The Internet Rocks!!

The internet came through for me this week!

I think I was in 5th grade when I read a book from the elementary school library. Yusaf. I liked it a lot and later wanted to read it again, but then it wasn't on the library shelf where it had sat for so long. I looked high and low for it, but never found it. Why? Did someone decide it wasn't appropriate for the elementary library? It's not as though it was seeing a lot of circulation. I had seen it sitting on the shelf never moving many times before deciding to give it a try. What happened to it?

That was 50 years ago and I have looked off and on for that book multiple times through the years. Every so often it comes to mind and I wonder again about its disappearance and wish I could read it again, partly to see what has made it stick with me for so many years.

Last night, for some reason, I thought again about the mysterious lost book. Had I made use of my librarian super-skills and done a thorough search on WorldCat and Amazon? I decided to try again and typed the title into WorldCat.org with a publication date range of 1942 to 1970. No luck. Maybe I had it spelled wrong. An alternate spelling -- Yusef -- brought more hits, but not the book I was seeking. Then, I stumbled across another possible spelling and there it was! Yusuf by Grace Rasp-Nuri. After all these years, I found it! Seven libraries connected with WorldCat have a copy. The closest is in Montreal. The next closest is in Dublin. Two in the U.K., one each in Germany, New Zealand, and Australia. It was published in 1954 in German. The English translation was published in 1958, making it around ten years old when I first read it -- and probably ripe for weeding from the elementary school collection. Amazon will sell me a used copy.

But if I'm buying it used, why give Amazon my money? I have a couple of used book sources I like to support. I figured I should at least see what other prices I could find. So I went to Google and did a search on the title and author's name; and there it was at archive.org available to borrow for two weeks as an ebook!

Fifty years later, the internet has reunited me with this book I wanted to read again at age 11. I didn't remember much about it. An orphan boy on the island of Cyprus gets kidnapped by thieves and then a benefactor (an English gentleman) provides a living and education for him. I haven't finished it yet, but am pleased to discover it is still a good story all these years later, worth the effort to find it, even if every library in America seems to have discarded it. (The ebook is scanned from a discarded copy from the Allen County, Indiana Public Library.)

Thank you, internet!

On being a progressive Christian in a conservative land

Have you ever had the sensation of moving when you were actually sitting still while something large in your line of vision was moving? (If not, go to a Disney theme park and they will introduce you to the concept.)

Before Indiana adopted Daylight Saving Time so we could be like everyone else, I used to say the time change was like that. One day we were on Eastern Standard Time with Ohio and Michigan. The next we were on Central Daylight Saving Time  with Illinois and all our television/radio shows came on an hour earlier. It truly felt like we were the ones who changed time, even though we didn't touch our clocks and the sun rose and set within a minute or two of the day before.

I mentioned in a blog post a couple of weeks ago that, over time, I have found myself more and more out of step with the church I have called home for most of my life. That is partly due to change on my part. I have heard too many stories to stay the same. Compassion calls me to take a different view of my world.  It is partly due to change in the world. Technology has lessened the distance between me and those whose stories break my heart. The world feels smaller than it used to. Its people can more easily communicate with people like me in the rural Midwest United States of America.

I'm not sure how much of the widening difference is due to the church changing. Is the church less concerned about the poor and oppressed whom God favors or does it just seem that way as the culture changes around a church that adjusts slowly when it adjusts at all?

Regardless of who moved, I find myself to now fit the label of a "liberal" in a conservative land. Or to adopt another current label, I find much to like about "progressive" Christians.

But am I the one who has left conservative Christianity behind or is it the church that has moved away from its roots?

In a blog post on 12/31/18, Richard Rohr wrote:

Precisely because Jesus was a “conservative,” in the true sense of the term, he conserved what was worth conserving and did not let accidentals get in the way, which are the very things false conservatives usually idolize. As a result, he looked quite “progressive,” radical, and even dangerous.

I wrote a post last week about how Jesus  persuaded those ready to take the life of a woman caught in adultery to put down their stones. He then took the shocking additional step of treating the woman like a person of value, worthy of an invitation to share her perspective. Those testing Jesus' commitment to the law of Moses went away with more evidence that Jesus was soft on sin, or at least on sinners. They were conservative religious leaders. He wasn't like them. He was like his Father -- the Almighty God of compassion: slow to anger, abounding in mercy and love. (Psalm 103:8 is one of several passages painting such a picture.) He and the Father were one.

I want to be like Jesus. So do most Christians. By definition, to be a Christian is to be a follower of Jesus Christ. So why do I feel like such a misfit in the church when I start talking about extending compassion, grace, and hospitality to "sinners"?

Exclusion versus Inclusion

I love the story in John 8 of the woman caught in the act of adultery. She was dragged to Jesus as a test of his willingness to support the harshest aspects of the law of Moses. She was guilty, caught in the act, dragged away from her lover (an innocent man taken in by her wiles?), and presented to Jesus for condemnation to death by stoning. They had him in a corner this time!

