last Monday: hell.
This Monday: heaven.
Is this ministry? Is this working with elderly? Is this being 25 in the middle of Montana on internship to become a pastor?
... all of the above?
Last Monday that wonderful woman who shared her life story with me didn't remember me at all. Not even my face. She had no idea who I was, what I was doing there, or that she had shown me her apartment and talked with me the week before about life and love.
Let's just say that was a bit of a blow. Unexpected but yet, completely understandable. How do you do ministry when you cannot build relationships in the traditional sense? So I'm rethinking ministry and relationships and how I relate to elderly. Some of my cheerleader/happy-go-lucky/sunshine qualities are serving me well. Other times, of course, the elderly look back at me like "SHUT UP STUPID YOUNG GIRL." (Yeah, last Monday again.) Other times, they look back at me and beam with the brightest smiles you've ever seen.
Can I blame it on the moon?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Words
A resident was talking yesterday about the beauty of Christmas hymns in German. He said they are just more beautiful. And then I told him how I absolutely loved Psalm 150... in Hebrew. Not only because I was forced to sing it in Hebrew class last year but because there is something lovely and beautiful about the language and the way it describes sound in that chapter. Even the word for spirit or breath in Hebrew is gorgeous - RUAH. If you say it, you breath out - "Roo-ahh." I find myself immediately contemplative of my own spirit and the breath of life. Then there's the likes of Sarah Brightman and Josh Groban who sing songs in many different languages. Are they beautiful because we have no idea what they mean?
So I'm thinking about language and the craft of writing and composing. Purposefully putting certain words next to certain other words to create a pattern, a process, a certain way of pairing words that speaks to an entirely new thought. It is an art. This isn't to say that once the words are translated that they have lost their meaning. On the contrary, one of my favorite poets does not compose in English. I rely on a poet who speaks her language AND English to rewrite her poems. I count on that poet to take the essence of the poem and convey it to me in my language. A word for word translation will not do. It does not translate. It does not convey.
And this leads me to wonder about the task of a preacher. We study the original languages so we can then read them and find a way to translate them into a message that conveys the meaning. I never knew that studying poetry would come into play so much as a preacher. Who would have ever thought? I'm not writing poems after all, I'm writing sermons. But it isn't about the words and yet, it is. If the words cannot carry the message, the message falls flat. This is my task.
Have you ever heard of Eugene Peterson? He wrote a translation of the bible into contemporary, modern language called The Message. Here's a quote from him about why: "While I was teaching a class on Galatians, I began to realize that the adults in my class weren't feeling the vitality and directness that I sensed as I read and studied the New Testament in its original Greek. Writing straight from the original text, I began to attempt to bring into English the rhythms and idioms of the original language. I knew that the early readers of the New Testament were captured and engaged by these writings and I wanted my congregation to be impacted in the same way. I hoped to bring the New Testament to life for two different types of people: those who hadn't read the Bible because it seemed too distant and irrelevant and those who had read the Bible so much that it had become 'old hat.'"
In a smaller way, every Sunday, this is the task before: make an impossibly distant and hard to relate to text be entirely real and entirely relate-able. And you know what? I absolutely love it. There is always a moment when I am writing where I go, "Oh shit. There's absolutely no way out of this misery of a parable. What was Jesus talking about?!" And yet, every single time, a light bulb has clicked on, the spirit has shown up, and I have been humbled into realizing yet again, how great is the love of God.
Oh, do I love words and the Word.
So I'm thinking about language and the craft of writing and composing. Purposefully putting certain words next to certain other words to create a pattern, a process, a certain way of pairing words that speaks to an entirely new thought. It is an art. This isn't to say that once the words are translated that they have lost their meaning. On the contrary, one of my favorite poets does not compose in English. I rely on a poet who speaks her language AND English to rewrite her poems. I count on that poet to take the essence of the poem and convey it to me in my language. A word for word translation will not do. It does not translate. It does not convey.
And this leads me to wonder about the task of a preacher. We study the original languages so we can then read them and find a way to translate them into a message that conveys the meaning. I never knew that studying poetry would come into play so much as a preacher. Who would have ever thought? I'm not writing poems after all, I'm writing sermons. But it isn't about the words and yet, it is. If the words cannot carry the message, the message falls flat. This is my task.
Have you ever heard of Eugene Peterson? He wrote a translation of the bible into contemporary, modern language called The Message. Here's a quote from him about why: "While I was teaching a class on Galatians, I began to realize that the adults in my class weren't feeling the vitality and directness that I sensed as I read and studied the New Testament in its original Greek. Writing straight from the original text, I began to attempt to bring into English the rhythms and idioms of the original language. I knew that the early readers of the New Testament were captured and engaged by these writings and I wanted my congregation to be impacted in the same way. I hoped to bring the New Testament to life for two different types of people: those who hadn't read the Bible because it seemed too distant and irrelevant and those who had read the Bible so much that it had become 'old hat.'"
In a smaller way, every Sunday, this is the task before: make an impossibly distant and hard to relate to text be entirely real and entirely relate-able. And you know what? I absolutely love it. There is always a moment when I am writing where I go, "Oh shit. There's absolutely no way out of this misery of a parable. What was Jesus talking about?!" And yet, every single time, a light bulb has clicked on, the spirit has shown up, and I have been humbled into realizing yet again, how great is the love of God.
