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| I cannot locate the origin of this image, but I send you thanks and props, whoever you are! |
Thursday, April 5, 2012
WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT...AND ALSO AWESOMENESS
My father warned that this might be too much for some of you, but I
thought it too good not to share. So here's Jesus the Christ comin' at ya for Holy Week with some of his typically compassionate and inclusive antics (FYI: this is a paraphrase.):
Raptor or Racket?
Is it at all possible that I am genetically part velociraptor? With retractable claws of murderous capability? Or is it the case instead that the women's hosiery industry is a COMPLETE racket designed to frustrate and bankrupt professional women across the globe? I simply ask because when I put on new nylons for the first time and an immense hole rips through the toe and all the way up to the thigh, I am puzzled as to why a garment designed to be donned foot-first would be unable to withstand the friction of a well-manicured toenail.
And while we're on the topic, who the hell invented nylons anyway?!??! I mean, I understand where tights come from ("Damn, this skirt that my patriarchal, misogynist culture has forced me to wear to feel feminine doesn't actually do anything to keep the lower half of my body warm! In fact, quite the opposite. What's a girl to do?" Tada: tights.). But given that tights in antiquity were surely made from a material like wool, when did we also decide that a paper thin, transparent, rip-prone material would be best suited to replace said tights?
Well, I did a little "research" (READ: searched Wikipedia) where I just found out that Nylon became popular in the 1940s as a replacement for silk when access to silk became limited by our involvement World War II (Japan being among the world's major silk producers.) Turns out the effects of war are more far reaching than one might imagine...
But I digress. The really interesting part was in the section about how Nylon got it's name. I quote: "In 1940, John W. Eckelberry of DuPont stated that the letters "nyl" were arbitrary and the "on" was copied from the suffixes of other fibers such as cotton and rayon. A later publication by DuPont explained that the name was originally intended to be "No-Run" ("run" meaning "unravel"), but was modified to avoid making such an unjustified claim and to make the word sound better." Right. Because it would have been completely unjustified. Because it is the nature of nylon to run. But I'm glad they reconsidered the name while continuing to market a product which makes no sense. Jerks. I may consider swiping you with my velociraptor claws.
None of this, of course, has cleared up my confusion about why we are STILL doing this. Given we have long resolved our issues with our brothers and sisters across the Pacific, is it not possible that we might go back to the old school days when I didn't have to put tape over my toenails in order to get to work on time?
* I also learned that Nylon first appeared in toothbrushes, but can also be used for making rope, parachutes, ballistic fibers (whatever those are), meat wrapping and sausage sheets (which is sometimes what I feel I am using it for on my fat-ankle days...just kidding. I don't really have very fat ankles. But I stand in solidarity with those who do.) But seriously, am I really eating nylon when I have a sausage at Costco? Sick.
No-mentum
Fortunately or not--jury is still out on this one*--I've had quite a bit of time this month to reflect on some things. Apparently, one of the best antidotes to something like pneumonia is to do nothing, a task which is, unfortunately, not well-developed among my many gifts. Though I do love a good afternoon nap here and there, days on end of sitting and doing nothing makes me feel restless, irritable and sullen. Happily, I have identified the source of this as malaise as the loss of momentum I would like to henceforth deem no-mentum.
Momentum, I have realized, is what gets me through life. Perhaps it is my type-A personality, but my best days are most certainly those on which I am flying from one thing to another, propelled forward by perpetual motion that is busyness and accomplishment.** The days I go from a few hours in the office to teaching a class to leading a bible study to a meeting of the worship committee to a hospital visit to an evening of socializing with friends...these are the days on which I feel most truly alive: the days when it feels I am moving forward. But it's not just days, I have realized in my asthmatic-induced hermitage; it's a lifetime. Most of my life I have felt propelled from one thing to the next by the sheer velocity of the speed I was already going: the whirr of high school whipped me right on into the tumult of college which tossed me into a first job which hadn't even ended before the second arrived and helped me to hone my skills and interests so I could could apply to graduate school where, once accepted, I was swept up in the tornado of that time and place and constantly preparing for my first "real" job which I started a few days after I graduated and went on for a few years until a few days before I came to this one.