Or did they? Jesus takes time to consider and then comes up with a response that sends the accusers on their way. (You can read the whole story here.) That part is good. I wish I were half so clever. But what makes me love the story so much is Jesus' conversation with the woman after her accusers are gone. He has been writing in the sand with his finger rather than watching as the accusers slowly fade away. Now he looks up and, with surely a glint of humor in his eye, asks the woman, "Where are they? Has no one condemned you?" He looks at her. He talks to her. He asks her a question and waits for a response. A few moments ago she was a dirty, no-good sinner in the hands of religious leaders objectifying her in order to make a point. Ashamed, she didn't dare look at any of them. Now she is recognized as a person of value, a person able to speak words worth hearing. Jesus looks at her, sees her, waits for her to look up at him, and then asks the question.

"No one, sir," she replies.

They're gone. How sweet it must have felt for her to answer Jesus' question with the obvious. She then waits to see what Jesus will say. After all, this is the man to whom her accusers took her for a verdict. How strong will his rebuke be?

Then Jesus softly says, "Neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin."

Many people skip past the lack of condemnation and point out the command (in KJV language) to "go and sin no more" as though it negates the lack of judgment on Jesus' part. They can't handle the idea that Jesus was nonjudgmental of people caught up in unhealthy situations. They pounce on the fact that he identified her actions as being sinful.

Religion teaches us that God condemns sinners. However, Jesus -- God made flesh -- was called "a friend of sinners" by his critics. He saw the adulterous woman and wanted more for her. He presented her with a better option. And he clearly told her he did not condemn her. He treated her like a real person, worthy of his attention and even friendship. They shared a moment of humor at the disappearance of the oh-so-self-righteous accusers.

One of the things I have struggled with is being part of a group that closes people out rather than inviting them in based on a certain set of unacceptable sins. We can overlook offenses such as pride, ambition, envy, gossip, greed, self-indulgence, self-righteousness, and being short-tempered. We even toss out the 4th of the "Big Ten" commandments -- Sabbath-keeping -- as impractical in today's society. But sins such as adultery, or even sexual relationships between two unmarried people with no betrayed spouse in the shadows ... well, we think, people involved in that sort of thing need to know that their actions are completely unacceptable in the sight of God. In condemning others, we forget how short we ourselves have fallen when measured against the law of perfect love for God and others. We can't see that the sins we condemn in others are mere specks compared to those we ignore in our own lives. (See Matthew 7:3-5)

One of my goals for 2019 is to learn a better way of life from those Jesus says are entering the kingdom of God ahead of the religious people. (See Matthew 21:31b) A first step along that path is to truly believe we all fall short of any perfect standard by which God would measure us. Some of us are just better at fitting into the culture of religion than others and start to think our own unloving actions aren't as serious as the sins of others.

Am I going to leave behind my "clean living" lifestyle in order to become a "friend of sinners"? Probably not. Perhaps a better step is to look more closely at the ways I live a life of privilege in a world of suffering. I need to be more fully aware that only grace stands between me and condemnation by the God who loves and favors the poor and oppressed.

Still learning.

On to 2019!

I love fresh starts -- planning new projects, dreaming of possibilities, setting goals. New Year's Day has long been my favorite day of the year. New year, new calendar, blank slates everywhere to fill with new plans!

2019 is all this and more. I am making perhaps the biggest move for me personally since Dave and I graduated from college and moved 250 miles to new jobs and a new community almost forty years ago. When we needed a place to rent, it was the pastor of the local Church of the Nazarene who found us a home. Members of the church sat on the front lawn waiting to help us move in when we drove into town. We joined the congregation and soon found ministry roles. We have been active church members since, through thick and thin.

In November, I was made aware that I would not be in a leadership position in the church music program going forward. That's all right. Although I am listed in the church directory as the music director, someone else had taken it on as their ministry. I wasn't looking forward to picking up the responsibility again when that person moved away. While I have enjoyed making music with my friends for the past decade and more and like having input into what type of music we do, I have gladly relinquished the leadership role whenever someone else was available and willing to do it. The manner in which I was pushed aside was disturbing, but the release itself was not unwelcome.

As I reeled under the way this was handled, however, being excluded from all discussions about the matter, and as it turned into neither Dave nor me being involved in worship music at any level, I realized several things.

1. I am being told I am no longer needed here.
2. I don't really fit here anymore.
3. I have options!

In December, I submitted my resignation as church treasurer and adult Sunday School teacher. Knowing it will take time to find and train a new treasurer, I set the end of January as my end-of-service date.

The unexpected release from music ministry was definitely a factor in this. It opened a door I wouldn't have considered pushing open. But that in itself wouldn't have prompted a move this momentous for me. As noted above, we have stayed through thick and thin for almost forty years, and there have been plenty of thin times before. What is different this time is the realization that for several years I have been moving in a different direction than the Church of the Nazarene at both the local and global level. I have been a Nazarene for most of my life and, until now, felt like I could work within the organization for what I see as needed change. However, being unexpectedly steered toward the sidelines concerning the music -- along with other recent decisions by local leadership -- has both disillusioned me and opened up new possibilities.

