The Moments of My High Resolve

Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve,

that in good times or in tempests,

I may not forget that to which my life is committed.

--Howard Thurman, UUA Hymnal, Reading #498

This morning I did not want to go to the UU service.

I wanted to stay in bed. Because of the increasingly shorter days, my circadian rhythms have yet to find the beat. I'm tired all day, but when I turn the light out at night, I cannot sleep.

I was afraid to drive. I've totalled three of the four cars that I've ever owned. "Heavenly-minded" people like me shouldn't drive on roads that caused 66 accidents Friday night.

I wasn't really interested in the sermon topic: "The Social Gospel: Liberal Religion in the Nineteenth Century." Good stuff, but not new to someone who's been to seminary.

So when the alarm clock started playing classic rock, I argued with myself for a while before turning over to go back to sleep. What's left of my Protestant work ethic kept reminding me that if I had decided to be a Unitarian minister, shouldn't I get my ass out of bed and into the pews (with a short stop in the shower)? Resistance was futile.

Once safely there, I settled into the back row, nursing a cup of coffee. I looked around me and saw one more reason why I would have wanted to stay home, had I known. There were lots and lots of kids. Great. It was the Sunday where the kids start out in the service upstairs before going to their classes downstairs.

For the record, I have to say that I don't believe in hiding children. I think intergenerational activities should be the norm, not the exception. I just think that Kid Sunday, at AUUF, is a little hard to take. Having 100 kids enrolled in RE in a building that size is a mixed blessing, to say the least. But then again, mixed blessings are part of what I'm trying to talk about in this post anyway.

But I digress. Back to the point at hand.

I decided to light a candle of joy and concern. I had never done that before, feeling that it was an act of fuller participation than I was ready for. But today, with my newfound clarity, it was time to express myself. It was time to light a candle for the joy of the inner call and the concern of the yet unseen outer confirmation.

My heart skipping more quickly than usually, I made my way up the side aisle, following a few other brave souls. My hands were clumsy as I lit the candle, almost burning myself. Then Fran, the minister, leaned forward and whispered to me, "Shoelace alert." "Thank you, I said," carefully heading back to my seat to re-tie my bootlaces.

A few minutes later Fran introduced a period of silent meditation with the above words from Howard Thurman. And all of this was what the sermon was for me today. Sleepless nights, icy roads, rowdy children, untied shoelaces--and High Resolve. The mixed blessings of our sacred, ordinary lives.

Vocational Clarity--For Now

When we moved here to Anchorage this past August, one of the things we had to get used to was the Weather Channel forcast. We learned that seven days of rain didn't mean that we would never see the sun. Instead, on almost every day there would be, at least for a moment, somewhere, a patch of blue sky.

In terms of vocation, right now I feel like I am standing under one of those patches of blue sky.

I've been dabbling with the idea of applying to UAA's new joint PhD program with UAF in Clinical/Community Psychology. Very cool program. Emphasis on rural and indigenous psychology, especially in Alaska. Fun sounding courses like "Native Ways of Knowing."

But in this recent clarity I am remembering that I am a minister. For better or for worse, I love talking to and with people about faith and meaning and why in the world we should get out of bed in the morning. I love creating spaces where conversations like these can take place. I love the poetry and storytelling of preaching--and the passion. I love rituals new and old, the enacted pictures that point beyond ourselves and into the more we long for.

So this is the practical aspect of this clarity. I will find a job that helps pay the bills, one that doesn't kill my spirit, and that keeps the Anchorage apartment version of cabin fever from doing me in. And I will start the process of transferring my credentials to the UUA.

The ordination process in the PC(USA) was a series of hoops I impatiently jumped through. What do you expect? I was a young thing (and still am I suppose, just slightly older).

This time it feels different. Sure, I'll still get impatient with the process. But I do really want it to be a discernment process. I don't want to commit--and then find out, once again, that this is not the place or vocation for me.

God and Shoes

Can you imagine trying to convince all the world's English-speakers that the word "shoe" does not mean "a durable covering for the human foot, made of leather or similar material with a rigid sole and heel, usually extending no higher than the ankle" (thank you, Dictionary.com).

Sure, there are other definitions for the word, but with most people, if you say the word "shoe," they immediately see a hiking boot, a spiked-heel, a sneaker, etc. Variations within the concept, but pretty much the same thing.

Here's my problem. Say the word "God," and despite all my theological training and my extended time in exile from Christianity, I still see some variation of the Old Man in the Sky. I suspect that this is true for most people, but I'm willing to hear otherwise. I do know that I'm an off-the-charts visual thinker, so the problem may be less severe for people without the mental movie playing constantly.

For me, the word "God" is hopelessly corrupted, as are all words related to it. And replacement language has not yet been invented. This is a very frustrating situation. Try being someone who likes to talk about faith and meaning--without using the word "theological."

From the little I know about the development of language, its pace is more turtle than hare. There are some words that still work for me: faith, belief, sacred, holy, mystery, etc. I piece them together, trying to describe this place I've come to where there is nothing that is not holy. And perhaps in doing so I help the turtle to keep moving forward.