But there is a catch. And you know what it is if you bothered to read the footnote. Perpetual motion, as it turns out, doesn't actually work. Things, though inexplicable theoretically, slow down eventually. And my newest insight is that I will too, not only through bronchial trauma, but because the milestones of my life are bound to be fewer and further between in my next 30 years as they have been in the first 30. It seems the perpetual motion of my relatively balanced existence at this moment can surely not slingshot me all the way. And so what has been a carnival ride must now become a distance sport, for which I may need to develop a different set of skills and priorities.
If there is one thing I have learned in my current post--and I am grateful to those who have shared their journey with me--it is that one of the most difficult realities of human life is that reality of aging. Getting older, from all I can observe in those whom I serve, is TOUGH business: not for the weak of heart. And crafting a life of meaning, relationships with substance, and a set of principles which sustain one when the momentum of life slows to a crawl, is a task for the wise, one of which I hope I will become as I settle into the reality of no-mentum as lifestyle, not lethargy.
*Though one juror, the one with whom I happen to co-habitate, has weighed in. His decision? As my mother used to say, "I'll give you three guesses and the first two don't count."
**I will admit to you--because this is the web and feels anonymous though I need to remind myself that it is NOT--that I just wikipedia-d "perpetual motion machine" to confirm that no such a thing has yet been invented. Clearly, I haven't been reading the science section of the paper recently or really ever in the last 15 years. You will be glad to know it has not....some problem with "over-unity." Read more here.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Shut Up, Harry Potter, Shut Up
Let me be clear: I love Harry Potter. Not in a dress-up-as-Dumbledore-for-the-finale-part-2-type thing, but I will admit that I have watched the entire series a number of times and gotten way more into it than a 30-year-old professional woman probably should. But still it is difficult for me to express in simple words the FURY I felt when I read the following interview with Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe in Parade Magazine.* In response to the question "Your dad is a Protestant from Ulser and your mom is English and Jewish. Were you raise in a particular religion?" Radcliffe responded with this RIDICULOUSNESS: "There was never [religious] faith in the house. I think of myself as
being Jewish and Irish, despite the fact that I’m English. My dad
believes in God, I think. I’m not sure if my mom does. I don’t. I have a
problem with religion or anything that says, 'We have all the answers,'
because there’s no such thing as 'the answers.' We’re complex. We
change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for
human complexity."
I'm sorry you wizardly little jerk, but let's get real: At some point, even when you are famous and rich and young and talented, you're going to need to grow up and develop a more nuanced view of the world, one that can take into account that yes, we are all complex and we all have different ways of processing that complexity. To say religion leaves no room for human complexity betrays that you know as little about the religion of the world as you do about the religion of your parents.**
Religions are some of the most fascinating and ancient and intricate responses to human complexity that there have been. Traditions that seek to reconcile what it meant to be a human 5,000 years ago with what it means to be one today, traditions that try, with varying success, to make meaning of the sanctity of human life across geography and time and culture, and traditions that ask, amidst all that, what it is to be the best humans, to transcend all that makes us beasts and to try to enact compassion and wisdom and awe in meaningful ways; these traditions are, to me, respectable endeavors and should be treated as such.
Do you need to make use of these particular forms of addressing the complexity you so astutely observed in humanity? Of course not. Are there aspects of religion that detract from human joy and dignity that could benefit from articulate, reasoned critique? Certainly. But to get on the anti-religion PR band wagon*** just to seem cool for a magazine that most people will toss aside in favor of the Sunday funnies is flippant and thoughtless and makes me wish I never heard the word "Expeliarmus."
*Why was I reading Parade Magazine is an area which needs a bit of investigation?
**Maybe instead of processing this with Parade Magazine, you could start your learning with a candid conversation around the dinner table.
***Why is it SO cool just now to be anti-religion? I don't mean to sound like a paranoid fundamentalist here, but seriously, it seems every time I turn around some privileged, self-absorbed hipster is writing a content-light, cliche-heavy book or a blog post about how enlightened they have become in giving up religion and becoming spiritual in the wilderness. Does this really have to be such a thing? I stopped eating hot dogs, but I don't know enough to write a book about it, so I won't. I'll leave that to the experts.