I'm hoping to write here more regularly in 2019. My plan is to focus on what lies ahead rather than on the past. The past is past, what is done is done. It's time for a fresh start.

On to 2019!

Out of the heart ...

Do you have a running commentary in your head? What is it like? Is the voice in your head kind or mean? Is it a monologue, a dialog with itself, or does it draw in other voices to form an imaginary conversation?

Jesus taught that our words come from our heart. (See Luke 6:45) How often are the words coming out of your mouth an outcropping of your inner dialog? Is that dialog a reflection of what is in your heart? Where do we begin to reshape inner dialog to better fit what we desire to have come out of our mouths?

The Making of a Liar

One of my earliest memories has two scenes.

In the first, I notice a little knob on the inside of the refrigerator. It has numbers on it. I wonder what it does. When I turn it nothing happens. I shrug and go on about my 5-year-old business. End of story.

In the second scene, my father is enraged. He rounds up his four children and roars, "WHO TURNED THE KNOB IN THE REFRIGERATOR??!!" I am speechless with fear. Who knew that turning the knob was an offense on this level?

"Did you do it?" he asks my oldest brother?
"No," comes the answer.

"Did YOU do it?" he asks brother #2.
"No."

"Did YOU do it?" he asks me.

Oh my. What to do, what to do? Obviously, 'fessing up is going to result in serious pain.

In the split second of considering what to do, it occurs to me that the penalty for turning the knob and then lying about it can't be much worse than for just turning the knob. Plus, my 3-year-old brother is next in line and he seems like the one most likely to have done it AND to lie about it. I decide to take my chances. In a tone as close to my innocent older brothers as possible, I say, "No." He moves on to the littlest brother, who, unsurprisingly, also denies doing the deed.

Now what will happen? My father is still in a rage. "If the one who did it doesn't confess, I'll spank ALL of you!"

Now my 5-year-old mind is spinning again. There are two brothers to my right and one to my left. I figure I have a couple of things going for me.

1) I'm in the middle. If this plan is carried out, I will not get the initial fury. There's a chance he'll tire by the time he gets to me, even if he starts with my younger brother.

2) I'm the girl. Surely, that will bring me a bit of mercy.

3) I'm not the prime suspect. Apparently, my lie has combined with my general good behavior to keep me in the clear. Little brother is much more likely to get the blame.

I stand my ground. Not guilty!

I don't remember what happened next, but I know it didn't involve any spankings, probably just a warning to NEVER touch that knob! It also did NOT include any explanation as to what the little knob in the refrigerator does. I don't remember when I finally found out its purpose, but it wasn't in that moment. What I learned in that moment was that I had the ability, with enough fear involved, to look someone square in the eye and deny the truth. It wasn't the last time I practiced that skill. In a time when I had almost no power against the flaring tempers of the adults in my life whom I tried so hard to please, when any attempt to justify my actions was brushed aside as back-talk, I had this one weapon of self-defense. I could lie!

Interestingly, enough, despite my general commitment to being a good girl, my conscience was satisfied that truth was not a practical option in a world where curiosity, ignorance, and occasionally tossing aside the rules for a little innocent fun resulted in harsh punishment. Even now, as an adult who loves honesty, I am satisfied that my younger self made the best choice given the environment. I have often expressed my commitment to the truth in these words: "I will be as honest as people give me space to be." What a blessing it is on the rare occasion I find someone willing to make space for true honesty.

The stories we encounter

I have lived in the same small town for close to 40 years. My children were students in the local public school system from kindergarten to graduation. That is a lot of history with a community. Two of my three children have moved elsewhere, but many of their classmates are still in the community.

Last night my church hosted a "Parents Night Out" for local families. When I looked at the registrations, I recognized one of the parents as someone slightly older than my own children. She brought her sons and they were great additions to the group. As I interacted with them, I figured out who their father was. And then I began to count the deaths in their lives. As one after another came to mind, it struck me how much tragedy is in their history.

1. We interacted with their grandfather when we bought our land in 1980. He died of a heart attack a few years later, leaving a wife and three young sons. Those sons grew up and have struggled in many ways.

2. One of the three fatherless sons was the father of these boys. Before they were born, he was at fault in a fatal car accident and went to jail for several years. Less than two years ago, he died in another accident, which sent another person to prison for similar charges. A few months later, I was talking to his aunt who said her sister was deep in despair, saddled with grief not only for the deceased son, but also for those who still lived. She died soon after. So the boys I met yesterday have lost both their father and paternal grandmother in the past two years. They never knew their paternal grandfather.

3. As I thought further, I realized the maternal grandmother of these boys was the victim of a rare shooting death in the area when their mother was in high school. Hardly anyone around here has lost family to homicide. They are among the few.

Two personable boys at a church event. It was our first encounter with them. Only my long history in the area combined with a few clues I picked up here and there filled in part of their story for me. Otherwise, I would have never guessed.