Oh, do I love words and the Word.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Preachin'
A link for you! (It's my first Sunday Sermon Manuscript!)
http://messiahlutheranbillings.org/2010/09/september-19-2010-manuscript/
http://messiahlutheranbillings.org/2010/09/september-19-2010-manuscript/
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Fear
Do we live in fear? Are we crippled but it? I find that most of the problems I see in the world (including my life) are traced back to fear. People stuck in jobs they hate because it is too terrifying to think of starting a new one or even not finding a new one in the first place. Or fear that the job that is fantastic will run out in the near future. Elderly who don't technically need a walker but use it for fear of falling and breaking a hip. People who are stuck in a routine because of the safety of it. People who don't try new things because new things are scary, especially when done alone (so me). Fear of being alone! (Again, totally me.) Fear that our bank account will dip into the negative when there are still bills to be paid. Fear about tomorrow's weather! Fear about crime! It seems to be everywhere.
There's that horrible token phrase, "Don't worry about anything. Pray about everything." It is cliche to an intense degree. Because of course, if we don't worry about falling down and breaking our hip, we might actually fall down and break our hip. Then come the I-told-you-so's and the regret. "I should have known better." Is there a degree of worrying that is actually helpful? Perhaps what we are really seeking is awareness. Aware of walking slower so we don't fall but not being so caught in fear that we don't walk anywhere. Aware of a new job opportunity and the reality that change is scary but that it happens anyway. Heck, here I am in Montana. I never would have guessed it.
Personally, though I still retreat to my office when I get overwhelmed (read: afraid), I find I am usually rewarded when I step out. I am met by an incredible love story that has seen war and death and still survived. I am met by gracious smiles and handshakes and hugs. I am met with a breathtaking view of mountains, bright flowers, and a moon with a face in it. The fear isn't gone but at least I'm learning that reality never bites as hard as I think it will. And if it does, I'll deal with it then. Now is not the time.
There's that horrible token phrase, "Don't worry about anything. Pray about everything." It is cliche to an intense degree. Because of course, if we don't worry about falling down and breaking our hip, we might actually fall down and break our hip. Then come the I-told-you-so's and the regret. "I should have known better." Is there a degree of worrying that is actually helpful? Perhaps what we are really seeking is awareness. Aware of walking slower so we don't fall but not being so caught in fear that we don't walk anywhere. Aware of a new job opportunity and the reality that change is scary but that it happens anyway. Heck, here I am in Montana. I never would have guessed it.
Personally, though I still retreat to my office when I get overwhelmed (read: afraid), I find I am usually rewarded when I step out. I am met by an incredible love story that has seen war and death and still survived. I am met by gracious smiles and handshakes and hugs. I am met with a breathtaking view of mountains, bright flowers, and a moon with a face in it. The fear isn't gone but at least I'm learning that reality never bites as hard as I think it will. And if it does, I'll deal with it then. Now is not the time.
Saturday, September 04, 2010
Adventure Awaits
I've got silk in my teeth from the delicious sweet corn I just ate. I took a trip over to the farmer's market this morning and spent $50 on corn, bread, cherries, strawberries, zucchini, eggs, blueberries, peaches, and honey. I had an almost spiritual time with my local deliciousness while fixing some quiche, boiling the corn, and cutting up my veggies. I love local.
And speaking of local, I have almost survived two weeks here in Billings, Montana. The last few hours of the road trip here I was freaking out. There was nothing and more nothing for miles and miles and miles. I was thinking, "Oh my goodness. Here I am going to live further out west than anyone in my family ever has and very far away from all those family and all my friends. WHAT AM I DOING?!" And then I got into Billings and discovered civilization and neighbors and people making Hall's house beautiful for my arrival. And I was more at peace. Hard to be here alone but I'm adjusting just as I should be. I found Hall's radio/cd player/record player and use it to fill the silence. That helps tremendously.
My friend Kris from seminary lives here and has been showing me around Montana. we've been to Yellowstone, Cody Wyoming, Red Lodge, and Bozeman. What beautiful, beautiful country there is here. I know I thought this was in the middle of nothing but it is quite something in the middle of a lot of something else. I think that's the biggest surprise. I never expected it to be so beautiful. Then again, I've not been here through the winter and the farmer's are predicting it to be a rough one. So keep me in your prayers. Mail me postcards, letters, and packages full of love. I'm on an adventure of a lifetime!
And speaking of local, I have almost survived two weeks here in Billings, Montana. The last few hours of the road trip here I was freaking out. There was nothing and more nothing for miles and miles and miles. I was thinking, "Oh my goodness. Here I am going to live further out west than anyone in my family ever has and very far away from all those family and all my friends. WHAT AM I DOING?!" And then I got into Billings and discovered civilization and neighbors and people making Hall's house beautiful for my arrival. And I was more at peace. Hard to be here alone but I'm adjusting just as I should be. I found Hall's radio/cd player/record player and use it to fill the silence. That helps tremendously.
My friend Kris from seminary lives here and has been showing me around Montana. we've been to Yellowstone, Cody Wyoming, Red Lodge, and Bozeman. What beautiful, beautiful country there is here. I know I thought this was in the middle of nothing but it is quite something in the middle of a lot of something else. I think that's the biggest surprise. I never expected it to be so beautiful. Then again, I've not been here through the winter and the farmer's are predicting it to be a rough one. So keep me in your prayers. Mail me postcards, letters, and packages full of love. I'm on an adventure of a lifetime!
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