Greetings from Mud Season

Hellooooo from the depths of mud season which is that transitional time between Winter (ski season) and Summer (mountain bike season), or what others would commonly call Spring.  High Country locals are more descriptive and perhaps more honest about what happens in April and May at 9,000+ feet and so they opt for alternative wording.  The snow is melting big-time from the mountains and while new life is emerging in greens and other vibrant colors, the common and constant element around our feet these days is brown and squishy.  This is a time when the living room carpet turns from white to gray (ha! that happened awhile ago...) and the high country people as a whole slow down and even disperse.  Many of the restaurants and stores close down or reduce hours, knowing that tourism is light and it is a chance for workers to re-charge.

There are days this week when my hospital has had a whopping ZERO patients, making my chaplain job pretty easy on the outset and allowing me time for other pursuits (ie blogging!).  However, one difficult psycho-social trend that occurs in mud season is an increase in depression and perceived isolation, and a correlating decrease in ability to cope.  This tragic combination leads to spikes in alcohol and substance abuse as well as an increase in suicides and suicide attempts among all ages.  This trend and its predictability from year-to-year is a particularly challenging and devastating part of ministry in the mountains of which I was previously unaware.  I am still discerning how I personally and how we as a community can best respond.  I attended an intensive 15-hour suicide intervention training provided by the school district this winter, and I am presently working with my church's education team to plan a suicide prevention training later this year. I was so sad, and still am, to lose one of my first and kindest friends at church to suicide last fall.  I expect to return to this heavy topic with a suggestion of resources at a later time.

Needless to say, it's been a year of great learning and high adventure for me in my first job as a staff chaplain and as a year-round resident of the mountains.  I am delighted to report that I skied a record FORTY-THREE days which is probably close to the entire number of ski days in my life prior to the move.  Locals complained that it was the worst year for snow in decades, but as a newbie, I was thrilled.  A bad ski day in the Rockies still beats a good ski day in the Midwest or East Coast simply based on the mountains' size, the high altitude, and lack of humidity which leads to the glorious experience of skiing in soft, fluffy snow.

Another favorite season lurks around the corner:  This summer, I look forward to tackling another 14-er with my beloved, taking my dog (the other beloved) for long walks near streams and lakes, trying out mountain biking and maybe rafting, and building up my endurance and speed as a road cyclist- all while maintaining a peaceful, non-hostile relationship with moose and other wildlife of which I continue to be in awe.  I will also develop my AirB&B business and explore  marketing opportunities to work as a wedding chaplain (the mountains naturally are a prominent wedding destination!).  As always, I welcome any chance I have to host or meet up with visiting friends and family.  A niece is in town this week and one of my besties will be here next week.  This makes my heart happy to overflowing.

Amidst the peaks and valleys and sheer messiness of mud, joy indeed abounds.

More than Fair

Last week I had the privilege of preaching and leading worship at Joy Lutheran Church in Parker, Colorado as a supply pastor (similar to a substitute teacher).  While I've led several interfaith chapel services at the hospital during my chaplain residency program, it had been over a year since I presided at Sunday morning worship.  I loved it!  The community could not have been more welcoming.  I even struck gold as the Women of Joy group hosted a bake sale that weekend, and I left church with a mint chocolate cake, assorted cookies, and zucchini bread in hand.  All for the sake of helping refugees.

I am including the audio version of my message here.  I did not realize the congregation recorded the sermon for their website until after the service was over.  I give credit to preaching gurus Matthew Skinner and David Lose with help in the preparation of this sermon.

More than Fair sermon on Sept 24, 2017

The Art of Being Centered

Since my move to the mountains, I have taken up two practices that are related in ways deeper than the fact that they both happen to take place on Wednesdays.  One practice is not new to me and the other is totally foreign; both are a challenge and delight.

On Wednesday at noon, my church offers a half-hour of minimally guided Centering Prayer.  Typically, the pastor or other church leader begins and ends the session in the sanctuary with a chime of a prayer bowl.  Those gathered, ranging from 3 to 9 persons, sit in silence with eyes closed.  We may use the quiet time however we most need, with the intention of being centered internally.  For me, that means it is an invitation to connect with God through reflection on and release of my longings, joys, hopes, and hurts.  Sometimes I spend the bulk of the time focused primarily on one issue that is pressing on my mind (i.e. concern over a loved one's health, worry over finances, stress over the state of our country and deplorable leadership, etc).  Other times, I have no pressing issue on my mind and I show up to the session empty and open.  Especially on those occasions, I have encountered or received an image, word, or thought during the prayer time that helps frame the rest of the day or week.  Meeting God in silence and intention, with the support of community, has helped center me in God's love for me and my work.  Even though it can be a challenge to remain still and the time can feel like it's dragging, this prayer practice has been a gift smack dab in the middle of my day and week, and I miss it when I am unable to attend.