Maybe it would be better if these boys could go through life and never encounter anyone familiar with their history. I wonder how many people like me see them and are reminded of all the public tragedies in their lives.

Of course, I don't know about the less public tragedies. Nor the victories and accomplishments of their family that haven't merited news coverage.

In cases where one meets new people, is it better to know nothing or something? Should we simply assume that everyone has challenges in their family and needs to be treated with tender, loving care?

The stories I tell (or not) -- 1970-71.

My oldest brother turned 18 in 1971. He was a senior in high school. I was an annoying 7th-grader invading his space in the church youth group. The Vietnam War was winding down, but young men were still being drafted for combat duty. I have two related memories from that time.

The first memory is a snapshot of sitting with my family in our living room watching bouncing ping pong balls being drawn on television. Each ball represented a day of the year. The tension in the room was high enough to sear the picture into my memory. I remember the relief when May 26 was drawn late. The military never came calling for any of my four brothers.

The other memory is less condensed. It happened over the course of weeks at the church youth group meetings as my two older brothers and their classmates approached their 18th birthdays. Several of the young men had come out of pacifist traditions -- Amish, Mennonite, or, in the case of my brothers, Quaker. How would they register? How should they register? This was not just a hypothetical case-study from the lesson book for them. They had to actually make the decision and sign their names on a line. Were they fully available for the draft or were they truly "conscientious objectors"? The Church of the Nazarene would support them in either position. Where did their conscience lie?

I don't know how my brothers registered. I know one young man from the group was drafted and did "alternate service." He had registered as a conscientious objector.

I saw that young man last Sunday. He is around 65 years old now. His wife, whom he met during his alternate service was there with him, as were his parents and one of his daughters with her husband and children. Four generations still attending the same church where those discussions happened so long ago.

So many memories.

Stories

A recent online Christianity Today article by John Koessler gives advice to Millennial pastors on how to minister to Baby Boomers. In it, Koessler quotes a youth pastor's advice to: "Listen well, even if [Boomers] ramble, get stuck on one nuance, or tell stories that are way off topic." Koessler admitted some of the advice might sound condescending, but it got me thinking as I close in on my sixtieth birthday. How many times are younger people just being polite as they listen patiently to my rambling, off-topic stories? There is a reason why we older people tell stories. We have so many of them! I have spent almost sixty years accumulating stories! But I don't want to weary my young friends with them. Besides, I write better than I speak. I'm thinking it's time to close my mouth and uncap my pen. After all, blogs are made for recording one's personal adventures, right?

Shame

Recently I embarrassed myself. I am learning a new skill very slowly and publicly. I am making mistakes. I do my best and am embarrassed by how far short my best falls. It makes me want to find a hole and crawl in. Or quit. Walk away from it all. At the same time, I'm reading about shame. Shame has many sources. It has one remedy -- a full relationship with the One who made me as I am and calls me daughter. I'm still working out how that relationship helps when I fall flat on my face. Again.

Observations of a CASA volunteer

Lawyers in suits; social workers in "business casual;" parents in whatever outfit they can find for a court appearance. Some of them wear the garb of prisoners, complete with shackles. These are accompanied by officers in uniform.

I watch them come and go. They all have stories -- those in tailored suits and those is jumpsuits. The stories of the parents have intersected with the Department of Child Services. Their missteps are being aired behind the closed doors next to me. I will hear only one of those accounts today. Only a handful of people, including the judge in his robe will hear more than one. No one will hear them all. Not in a lifetime.

What brought these people here? What back stories lie behind their current stories?

I have lived in this relatively small jurisdiction almost four decades. As I look around I realize I know one of those waiting for their turn in the courtroom. At least I knew her as a teen. Now she's a grandmother and our paths seldom cross. We chat for a few minutes. Her granddaughter had drugs in her system at birth and is in foster care.

I was wrong. I heard more than one story today. It is a sad one.

As I continue to sit alone and wait for my turn in the courtroom, a lawyer approaches a mother nearby and instructs her to make an appointment with her office. And keep it! As the court-appointed lawyer walks away, the mother says, "I need to see about getting another attorney. I can't handle this!" The lawyer keeps walking with no indication she is listening. I was warned about her during CASA* training. Someone to watch out for. The young mother continues, "I don't have a phone! I don't have a vehicle! I don't even have a place to lay my head!" The lawyer is gone and I'm not sure who the mother is addressing. Being in her line of vision, I make eye contact and invite her to tell me more. She vents some frustration, repeating her assertion that she has nothing. I have nothing to offer beyond sympathy. She wanders off. I try to imagine the life of someone who doesn't even have an old car to stash their stuff in. I wonder about the rest of her story, how she got here, but realize I'm unlikely to see her again once I leave this place.

So many sad stories. I will not fix anything for anyone today. The best I can hope is to possibly remind a few that God hasn't forgotten them.