I'm sorry you wizardly little jerk, but let's get real: At some point, even when you are famous and rich and young and talented, you're going to need to grow up and develop a more nuanced view of the world, one that can take into account that yes, we are all complex and we all have different ways of processing that complexity. To say religion leaves no room for human complexity betrays that you know as little about the religion of the world as you do about the religion of your parents.**
Religions are some of the most fascinating and ancient and intricate responses to human complexity that there have been. Traditions that seek to reconcile what it meant to be a human 5,000 years ago with what it means to be one today, traditions that try, with varying success, to make meaning of the sanctity of human life across geography and time and culture, and traditions that ask, amidst all that, what it is to be the best humans, to transcend all that makes us beasts and to try to enact compassion and wisdom and awe in meaningful ways; these traditions are, to me, respectable endeavors and should be treated as such.
Do you need to make use of these particular forms of addressing the complexity you so astutely observed in humanity? Of course not. Are there aspects of religion that detract from human joy and dignity that could benefit from articulate, reasoned critique? Certainly. But to get on the anti-religion PR band wagon*** just to seem cool for a magazine that most people will toss aside in favor of the Sunday funnies is flippant and thoughtless and makes me wish I never heard the word "Expeliarmus."
*Why was I reading Parade Magazine is an area which needs a bit of investigation?
**Maybe instead of processing this with Parade Magazine, you could start your learning with a candid conversation around the dinner table.
***Why is it SO cool just now to be anti-religion? I don't mean to sound like a paranoid fundamentalist here, but seriously, it seems every time I turn around some privileged, self-absorbed hipster is writing a content-light, cliche-heavy book or a blog post about how enlightened they have become in giving up religion and becoming spiritual in the wilderness. Does this really have to be such a thing? I stopped eating hot dogs, but I don't know enough to write a book about it, so I won't. I'll leave that to the experts.
What's Up Jesus on Steroids
One thing I would like to point out is that sometimes, good things do happen. Sometimes you are limping through life feeling like you've gotten the cold of the century, and then you find out what you actually have is bronchitis/pneumonia, for which they give you both antibiotics and steroids that allegedly will make you feel better, though what actually happens is that you don't feel better at all and now can't sleep at night and despite their reputations still don't make you feel like lifting weights or playing baseball. (Though perhaps I'll check back on that when I have oxygen actually flowing to my heart and brain again.)
And then just as you are dreading, dreading, dreading spending a super long day at work, leading a Lenten worship service which will involve massive amounts of singing (an activity which, it turns out, also requires regular oxygen flow.), and then moderating a meeting which is bound to last long into the night, you wake up and see this scene in the backyard of the home you just bought in the temperate climate of the NW:
And you think, even though you don't believe in divine intervention in exactly this cause-and-effect-way,
And you go back to bed. But not before feeding the dog, who apparently has not been fed in a while:
And then just as you are dreading, dreading, dreading spending a super long day at work, leading a Lenten worship service which will involve massive amounts of singing (an activity which, it turns out, also requires regular oxygen flow.), and then moderating a meeting which is bound to last long into the night, you wake up and see this scene in the backyard of the home you just bought in the temperate climate of the NW:
And you think, even though you don't believe in divine intervention in exactly this cause-and-effect-way,
THANK GOD.
And you go back to bed. But not before feeding the dog, who apparently has not been fed in a while:
Yes, but I'm not Your Pastor
Warning: If you are not a pastor, or somehow involved in thinking about religious vocational identity, this may be a meaningless rant and for that I am sorry. More about fun stuff later.
As I have discussed, in the past, being a pastor is a challenging balancing act between vocation and identity. I am a pastor, and I work as a pastor. And those two truths are interlinked in myriad of ways. But I've faced a strange conundrum in reconciling these two realities recently, when I've been asked, in a variety of contexts, how I can possibly reconcile my pastoral identity with any of the following aspects of my personality: flippancy, criticism, humor, dismissal, bartering, sarcasm, extreme enthusiasm or ambivalence. Basically, how can you be a pastor and do/say/think that? And to those queries I say, "Yes, I am a Pastor. But I'm not Your Pastor."