Second, a few weeks ago I started taking a pottery class.  The first session was awful. My hands and thumbs hurt, I came home with clay everywhere including my hair and glasses, and I was discouraged that I couldn't seem to work with the clay in a cooperative way.  I kept messing it up when I tried to make the assigned cylinder.  Basically, I couldn't make anything pretty! What I have come to appreciate after a few more sessions is the importance of... wait for it...CENTERING.

The first thing we do after sitting down at the wheel with our wedge of clay is throw it down and center the clay on the wheel.  The success of everything else depends  on this first step.  If it's off-center, we can't properly open the inside.  One part of the cylinder's wall will be thin and the other thick, and eventually the structure will collapse.  Experienced potters can center pretty quickly and effortlessly.  For novices, it can take several minutes which feels much longer.  While it may be trying on one's patience and physical abilities to keep hands firmly placed around the clay and thumbs on top while it is spinning,  the centering practice is necessary in order to do more challenging things with the clay layer such as open it and "raise the wall" which refers to lengthening the sides of the cylinder.

It doesn't take much probing to see how the two practices of prayer and pottery are related.  It's not only clay that functions better and more fully once centered; it is also humans: Mountain Chaplain in particular.

Daily I give thanks to God that I AM HERE -- alive on planet Earth at this time in world history, but also that I am specifically working and living where I am in the mountains with my beloved partner and animals.  I don't remember the last time everything felt this aligned.  I recall feeling similarly excited by God's guidance in my life and call at the beginning of both my church positions, so I believe there is something to the so-called "honeymoon" period in a new ministry.  But I think my current sense of alignment also has to do with the renewed practice of centering which for me means intentional engagement in activity and thought which connect me to God, my fullest self, and the world.

I thank God for new guides and learning in this art, and I hope to maintain and seek out centering practices when these opportunities end.  TBTG +

Humble run

While visiting a friend for a long weekend, I went for a jog at sea level. It was a perfect day to be out: sunny but not too hot with a cool breeze. I am extra appreciative of pleasant weather these days while Hurricane Harvey continues to batter Texas. Prayers abound for my Texan friends.

I have been wondering this summer if my difficulty breathing during excercise in my new mountain town - at 9,000+ feet - means I am still adjusting to the altitude or if I am simply unfit.  Today I learned the former may be a factor but it's the latter that is more true!  Running at sea level with all the oxygen proved to be a challenge as well. Even though it was tough to make my legs move forward at more than a walking pace, I kept going around the lake near my friend's home. I was encouraged by the many people and dogs of all ages and sizes who were also making their way around the lake, one step at a time, mostly with a smile on their face.

As I was pushing myself forward, I heard a runner approach and I tried to stay ahead of her for several minutes. Eventually, she caught and passed me. I was humbled to see it was a "they" passing me: an adult woman, pushing an infant in a stroller, ran by with no visible huffing, puffing, or sweat beads pouring out like my body was doing (for an hour after the run as well).

We exchanged a few encouraging words and soon she was out of sight. Way to go, bad-ass momma! But also: ugh! I felt badly for being such a slow-poke.

I mention this vignette here though this very thing has certainly happened to me multiple times before as a reminder to myself and anyone reading this  that the important thing in seeking health is that I simply DO IT, not that I do it better or faster than others.  Comparison and judgment is not helpful most of the time.  Maybe comparing and contrasting  my speed, distance and overall health today to the same measurements in 6 months or a year would be helpful but I need not begrudge the stroller-pushing lady for being a better athlete than me or think less of myself for being slow and a heavy-breather.

I choose now to let it serve as motivation. To help me get up and hit the pavement or trail tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And slowly, I may become a bad-ass runner again, too. Humility leads to honest self-assessment which ideally leads to setting and pursuing goals. Hello to humility.

Surprise on Straight Creek Trail #51

"The Lord directs the steps of the godly; He delights in every detail of their lives..."
Psalm 37:23

Today was a slow work day due to the hospital having a mere three patients in house. That meant I clocked out early and went home before lunch.  In a brief pause between rain showers, I took my beloved canine out for a exploratory hike.  I meant to take him on Tenderfoot Mountain trail but ended up accidentally on Straight Creek Trail #51.  Considering the options in this county, it was a pretty boring hike (no major viewpoints and paralleled I-70 the whole time), but it was great for Jack with its access to the creek and gentle incline.  As we were headed back to the car, I passed a lone hiker - the only other hiker out on this rainy day.  He happened to be someone I just met and whose home I had been in one week ago in another town.  In my car, I was carrying around a Thank-you letter addressed to him and his wife but had not yet mailed because I had no stamps.  We stopped for a pleasant conversation about wild mushrooms, skiing, and his church group.  I'm sure this will not be the last time our paths cross.