I figured out several years ago that I have a choice. I can live my comfortable lifestyle while avoiding the sad tales around me. Or I can offer to listen to the stories and live with the discomfort of being aware of the pain around me while I'm doing well and realize my resources aren't nearly sufficient to make it all better for anyone. Maybe the awareness of my inadequacy is a blessing. That awareness reminds me I'm not self-sufficient.

I choose to listen. And sometimes people talk to me. I pray for these people. It truly is the best I have to offer them. And maybe it is no small thing to bring their pain to the God of all comfort. After a while I might even be moved to do more. CASA is at least a start. It gives me a reason to be sitting here today in the midst of the pain.
-----------

*CASA -- Court Appointed Special Advocate. A CASA represents the child in CHINS (CHild In Need of Services) cases.

A Forum Grieved

In May 1994 we brought home the first Windows computer to join our household. It came with several pieces of software, two of which have endured in some form -- Quicken for managing personal finances and America Online for email. I often cringe when giving out that AOL email address in 2017, but someone recently noted that it signifies a certain longevity - starting early and staying steady. Maybe. Or maybe I'm just old. Whatever the case, it still works.

In 1994, AOL was one of few options for finding one's way around the wild, frontier town of the internet. As the AOL community grew, discussion groups formed, including one for members and friends of the Church of the Nazarene. It opened a new door for me. After a while, I moved beyond AOL and stumbled across NazNet.com. I don't remember the day that happened, but by June 1997, I was thrilled by the opportunity to meet some of the participants in real life at the General Assembly of the Church of the Nazarene in San Antonio.

That was twenty years ago. In August 2017, the discussions at NazNet.com came to an end and the slate was wiped clean. Over twenty years of discovering I wasn't nearly so alone as I had thought in my experiences as a Baby Boomer raised in the CotN. Despite how numerous we Boomers are in the larger culture, I always felt alone and isolated in my church life, like no one else was dealing with the issues I saw around me. I read about how churches worked so hard to attract the Boomers (as they do now to attract Millennials), and, yet, felt like an invisible demographic wherever I participated in church life. It's all fine. I accept that church is not about me. But it's still hard when no one else shares your struggles or even seems to comprehend the questions that drive you crazy.

NazNet came along and introduced me to a whole new set of Nazarenes, the likes of whom I had never encountered in my life. It turns out I wasn't the only one left disturbed by viewing "The Thief in the Night" as a teen at church camp! I wasn't the only one to later question the entire idea of the "secret rapture." I wasn't the only one to see a disturbing gap between holiness as it was preached and the actual observed lives of holiness people. Who knew?

And now it's gone. We're being urged to join equivalent groups on Facebook, but it turns out there are no equivalent groups on Facebook.  And an attempt to recreate NazNet.com as NazNet.net is failing to thrive. It seems the NazNet glory days are over.

Still, it happened. It did what it was created to do -- opened up new levels of discussion among Nazarenes and their friends around the world. My joy in what NazNet gave me over these past 20 years far outstrips my grief at its passing. The words may be gone from naznet.com and even from the enormous collective memory of the internet, but they remain as essential elements of who I am as a person and follower of Jesus Christ today.

Thank you, Bryan Merrill, Dave McClung, G.R. "Scott" Cundiff, and all the rest who made NazNet happen. You have been a blessing.

Bad deeds (and good) exposed!

^{1 Timothy 5:24} The sins of some are obvious, reaching the place of judgment ahead of them; the sins of others trail behind them. ²⁵ In the same way, good deeds are obvious, and even those that are not obvious cannot remain hidden forever. (NIV)

In Sunday School recently, we read 1 Timothy 5:24-25. The main topic here is the exposure of sin, but Paul assures Timothy that good deeds are also eventually exposed.

It's sobering to realize my own sin will eventually be exposed. It is more difficult to believe that the sins others seem to get away with will someday slip past their careful efforts to hide them. And to resist the urge to try to help that process along. This passage is a good reminder that my efforts are not required to expose such sins.

Competing with the temptation to expose hidden sins in others is the desire to have others see and acknowledge my own good deeds. It's easy to be envious when the good deeds of others get recognition and mine are overlooked. This desire is strengthened by messages from the church like we find in Casting Crowns' "If We Are the Body":  If we are the body, why aren't His arms reaching ..." These lyrics expose those of us who claim to follow Christ as falling short in good deeds. My inner response to messages like this is a strong urge to point out all I'm doing that no one seems to notice.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warns us against doing good deeds for show. He explains that when our goal is to be seen, being seen is our full reward.

To bring it together, Paul tells Timothy good deeds will come to light on their own. Jesus warns us against making a show of our good deeds. We're left doing our deeds of kindness simply as a humble offering to God and the recipients of that kindness without acknowledgment from the people telling us we aren't doing enough. We trust God to direct us to opportunities to do good in quiet ways and to be the One to reward us. Faith: believing the teaching of the Bible is true even when we don't see the evidence.

This is a lesson worth revisiting often.

A journey in short chapters.