This may sound cold. In fact, when I casually ran this idea by a number of my pastoral colleagues, several said as much, one even suggested--jokingly, I think, though now I am beginning to question it--that perhaps I should attend some training on how to "integrate my values." But it is not meant coldly at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I am a pastor. I have been trained as a pastor. I pastor a church, and the title in my email signature is "pastor." I have wisdom and privilege and trust that are granted to me because of my office as a pastor. And I have particular responsibilities for upholding that office with dignity and integrity. But though I may be a pastor in every way, I'm not everyone's pastor. Though I can bring to bear all the insight I have gained through my identity as a pastor to all my relationships, I can't relate as a pastor to everyone. I have to relate to my friends as friends, and my partner as my partner, and my family as my family. I can't apply active listening in every conversation I have with Mr. L about what to get at the grocery store. And I can't maintain relationships of caring with my friends if all I can say is "That sounds really overwhelming." and not "Something sucky happened to me today too....let's bitch about it." I cannot constantly be attentive to everyone else's well-being in the same way I am attuned to it at work (just as I imagine most doctors do not come home at the end of the day and take their children's blood pressure.) Does this mean that I don't appreciate it when people outside of my work life ask me for input or advice or insight or prayers? Of course not. Using my skills to help those I care for is an honor and a joy. But it still doesn't mean that I'm their pastor.
A lot of theological work has been done to determine how it is exactly that being a pastor sets one apart from those whom one pastors. And there are many different answers to that question. In my own tradition, the Reformed branch, we believe that a pastor is set aside for particular work, not because of elevated genius or holiness (I am a very holy genius, you should know, but it's just a coincidence and is not how I got this gig.) Anyway, we believe you are set aside for the office. And there is something about consent in there. We have to agree that I am your pastor. And I have to agree to be in that role, to set aside my personal agendas and prejudices and issues in order to be fully present with you and help you hear what God is saying to you. And that changes how we are and will be together. And I don't always want that.
Because one cannot be set aside all the time. One has to be set inside too, in a community of equals, in order to be real. And so yes, I will continue to periodically tease you and make sarcastic comments and barter to get things I want and listen only half-heartedly sometimes (Mr. L if you are reading this, of course I am actively listening to you most of the time). I don't know that that makes me a bad pastor (though perhaps some of my colleagues will still disagree).
Perhaps this makes no sense at all. But being pastor of the entire world sounds pretty tiring. Doesn't it?
Here is a handy test to take if you are concerned about the implications of this post:
If I look like this when we are interacting, I am probably your pastor:
Please note the difference in both dress and demeanor.
As I have discussed, in the past, being a pastor is a challenging balancing act between vocation and identity. I am a pastor, and I work as a pastor. And those two truths are interlinked in myriad of ways. But I've faced a strange conundrum in reconciling these two realities recently, when I've been asked, in a variety of contexts, how I can possibly reconcile my pastoral identity with any of the following aspects of my personality: flippancy, criticism, humor, dismissal, bartering, sarcasm, extreme enthusiasm or ambivalence. Basically, how can you be a pastor and do/say/think that? And to those queries I say, "Yes, I am a Pastor. But I'm not Your Pastor."
This may sound cold. In fact, when I casually ran this idea by a number of my pastoral colleagues, several said as much, one even suggested--jokingly, I think, though now I am beginning to question it--that perhaps I should attend some training on how to "integrate my values." But it is not meant coldly at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I am a pastor. I have been trained as a pastor. I pastor a church, and the title in my email signature is "pastor." I have wisdom and privilege and trust that are granted to me because of my office as a pastor. And I have particular responsibilities for upholding that office with dignity and integrity. But though I may be a pastor in every way, I'm not everyone's pastor. Though I can bring to bear all the insight I have gained through my identity as a pastor to all my relationships, I can't relate as a pastor to everyone. I have to relate to my friends as friends, and my partner as my partner, and my family as my family. I can't apply active listening in every conversation I have with Mr. L about what to get at the grocery store. And I can't maintain relationships of caring with my friends if all I can say is "That sounds really overwhelming." and not "Something sucky happened to me today too....let's bitch about it." I cannot constantly be attentive to everyone else's well-being in the same way I am attuned to it at work (just as I imagine most doctors do not come home at the end of the day and take their children's blood pressure.) Does this mean that I don't appreciate it when people outside of my work life ask me for input or advice or insight or prayers? Of course not. Using my skills to help those I care for is an honor and a joy. But it still doesn't mean that I'm their pastor.