The incident got me thinking about how I have run into just the person I have wanted or needed to see multiple times while hiking in the woods, something I usually do for solitary reflection and quality time with my dog.  A couple times that came to mind were in Connecticut.  A few miles from the trailhead at my usual reservoir trail, I crossed paths with a young woman from my church whose family member had recently died.  She was attending college in another state and I didn't know how to reach her directly.  It meant so much to make a connection and be able to check in with how she was feeling in the midst of grief and transition.

Another time was in my last days of being a pastor in Connecticut.  I had said goodbye to the congregation and was preparing the next day to begin a cross-country move.  My partner and I took Jack to Cotton Hollow Reserve in Glastonbury for one last jaunt in the New England woods.  There on what I recall was another rainy afternoon, we ran into the Sunday School director from my church, to whom I had not yet personally gotten to say goodbye. She and I had attempted to arrange a time for goodbyes and failed.  And then we ended up at the same large rock in the same creek on the same trail at the same time.  Maybe it was a coincidence, but the serendipity and oddness of our timing indicated something more was helping us out.

I believe that God invites us to be co-creators and has given us the precious and sometimes fraught gift of making decisions for our lives (aka free will).  But I also believe God directs our steps in specific ways I cannot totally understand.  There have been too many chance encounters in my life that were just what I needed or what the other person needed to think it's actually and only about chance.  This happens in the hospital frequently in my pairing with patients and families.  There are individuals and families who I know I was supposed to have met because of how much they impacted me, and hopefully, vice versa.

I'll close with a quote that a friend shared with me earlier today.  While it only peripherally ties in with my story on the trail, it expresses well the experience of being gifted with a genuine, not-only-by-chance encounter with another human who gets you and whose life path intersects with yours.

"The real marriage of true minds is for any two people to possess a sense of humor or irony pitched in exactly the same key, so that their joint glances on any subject cross like interarching searchlights."
-Edith Wharton, A Backward Glance

The gift of hospitality

A beloved elder in my extended family died last month from a sudden, severe stroke.  It was with a mix of gratitude, sorrow, and honor that I attended his packed and beautiful funeral last weekend in Lincoln, Nebraska, where he lived with his wife and many children and grandchildren for the past 55 years after immigrating from Nigeria.

What I will remember most about the father of my brother-in-law and grandfather to four of my nieces and nephew, is his hospitality.  His kindness and genuine welcome compelled me and opportunity allowed me to keep crossing paths with him over the years.  A year after we first met - at my sister and brother-in-law's wedding - he and his wife Bernice helped sponsor my year of service in Guandong Province, China.  In the years since, I moved across the country multiple times: (1) from Chicago to Berkeley, CA in 2003 (2) from Bellingham, WA to Connecticut in 2011 and (3) from Connecticut to Colorado in 2016.  Each of those times, I made a stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, where Obasi and Bernice gave me a warm embrace, comfortable shelter, and always a hearty breakfast before I continued on my journey.  I recall that in my first trip when I was a full-time student, I left with cash for gas and new towels for my dorm room.  In my most recent move, the Onuohas also graciously accommodated my significant other and dog who traveled with me, with thanks to their daughter Sue.

An especially touching part of the funeral service was when Obasi's grandchildren spoke about his influence on their lives.  Each of them shared a way they hoped to continue his legacy of service and commitment to education and family.  One way I would like to honor Obasi's life and impact is by extending hospitality to others in my work, home, and whole being.  I hope to reflect further here and elsewhere what extending and embodying hospitality looks like and means for me. 

You can read a little more about Obasi's remarkable life here:
Obasi's obituary

From Longing to Belonging

"Blessed be the longing that brought you here and quickens your soul with wonder." - John O'Donohue

I am living in a time of blessing.  The past year has been a whirlwind, so much so that regular writing was squeezed out of my schedule to make room for much change, new experiences, and a lot of hard work.  I spent the last year in a chaplain residency program at the University of Colorado Medical Center (Anschutz Campus) in Aurora.  I was assigned to be chaplain for pre-op and PACU, Surgical Trauma ICU, Surgical Specialties, Internal Medicine, and Transplant units.  In addition, I spent every sixth night at the hospital as the on-call chaplain, sleeping in a tiny room whose simplicity and proximity to other on-call rooms reminded me of a monk cell. On those nights, I was the only chaplain to serve, as need arose, the whole hospital of 600 beds plus the Emergency Department. I worked an average of 45-50 hours/week, and I was emotionally exhausted at the end of each week.  I accompanied people through death, life, and re-birth, and everything in between.  I did this with excellent supervision and accompaniment by the peers in my program.  There were seven of us CPE residents: one of whom exclusively served the addiction-rehab center connected to the hospital and one who was assigned to Palliative Care.