I once wrote a blog post pondering the best length for a blog post. That was before I subscribed to Seth Godin's blog on marketing. I have come to appreciate his brevity, particularly when life gets crazy and my blog feed accumulates a ridiculous number of posts.

I have concluded the best length for a blog post is long enough to express a thought while avoiding TL;DR (too long; didn't read) territory. In a world full of words, that is pretty short.

Reboot

Space. An empty page to fill with words. Words spinning in my head. So may words. Which shall I stream into this space?

 I am on a journey. So many possibilities to explore as I seek to discover who I am in God. And what God is doing in me and my world. Jesus said the gate to life is narrow and few find it, but on this side of the gate I find the horizon wide and the possibilities endless.

 I have come to value the daily blog entries from Richard Rohr's Center for Action and Contemplation. I don't remember what first led me to that blog, but it builds on a way of thinking I was first exposed to in Matthew Fox's Original Blessing. That book was a gift from my son-in-law.

 My mentors in life come in a variety of forms and from various sources. I love where they are leading me.

More later.

On Being a Quakarene

My father was a Quaker -- part of the Society of Friends.  As were his parents. And their parents before them.  Various family lines go way back, one to William Penn's settlement, others from England through Virginia to the western push into the Carolinas, moving north to Indiana only when war clouds loomed on the horizon in the mid-1800s.

In contrast, I was raised in the Church of the Nazarene.  At age eight, I insisted on joining the church along with my parents and older brothers.  Two years later, in 1968, I carried a flag at the 17th General Assembly of the Church of the Nazarene in Kansas City.  I have now attended ten General Assemblies.  I was a student at a Nazarene institute of higher education for two years and a parent of Nazarene students for twelve.  My older daughter is a Nazarene pastor with an M.Div from NTS and has an article in the latest issue of Holiness Today!  I'm all in.

Still, I am sometimes acutely aware of the Quaker DNA passed on to me from my ancestors.  It manifests itself in several ways, including:

1. Pacifism.  My natural instinct is to put violence into the same category as profanity: a sign of weakness, demonstrating either an underdeveloped vocabulary or little imagination.  I want to say, "Oh, come on, people.  Surely you can do better than that!"

2. "Authority issues"  I put this in quotes because I've actually heard those words directed toward me.  The Quakers take seriously the instructions of Jesus in Matthew 23:8-12 and advocated equality long before it was popular to do so.  It's a view that sets well with me.

3.  Inward Light.  I love the journey I'm on with God and the way his Spirit speaks to me and guides me by many means.  Although I listen carefully to a variety of mentors, I have yet to run across any individual I would trust to be my spiritual director.

4.  Silence.  Quaker meetings are known for their silences as those gathered wait for the movement of the Spirit in and among them.  I value silence in my life.

5.  Simplicity.  The simple life tugs at me more than any fancy get-up in either appearance or possessions.

These Quaker values have often left me out of step with what I encounter in the Church of the Nazarene.

1.  Pacifism.  I have found a spirit of militarism that seeks to destroy anyone or anything perceived as a threat.  Even when there is no physical violence, I still see the need to strike out against others as a sign of weakness and want to say, "Come on, people.  Surely, there's a better way!"

2.  Authority issues.  In the hierarchy of the Church of the Nazarene, pastors are set apart -- more accountable to higher authorities, more responsible, having more authority.  There is a tendency to view congregations as flocks of sheep of small intellect in need of a rod-carrying shepherd to direct them.  Hierarchy is built into everything we do, setting some up higher and encouraging others to follow in submission.

3.  Inward Light.  Going along with the view of the pastor as a shepherd of intellectually- and value-challenged sheep, there is often little regard for the witness of the Spirit to individuals, particularly those who are seen as "less."  This would include lay people in general, but particularly women and children, racial minorities, sexual minorities, and those less fluent in the language spoken by the leaders.  There is a sense that the leaders go up the mountain and bring down the commandments (and vision) to the huddled (and stupid) masses below.

4.  Silence.  I can't count how many times I've been encouraged to be more demonstrative (louder) concerning my faith.  Silence is regarded as a lack of life rather than proceeding out of an inner calm.
I tend to lean the other way, associating shouting with either a lack of underlying substance ("If I say it louder, I'll be more convincing, right?") or the world gone out of control. When I'm confident of my position, I find no reason to raise my voice apart from an emergency situation.

5.  Simplicity.  This value is actually a shared one if one looks at the early Church of the Nazarene, but is not always acknowledged as a goal worth pursuing in present times.

It's a considerable distance from where I live to the nearest Friends Meeting.  And I suspect there is a gap between the lives of the members of that meeting and any idealistic faith community I might conjure up for them based on historic values.  The ideals coursing through my inner being don't necessarily match any real life faith community.  It's just interesting to observe the impact they have on me and how they sometimes leave me marching to the beat of a different drummer in the Church of the Nazarene.