A lot of theological work has been done to determine how it is exactly that being a pastor sets one apart from those whom one pastors. And there are many different answers to that question. In my own tradition, the Reformed branch, we believe that a pastor is set aside for particular work, not because of elevated genius or holiness (I am a very holy genius, you should know, but it's just a coincidence and is not how I got this gig.) Anyway, we believe you are set aside for the office. And there is something about consent in there. We have to agree that I am your pastor. And I have to agree to be in that role, to set aside my personal agendas and prejudices and issues in order to be fully present with you and help you hear what God is saying to you. And that changes how we are and will be together. And I don't always want that.
Because one cannot be set aside all the time. One has to be set inside too, in a community of equals, in order to be real. And so yes, I will continue to periodically tease you and make sarcastic comments and barter to get things I want and listen only half-heartedly sometimes (Mr. L if you are reading this, of course I am actively listening to you most of the time). I don't know that that makes me a bad pastor (though perhaps some of my colleagues will still disagree).
Perhaps this makes no sense at all. But being pastor of the entire world sounds pretty tiring. Doesn't it?
Here is a handy test to take if you are concerned about the implications of this post:
If I look like this when we are interacting, I am probably your pastor:
If I look like this, I'm probably not:
Please note the difference in both dress and demeanor.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Pink Toilet
I haven't really had a lot of time to write lately, mostly because Mr.L and I just became the proud owners of an Ugly Pink Toilet.
Ugly Pink Toilet is from the 1960s. She came with a matching pink bathtub and a pink sink, the three musketeers of tackiness, also from the 1960s. All of these pink items are, happily, attached to a little blue house, from, you guessed it, the 1960s. The decor inside this house is also, surprise surprise, from the 1960s, as is the plumbing under the house, the roof on top of the house, the carpet inside the house, and the paint on the walls of the house.
So that's what we've been doing.
Luckily, we are adjusting quickly and allowing this house to instruct us in important virtues from the past such as PATIENCE (Multi-tasking water related actions, for instance, such as taking a shower while running the washing machine is NOT an acceptable time saving plan, unless you are willing to endure scald marks on your back.) and TOLERANCE (No, that cabinet in the laundry room will not shut, it will continue to swing open at strange intervals and bash you in the head. You must tolerate it.) and WONDER (I wonder why there is a light switch in the kitchen whose sole purpose is to render all other kitchen switches unusable.) and MEMORY KEEPING (One must remember not to open the screen door too quickly given the strangely inconvenient placement of a roof nail that prevents the door from opening more than 1/3 of the way.) All important virtues for owners of fixer-uppers and pink toilets.
*What's that you say? Is that BOTH pink-black-grey confetti lineleum AND pink-purple-flower wall paper? Yes. Yes it is. The 60s threw up in my bathroom and I'm the one that ended up with a headache....
Ugly Pink Toilet is from the 1960s. She came with a matching pink bathtub and a pink sink, the three musketeers of tackiness, also from the 1960s. All of these pink items are, happily, attached to a little blue house, from, you guessed it, the 1960s. The decor inside this house is also, surprise surprise, from the 1960s, as is the plumbing under the house, the roof on top of the house, the carpet inside the house, and the paint on the walls of the house.
So that's what we've been doing.
Luckily, we are adjusting quickly and allowing this house to instruct us in important virtues from the past such as PATIENCE (Multi-tasking water related actions, for instance, such as taking a shower while running the washing machine is NOT an acceptable time saving plan, unless you are willing to endure scald marks on your back.) and TOLERANCE (No, that cabinet in the laundry room will not shut, it will continue to swing open at strange intervals and bash you in the head. You must tolerate it.) and WONDER (I wonder why there is a light switch in the kitchen whose sole purpose is to render all other kitchen switches unusable.) and MEMORY KEEPING (One must remember not to open the screen door too quickly given the strangely inconvenient placement of a roof nail that prevents the door from opening more than 1/3 of the way.) All important virtues for owners of fixer-uppers and pink toilets.
*What's that you say? Is that BOTH pink-black-grey confetti lineleum AND pink-purple-flower wall paper? Yes. Yes it is. The 60s threw up in my bathroom and I'm the one that ended up with a headache....
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