Earlier this summer, I began my first staff chaplain position at a small Catholic hospital in an equally small resort town in the Rocky Mountains.  I am six weeks into the new job, and I love it.  I work an average of 24-30 hours/week, and spend my additional on-call hours at home gardening, biking, walking my dog, playing tennis with the love of my life, and going on small hikes. I am also in the middle of moving my home and belongings from the Denver area.

All this brings me back to my first line: I am living in a time of blessing. I try to be aware of this blessedness and give thanks for it daily.  God knows I have lived in prior times that could not easily be called a time of blessing.  I have been through rough, heart-breaking experiences in which I did not feel at home or thriving in my relationships, work, or community. Perhaps I will write about those heart-breaking experiences one day.  But in this case and in this moment, I feel at home in all three respects: relationships, work, and community.  It is clear to me that all of this is God's gracious gift and an answer to prayer and deep longing.

It seems right that I should give thanks, and tell about it! I hope that my words and actions of love and service will themselves be an expression of my thanks and an extension of blessing to others.  As a patient recovering from a double knee-replacement said to me yesterday: "If we could all just leave the world a tiny bit better than we found it, our lives will have fulfilled our purpose."

Photo taken after first day at my new job in late June 2017.

Lessons from my lab

I realize that even in sickness, Jack is teaching me important life lessons:
  -- Whining doesn't help healing come faster.  No whining from Jack in these 24 hours post-surgery or the month of lameness before surgery even while he was obviously in pain.
--   Slow and steady is the best approach.  This is not Jack's style when a squirrel or bicyclist whizzes by, but most of the time, he is pretty chill and low-key.  This quality is already helping in recovery.
--  The mere thought of meeting a new or old friend is enough reason to wag and smile.  For Jack, the encounter with another [person] means he will get to sniff someone up close, receive love and attention, or get a treat.  Therefore, he wags and smiles all the time.  I am more cynical, and certainly more shy, than my pooch.  But after such overwhelming community support, I too find myself wagging more and barking less these days when it comes to encountering the other.

Jack is a good dog

Jack is indeed a good dog; and my friends are generous people.

Last night, the good dog returned home from a two-day stay at the hospital where he had an operation for his torn ACL.  Surgery for a nearly 100-pound dog involves installing hardware into his femur and shaving his bones so that his leg can stabilize and he will - in due time - be able to walk again.

The surgery was intense as was the bill, to the tune of $5,174.  That is $174 more than the new-to-me Toyota Prius I bought in March and for which I continue to make monthly payments.

At the time I learned Jack would need surgery, I had $20 in my wallet and not a whole lot more in the bank.  Unlike hospital stays for people, the money would be due at the time of service.  As an eternal optimist who looks for opportunities within challenges, I brainstormed how I might raise funds for Jack's surgery.  I considered making cookies and mailing them around the country based on orders taken (with two nephews and a niece in college, I have mastered the art of cookie care-packages); or setting up an old-fashioned lemonade/mango lassi stand outside my house for the hundreds of cars that pass by at commuting hours.  But these things were labor-intensive for a small fundraising yield and no guaranteed takers.

I shared these thoughts with my mom.  She texted in response that I should start a "Go Fund Me" page; I received this suggestion while having lunch with my friend Kathy who said the same thing.  I took their shared wave-length as a sign.

The next day, I set up a fundraising account for Jack and posted it on facebook. Within three days, I had raised a $1000 and within 10 days, I raised a total of $1430 from 26 people.

I am so moved by this act of generosity from my far-flung community.  I have not been in touch with one donor since high school (over 20 years ago); another I met last year while kayaking for a week in Alaska; and one person I have not even met as he is the brother of a friend.  People from Washington, Colorado, Minnesota, Tennessee, Illinois, Massachusetts, New York, and Connecticut (and perhaps more places?) contributed toward my dog's surgery.  Some of them have dogs, but not all.  None except my mom are related to me.

The thing that inspired them to do this is the GOODNESS of their hearts connecting with the GOODNESS of sweet Jack and his need for help.

Like Jesus who was amazed by the faith of the Roman Centurion who went to great lengths to receive healing for his beloved slave in yesterday's assigned Gospel reading  (Luke 7:1-10), I am AMAZED by the generosity of my community.  Not because I expect less from such wonderful people, but because I am humbled to be the recipient of such kindness.

My friends gave more than merely dollars; dozens of people offered words of support, encouragement and prayer.  More than anything, the community effort was a morale booster so that neither Jack nor I would feel alone going through this hard, scary thing.

Healing and wholeness come in a variety of forms.  I am thankful for the swell of love that has emerged from generous people reaching out in a time of need.  I hope I can return the kindness and pay it forward.  For now, I hold the goodness close and share it with my sweet pup as he heals.