Related posts: 
Why I Go to Church 
Why Ministry in the Church Is Difficult

A Library Story

Years ago, I wrote an unfinished story.  I will now publish it.  It needs an illustrator. It has several possible endings because when I wrote it I didn't know the ending. Now I do.

The Rowdy Young People at the Library

by Marsha Lynn
the Library Director

Once upon a time in a not-very-exciting little town in a not-very-exciting state in the middle of the country, far from exciting things like big cities and mountains and beaches, there was a library with some pretty exciting stuff inside.   At least the people who worked in the library thought so.  There were magazines to tell the people in the not-very-exciting town about what was happening in more exciting parts of the world.   There were newspapers that excitedly reported the most interesting happenings in the not-very-exciting town.   There were computers that connected the people of the not-very-exciting town to the whole wide wonderful world. There were videos that showed pictures of the whole wide wonderful world and told stories about it.  Best of all ...

 ... there were books in the little library in the not-very-exciting town.

The people who worked in the library thought the books were the best part.   Not only did books connect people to the whole wide wonderful world; books took people to worlds that used to exist or could exist or maybe could not exist but are fun to think about.  With no batteries required.  Only imagination.

Unlike big libraries in big exciting cities with lots of money and lots of workers . . . the little library in the not-very-exciting town had only a little money and a few workers. Yet, the library was sometimes a busy place.  It was right on Main Street and was a warm, friendly place.   In the afternoons and evenings when school was out and work was done and most of the stores were closed, people would come to the library ...

... and make copies of important papers or take tests for classes at far-away universities.   They would look at magazines telling what was happening in the wide wonderful world and look around at the world using the computers.  Or they would play quiet computer games.  Or they would borrow books or videos to take home.

Most of the people who came to the library were quiet and polite.  But not all of them.  Some of the people were children, too young to know about being quiet and polite at libraries.  Others were people who should have known about such things but didn’t.

There were young people in the not-very-exciting town – too old for the children’s story hour at the library; too young to be busy with grown-up tasks.  What they wanted was excitement!   But it’s hard to find excitement in a not-very-exciting town.  So they learned to make their own excitement. Sometimes they took their excitement to the library.  They talked and laughed with loud voices.  They said words that shouldn’t be said at the library.  They did things that shouldn’t be done at the library.  In short, they were rowdy!*

*rowdy: rough, disorderly, quarrelsome.

The quiet and polite people in the library said to the library workers, “Oh, those rowdy young people!  Something must be done!”

The library workers said to the library director, “Oh, those rowdy young people and those complaining people in the library!  Something must be done!”

The library director had no one to tell.  Sighing a deep sigh, she added “Do something about the rowdy young people” to her library to-do list.  Then she thought and thought and thought about what to do.  She even prayed about what to do.

The library director remembered that her husband had told her she should write a book about the library.  So she wrote a book about the rowdy young people at the library.  But like many people who start to write a story, she didn’t know how her story would end. Which ending should she choose from among all of the possible endings?

Possible ending #1:

The library director left her family behind each evening that the library was open so she could go to the library and say, “Be quiet!” “Don’t use those words!” “Quit bothering him!” and “No skateboarding in the library!” to the rowdy young people.   While the library director was at the library, her husband ate pizza with friends without her.  He went to the movies without her.  When her grown-up children came home for their Christmas vacation, they went shopping without her.   The library was still full of loud and impolite people, including the library director who didn’t want to be there and yelled at the rowdy young people.  The library director did not like this ending.

Possible ending #2:

The library director put a sign on the door of the library.  It said, “No rowdy young people allowed!”  This made the library director and all the workers at the friendly little library sad.  Where would the rowdy young people go?  Where would they take all the excitement they made if they were no longer allowed to bring it to the library? The library director did not like this ending.

Possible ending #3 
AKA, the real ending to this real story:

The library director went to the rowdy young people and said, “Hi, there.  I am the library director.  I have been hearing about you and need your help.  We need to work together to make the library a nice place for people to come. "

Then the library director talked to the rowdy young people whenever they came into the library for a few days.  She took her laptop and sat with the rowdy young people.  She even signed up for Facebook so she could be friends with the rowdy young people.

The library was not quite so exciting when the library director was around.  But it was still warm and friendly in the library on cold winter afternoons.  So the no-longer-quite-so-rowdy young people kept coming back.  Even when the library director went to the movies with her husband and grown-up children, the library was still a warm and friendly place with only a little rowdiness. The quiet and polite people in the library were happier.  The library staff was happier.  And the library director had new Facebook friends.  This made her very happy.

THE END.

On Online Communities and Faith

In May 1994, my husband and I crammed our first Windows computer system into our minivan and brought it home.  Included was a floppy disk for installing America Online software.  We were about to join the internet age. And our telephone bills would reflect that new era.

Before long I discovered online discussion groups.  People with common interests were starting to find each other.  It opened up a new world to me.  For years I had struggled with spiritual questions it seemed no one else was asking.  First AOL, then the World Wide Web gave me access to people discussing the topics that nagged at my soul, people with journeys similar to mine whom I wouldn't know any other way.  I was also introduced to new authors, such as Brian McLaren and Rob Bell.  I found a new kind of Christianity in postmodernity.  I discovered I already new the fundamentals of the language before I even knew it existed or what it was called.  It was revolutionary!