The campaign for Jack's surgery can be found here: Heal Jack Campaign


Thank you, wonderful community of folks and pups, for helping Jack to get back on his feet; by doing so, you are also helping heal me!

Jack at one of his favorite and most frequent stomping grounds: the ballfields behind the elementary school near our home.  This picture was taken just a few days before surgery.

Embracing the liberated life

Nov. 1, 2015

All Saints Sunday sermon notes - John 11:32-44

Grace and peace to you, Saints – from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.  Amen.

Other than getting eaten by a bear in Alaska, my greatest fear on taking a sabbatical was that someone from St. Mark would face sudden death while I was gone…since we all will eventually, though probably not by a bear.  My concern was that I would be half a world away, unable to bring comfort or hope to the situation.

I knew Pastor KM and this community would provide wonderful support –it’s just I would have been sad to miss a major event – good or bad.  I had an anxiety dream at one point that Christa got married while I was gone. I had to send her a facebook message in the middle of my travels, making sure that I hadn’t missed this.

It’s hard to miss out on the major things – in family and church life.

But it’s a risk any care-giver takes when they go away to care for themselves.  It was a risk even for Jesus when he traveled - not for sabbatical purposes, but for ministry in other parts of Galilee; in his human form, he couldn’t be there for people at all times and in all places.

And when he was there, he offered more than a comforting presence.  He did the very miracle we all wish we could: he cured the sick and gave sight to the blind, and more!

Jesus cured the sick wherever he went, often when the sick were on their deathbeds. But there is at least one instance when he wasn’t around when his friends needed him most.

When he shows up to Bethany and Lazarus is already dead, Lazarus’s sister confronts him:

“IF YOU HAD BEEN HERE MY BROTHER WOULD NOT HAVE DIED.”

Mary wore her feelings on her sleeve.  And she is greatly distressed. So is Jesus…  To the point of weeping.

In some versions, this story contains the shortest verse in the Bible.  Two Words: Jesus Wept.     It’s a very short verse but  yet it’s theologically a very big deal.

The Savior of the World wept.  He was so moved, and his weeping led to action, a shocking miracle of bringing a decomposing four days old unrefrigerated body back to life.

It’s an amazing story that shows us no matter when we become aware of God being on the scene – it is never too late for God to bring us back to fullness of life in order to show God’s glory --- in God’s own way.  God works to bring about salvation and wholeness beyond our wildest dreams.

And yet God does this work, as Jesus did in Bethany, right in the midst of community, before our very eyes, using our very hands.

Three things worth our consideration in this story are:

It matters that Jesus wept.  He was in the moment - not beyond it.  He was fully present to the pain and despair in Mary, Martha and those grieving with them.

I’m encouraged to hear that St. Mark (congregation) has been taking time each week during the prayers of the people  to be attentive to the needs and burdens that our brothers and sisters carry.  Taking time to pray and listen helps us be present to those who are sick and suffering – and to celebrate with those experiencing joy.

The first take away is Jesus wept; he was present.

The second is that his weeping led to action.  He brought Lazarus back from the dead – but he did so in a way that involved the community.

Clearly, the power came from him.  It was all Jesus.  But it wasn’t a private miracle.  The witnesses played a part in it too.  Some moved the stone when Jesus gave the command.  Others unbound the linens that were wrapped around him…. As the passage ends with those powerful words: Unbind him and Let Him Go.

His weeping led to action – and his action was one that involved the people around him to help the brother in greatest need.

I wonder when in your life has awareness and attentiveness to pain and suffering led to action? When have your tears helped lead you into service?

That is the third point for us to consider:

We play a critical role in each other’s healing, renewal, and revival.

I could have taken a sabbatical into the watery and wilderness places all alone.  But if I did, I would have definitely gotten eaten by a bear.  And before that happened, I would have gotten very lonely.  I live alone- by choice though not by design.  So alone-time is not something I crave in my regular life.

What I cherished most in my time away wasn’t the gorgeous scenery or getting stamps in my passport (although both of those things thrilled me) --- it was quality time with people who mean the world to me but live multiple time zones away.  This includes my mother and friends  who knew and loved me before I was a pastor.  They helped me remember that I have a Lydia self apart from my professional role.  And that this Lydia-self is loved by God not for what I do or say or perform, but just because God loves me.  It is a liberating experience to remember this core truth.

Lazarus had a liberating experience when he was unbound and the grave-stone was moved away.  And his heart started beating and his muscles pulsated and his bones may have stiffened up due to lack of use and sudden awakening.

Jesus revived Lazarus - heart, body, and soul.  He did so by showing up – weeping, acting out of compassion, and involving the witnesses.

Though dramatic miracles like this are not happening in front of us today, Jesus still cares for us. He weeps with us.  He acts on our behalf to help us. He includes us in the ongoing revival of our lives and the lives of each other.

Again today, God calls each of us out from the dead.  Out from Zombie-land.  To step joyfully into the life of resurrection, a life where compassion not competition rules the day.

It is liberating but it is also scary because Status Quo is much more comfortable than revival.    
Staying the same and doing what everyone else is doing, however complacent and complicit, is easier than actively embracing God’s reign and living by God’s values - to care for the poor, neglected, and outcast.

To embrace and embody the liberated life, I need your help and I believe you need mine.

By the Spirit’s guidance and power of Jesus, let us unbind each other with the hope that revival may come to the land, beginning with our minds, hearts, bodies, and church.  Amen.

Home again

It may seem like I dropped off the planet, but actually all I did was return home.  Once I got back in my own country and in New England, I rediscovered traditional ways of communicating such as old-fashioned phone-calls (missed those!) and texting as well as the new fangled ways of social media: facebook, instagram, and twitter.  Admidst the other exciting means of communication, the blog lost seniority.

I keep telling people the same thing when they ask how I'm doing: I am SO glad to be home.  I had an incredible and joy-filled time during my travels.  Tonight will be the first time in three months that I spend over three consecutive nights sleeping in my own bed. It was an exciting lifestyle and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to pursue my dreams, but so much bopping around eventually gets tiresome.  I think my animals feel similarly.  My dog slept for three days straight after our reunion a couple weeks ago.  At first I was worried, but I think it took that long for him to recover from all the travel he did.

Soon after returning, I attended a Bishop's Convocation in West Hartford - an annual gathering of Lutheran clergy in New England for learning and faith-building.  I especially wanted to attend this year's convocation because the preacher at the opening worship and the speaker for one of the sessions was the presiding bishop of the ELCA, Rev. Elizabeth Eaton. An important point she made in her talk with us was to remind us that we were called to the preaching vocation AND that we did say Yes to the call.  Sometimes we (preachers, but I think this is true of other professions) tend to *blame* - and/or thank! - God or someone else for the fact that we are in the situation that we're in.  It's helpful to remember that we play a part in getting to where we are in life as well! Taking responsibility for our decisions is a healthy approach! After convocation, I spent several nights in Vermont and western Massachusetts, hiking more of the Appalachian Trail with Jack (dog) and friends Rafi and Rabia.  I also visited family in Boston before settling down in Connecticut to prepare for All Saints' Sunday at St. Mark.

It was so good to be back with my flock!  Things that greeted me upon my return - other than the smell of a dead mouse in the walls of my office - include a pile of half-size papers on my desk that contain the heading: "My dream for St. Mark this year" with a blank space after it and then a sub-heading: "I will help make that dream a reality by" followed by a blank space.  On each of these papers, people filled out their dream and how they will help.  What a delight to return to such dreaming.  Much nicer than returning to a pile of complaints! And then I saw on the church calendar that St. Mark will have a Revival in a couple weeks which was news to me.  That the core members are committed and bring energy to their leadership and service is what impressed me about St Mark to begin with; and that energy never seems to wane despite challenges with keeping up attendance in worship and Sunday School. The other thing that greeted me was wonderful singing.  The best singing I heard in three months came during worship in my own congregation.  Truly wonderful.

If I didn't make it clear already, it is good to be home. :)  I hope to continue to make post-sabbatical and ongoing faith related reflections on my blog. Thank you to those that have checked in throughout my journey!  And thanks be to God for bringing me home.

So happy to be re-united with my love!

Immediately upon return, Jack and I went hiking around our local parks as well as hitting trails in upper New England. This is from one of our favorite places to go for a morning walk: the Manchester reservoir about 10 minutes from my house.

If you fall I will catch you

After many exciting traveling experiences under my belt, I arrived in Germany with perhaps a little less zeal than if this were my first or only destination. My cup of soul-enriching experiences was full and my mental stamina was moving toward low. I thought I had accomplished pretty much all my "water and wilderness" sabbatical goals.

Spent time in water, kayaking in Alaska? Check.
Renewed ordination vows? Check.
Spent a week in intentional prayer, writing an icon? Check.
Attended different kinds of churches? Check.
Read books? Check.  
Spent time in wilderness, camping in WA and VT? Check.
Spent quality time with friends and mentors? Check.
Studied at Iona? Check.

As I said, my cup was full. And in a sense, my expectations were low only in that I could not imagine what more I could fit into the blessing cup or my suitcase for that matter. 
The reason I included Germany on the itinerary was to visit important Reformation sites with the hope that I may return with my church in 2017 to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the Reformation. That is still my hope.  I knew it would be awesome; I just thought I had maxed out my "wow factor" quota. 