More than twenty years have passed since those initial adventures in online communities.  Many of my early mentors have moved on.  Social media has become a place of raised voices and contention, especially when discussing politics or religion. In what has long been my favorite community I'm now finding fewer people walking the path I'm walking  I'm relying more on blogs and podcasts for fresh thoughts and guidance down new paths.

One thing I appreciate about online conversation is its pace.  It allows time to think before responding.  And even to edit one's response after further consideration.

It may be time to seek out or form new communities, but I definitely need internet-based communication in my life.  Without it, my world is too small.

On Writing Poetry

This may be crazy talk, but I am close to being frustrated enough with what is available for congregational singing in churches to create my own offerings.  This requires two things, just to start, and then more to continue.  To start, the two requirements are:  1. Lyrics. 2. Music.

I mentioned to someone once that the poets of today are not publishing books of poetry.  They are writing lyrics for songs.  The person with whom I was speaking disagreed with that statement, but I think I'll stand by it.  Almost all of the exposure most people get to poetry comes in the form of song lyrics.

Composing music comes easily to me.  The first time I did it was when I was a teen playing the organ for a wedding.  There was a delay and I was out of music.  I didn't want to go back to start again on one of my songs, so I just wandered through a typical chord progression, weaving an impromptu melody until we were ready to proceed.  As far as I know, no one noticed.  Composing good music may be beyond me, but if all we need is a melody for some words, it doesn't seem like a big deal to me.

Poetry, on the other hand ...  This is not part of my skill set.  It would be nice to find someone else to do that part, but I haven't found such a person.  While I wait, I suppose I may as well try my own hand at it and see what emerges.

That said, here is attempt #1:

Poetry:

  It stirs up fear in me,

  In my heart. It's an art

  I don't know.

Poetry.

  How can I let it flow

  From my heart to the place

  I would go?

Words on words

Must they rhyme?

Must they beat

Out in time?

More than words,

Thoughts unfurled.

Seeking space

In this world.

Poetry:

  I must perfect this art

  If I want to impart

  To the heart

Of this world

  All the stuff I feel

  Swelling up in my heart

  Full and real.

Poetry:

  Is it my destiny?

  To write words never heard,

  Never shared?

Poetry

  May be the death of me.

  How can I squeeze my thoughts

  Into rhyme beating time?

  How can words stuck in structure

  Lead the life that I picture

  For the fruit of my work

  In poetry?

On Home-owner challenges and changing times

Our daughter, son-in-law, and two adorable grandchildren stayed with us a few days this month. On their last full day with us, my daughter said, "The washing machine is making a funny noise." I listened to the noise and wrote it off as simply part of the cycle, clicking off time until the next part of the cycle. It wasn't until they left that I figured out it was clicking off time instead of agitating the clothes. Oops.

On the day they left, they said, "By the way, the drains backed up in your guest bathroom and shower. We have mopped up the floor, but there seems to be a problem."

Why does a house wait until there are guests in residence to set loose the demons???

In response to all this, we shut off the water, closed up the house, and left for a week. (Our plans were already made.) I scheduled a service call two weeks out with Sears for the washer and tried to get hold of a plumber. But when we got home the drain seemed fine, so I canceled that appointment. And Sears pointed out that the washer is thirteen years old and I remembered it has other problems, so I canceled that appointment, as well.

Well, of course, the drain didn't actually heal itself. When I called again, our favorite contractor came out, looked at the 25-foot shrub at the corner of the house and said, "There's your culprit!" The next day, he brought out equipment to dig up the drain lines and, sure enough, the thirsty shrub had managed to worm a root system into the drain exactly like he said. (We had a drought three years ago and he said he's seen a lot of that sort of thing since.)

And, of course, the washer didn't heal itself either so I went shopping. I had an appointment close to a city shopping area that week so I went and stood in Best Buy and looked at washers and said, "Yep, those are washers all right." Then I stood in Sears and looked at washers and said, "Yep, those are washers all right." And I couldn't figure out why I drove all that way to stand there and look at them. How was I planning to choose one? How would I know if they even have the model I really want?

So I came home and did research on washers and compared features and read Consumer Reports and read user reviews and compared prices at stores in multiple cities at various points of the compass and then ordered a washer from Sears online. I did that Thursday evening and it's scheduled to arrive and be installed tomorrow morning.  That's three days earlier than the repair was scheduled.

It seems that we used to go shopping at stores when we needed new stuff, but that whole experience felt a bit foreign to me last week. I realized I go months, maybe even a year or more between visits to the mall. What's the point? As I walked past all the cool stuff in Best Buy to get to the appliances in the back of the store, I noticed there was a lot of cool stuff, but I wasn't sure why I would want to buy any of it there.

Changing times of life and changing times.