But no matter what experience preceded this trip, it is an empowering experience to walk the streets of Eisleben, Wittenberg, Leipzig, Erfurt, and Wartburg in the steps of Martin Luther the Reformer, especially for a Lutheran! 

The Lutheran faith and interpretation of the Gospel, particularly the understanding that our relationship to God is primarily about God's grace in Jesus, is formative to my identity as a Christian and person. 

It is both meaningful and renewing to be where the enormous shift in understanding happened - moving from works to grace.  It adds to the joy that this tour is led by servant-leaders who have both a great sense of humor and great musical talent. If you've been part of a Lutheran youth group in the last 40 years, you've probably heard of them. My tour guides are George Baum and Michael Bridges of the rock band Lost and Found along with other excellent Lutheran musicians: Tangled Blue (Joel and Aimee Pakan) and Rachel Kurtz.

My visit to the small town of Eisleben was a return trip for me, having visited with seminary roommate Jess in January 2004. 

It is the birth and death place of Luther which means it is where he preached his last sermons and was baptized. Especially because God's promises in baptism are pivotal to Luther's whole theological understanding, this is a stop not to be missed on a Reformation tour.

In the last 11 years, St. Peter and Paul Church has undergone major renovation; the 800 year old building was in disrepair and the government set aside large funds to repair and improve Reformation sites in preparation for 2017. I would not have recognized the church from inside based on my last visit. 

The new design is simple and gorgeous. The simplicity stands out in contrast to the ornate, gothic architecture I have seen in most churches I have visited on this tour. The most notable feature of St. Peter and Paul - not surprisingly given the Reformer and his followers - is the baptismal font. It takes the form of an enormous hole with an 8-foot diameter and is filled with water that is 5-feet deep. The font can accommodate full immersion baptism and even has heating capacity.

As soon as I laid eyes on it, I remembered the thing I had not yet done. And immediately I wanted to approach it and remember my baptism. I was supposed to do this with my mom in Scotland. And we sort of did ... We talked about our baptismal stories while we waded in the chilly waters of the North Sea. It was lovely.

But ritual also matters. It was quite moving and meaningful when Rev. Scott Moore - former pastor of St. Peter and Paul - invited all 93 of us tour participants to come forward during evening prayer and remember our baptism. Some folks prostrated near the hole in the ground and reached in to splash. Others queued up near the small, standing font which was actually the one in which Luther was baptized.

I chose the hole in the ground. And in it, like the others around the circle, I splashed. And rejoiced. I washed my tears. And I sang along with Tangled Blue: 

When you fall, I will catch you. I'll be waiting, time after time.

Apparently there was room in my blessing cup for another drop. It may be the most important one of all because this one is a keeper. Wherever there is a drop of water, there is a reminder of God's promise to be with me and with us all through water and the Word.

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time

Preaching lessons from The Globe

"All the world's a stage; and the men and women merely players."

On an overcast and rainy Wednesday, my friend and I toured Shakespeare's re-created Globe and then returned in the evening to watch "Measure for Measure." We stood in the groundling (aka peasant) section, where the students in this photo are standing.

Monica and I enjoyed not more than three days in London, but in true Lydica fashion, we squeezed a whole lot of life and learning into that time. Highlights include visiting the British Museum, Tower of London, and National Portrait Gallery, going on a Royal Bike Tour, attending the installation of three bishops at St. Paul's Cathedral, and catching a show at Shakespeare's Globe in the five pound groundling section. 

That means we paid real money - granted, not much- to stand on concrete for three hours. Oh, and this was outside at night, in October. So it was also a wee bit chilly.

The show was Measure for Measure.  As Monica pointed out at intermission, listening to Shakespeare among rowdy college kids in the cheap section and peering at the actors around a large pillar is like trying to do Algebra on a roller coaster. It was thrilling, but also physically and mentally challenging. For the second half, we stood in a different part of our groundling section which offered no place to lean, but had a more central view of the stage and a more respectful audience. 

In truth, I loved it. The actors were brilliant and the script is obviously the work of a genius.  I appreciated that the actors kept our rapt attention for three hours despite all the stuff going on around us. Planes were flying overhead, the wind was blowing, we kept huddling and occasionally hopping to stay warm, some of the groundlings were drinking and drunk, the language on stage was often difficult to understand, especially as there was no sound amplification in order to be faithful to the 16th century experience.

And yet the players communicated the story and involved us in it, making eye contact and occasional jokes with us. They moved around frequently and kept the play a dynamic and engaging experience. A viewer could possibly be distracted with so much going on, but you could not be bored and it would be hard not to get caught up in the story.

This is something I hope to remember when I step back in the pulpit. One of the more helpful classes I took at the GTU (Graduate Theological Union - seminary in Berkeley) was called "Drama for Preachers." It was precisely about communicating  emotion and story through preaching. But the learning is not a once and done lesson. For those who climb into the pulpit on a regular basis, it helps to remember the important components of effective communication over and again. 

People in 21st century North America (or Northern Europe for that matter) are unaccustomed to sitting still for 60-80 minutes for a primarily oral event such as happens in church on a weekly basis. It is hard to stay attentive for that long when things are going on around you - perhaps in your mind if not in the place where the church service is held.

How can preachers learn from Shakespeare and from these Globe actors... to engage listeners even if and when they have no idea what the preacher is saying and they may be distracted through no fault of their own? How does one communicate the story of God's love that is deeper and wider than the words of a single sermon or church service? Eye-contact helps. Humor and movement, too. 

In reality, it all comes back to something much less technical and more mysterious: Grace.

Even though that gift comes from God and not any human, as a preacher, I hope to develop and hone my communication skills. I will try to remember the effect those Shakespearean actors had on me and how they held my shifty attention span. 

And, I will keep clinging to and praying for grace.

Found in Lostwithiel

Our wonderful guide Sylvia took us for a stroll along the cliffs at Tintagel
Castle after church. A-Mazing.

During my Great Britain stay, I attended four Sunday morning worship services in addition to scores of morning and evening prayer.  I spent two Sundays at Iona Abbey which, as noted before, were amazing experiences due to being part of an international community, being in a place where Christians have gathered for 1500 years, and hearing my esteemed teachers (John Bell and Padraig O Tuama) preach challenging and liberating truths of the Gospel.

The Sunday before Iona, my mom and I worshiped at Grayfriars Church (Church of Scotland) near Edinburgh Castle - selected because it was in walking distance from our cottage, had a late start time, and I expected the music to be excellent as it is a prominent church in a prominent city. I was not disappointed. The organ accompaniment and choral songs were beautiful.The congregational singing was strong, too. 

It was a fine experience of gathering with a small group of Christians (small in respect to a huge space: 40 people in a sanctuary that can accommodate 800) for prayer and song. But there is not much more I can say about it. The sermon was not particularly Christ-focused or thought-provoking (though I am leery to judge since we preachers all have off-days or seasons) and since it was Presbyterian, communion was not celebrated that Sunday. No one greeted us personally though I said hello on the way out to one of the ministers at the door; she responded politely. In that smallish group, we remained anonymous despite it being obvious we were first-time visitors.

Yesterday I worshiped at St. Winnow Church (Church of England) in the town of the same name, three miles west of the charming village of Lostwithiel of Cornwall.  My experience there could not be more different from Grayfriars. 

When I walked toward the church with my host and new friend Sylvia, the minister greeted me before I could get to the door. "You must be Monica or Lydia," he said. Monica is the friend with whom I am traveling, but was sick in bed with a cold that morning.  I answered, "Lydia." "Ah, yes," he replied. "You're the Lutheran minister from Connecticut, doing a sabbatical centered on the themes of water and wilderness." 

Wow! I was impressed to be this far from home, visiting a tiny town I'd not heard of before that morning, and yet be known. 

The parishioners I met before and after worship were just as friendly and attentive. I was fortunate to visit St. Winnow on a family Sunday (first Sunday of the month) which was also their harvest festival in honor of St. Francis.

The instrumental music was not a particular strength as far as organ accompaniment (music is provided by capable volunteers on a rotating basis - Sylvia is one of the rotating accompanists!) and there is not a standing choir.

 However, the congregation sang whole-heartedly, and I recognized most of the music, especially the Peruvian Alleluia (which Cannon John led call and response style) and the hymns "Praise God all creatures of our God and King" and "For the Fruit of all Creation."

It seemed as though everyone stayed for coffee hour (full of sweet and savory Cornish pasties) which was served in the sanctuary, but on the opposite side from where we sat. 

The rest of our too-brief stay in Lostwithiel followed suit. Sylvia, friend and godmother of dear Connecticut friends Ryan and Kathleen, could not have been a more thoughtful tour guide. She showed us, among other things, the cliffs of Tintagel, the old tin mines, and the moors of Dartmoor peering through the mist. She introduced us to fabulous Cornish cream tea and provided the most comfortable bed in her exquisitely cozy, hobbit-like cottage. 

We barely made our train to London as we squeezed in one last cup of tea during our sightseeing, but we decided the worst that could happen is we'd be stuck in paradise. 

Alas, we made our train which will deliver us to the hustling, bustling, historic, magnificent London. And, for a little while, we are back to being anonymous.

Walkway approaching  St Winnow church, surrounded by a beautiful river and signs of death and resurrection.

I am pictured with Cannon John and his daughter Becks.