Shaken Down

Yesterday I participated in a contemplative prayer group that included lectio divina. It reminded me how nourishing lectio is to my soul. We prayed Luke 6:36-38, a familiar scripture I somehow have never given much thought. I hadn’t even given it much thought when I read it earlier in the day.

Then we prayed it after the centering prayer and “shaken together” spoke to me. It was like rewatching a movie after someone has pointed out something to look for. It was so obvious.

Shaken down. I thought of being a kid at Halloween with a bag for candy. When the bag got full, I wouldn’t give up, call it a night, and limit myself. Shake that bag down. Pack it in. Shake it down again. There is still room for more.

Why should I think the first bit of encounter with God is it, go home, call it a night, and limit myself? I want to stand before the Holy, shake it down and pack it in. I should never rush off, assuming this is all.

So I shake down my bag. While I consider myself thoroughly Christian, shaking down my bag I find beauty in other religious traditions, like Sufi poetry and Zen wisdom, that will fit in. Why should I assume this is it, this is all God has for me? The night is not over. I shake down my bag. Holy One, show me more. My bag can hold it.

Coming Out Anniversary

Seventeen years ago this week my life changed forever.

While I had questioned my sexuality for years, my church taught me no one is born gay. We believed that, failing other options, Satan tempts some, like me, with gay thoughts into believing we are gay. We believed we must pray for strength to overcome his lies.

In years past I had discussed this with my pastor and my youth leader. My pastor assured me I would never actually act on any of it. So, for the longest time, I believed that; in my small and very conservative town it was unlikely—if not dangerous—anything was ever going to happen.

So, I created an elaborate scheme to convince myself I was straight that was agonizing to maintain. There was lots of this-doesn’t-mean-this-it-means-that. I constantly questioned my inner turmoil and bore the abuse of a faith tradition with its head in the sand.

Then, seventeen years ago this week I was on a Florida beach with my family on Spring Break. As they played and sunned I walked—fairly innocently—along the beach until I saw the hottest sight I had ever seen, a guy in a black thong. Always before it had been too dangerous even to betray that I was looking but this day I customarily sat down and watched. I knew I was obvious—though in a more tasteful manner than stalking—and, considering the little show he put on, he knew I was enchanted with him. Sitting there—savoring the sight—I knew I had crossed a line. Other than watching, nothing happened but I could no longer lie to myself that I wouldn’t go further… if my family hadn’t been just up the beach.

But I was not going to let my closet fall down around me in a moment of indiscretion as had happened with a Pentecostal leader I admired. I admitted to myself that I was indeed gay and I vowed I would deal with—and dismantle—my closet on my own terms.

It meant changes in my life. I wasn’t always prepared and I had to venture alone and scorned out of my Pentecostal world but I live a life of honesty, to myself and others. And somewhere on a Florida beach is a neatly placed stack of dismantled closet.

Giving Up Stuff for Lent

Without knowing it, I seem to have joined many others across the internet to resolve to give up “stuff” for Lent. I tend to think I don’t have too awfully much stuff but when I moved in ten years ago with my partner, I crammed it into a couple closets and never returned to it. Part of the problem is, with all of his stuff, there wasn’t much room for mine. I’ll know when he reads this blog because he will protest.

So I have resolved to get rid of stuff for Lent. I won’t just sort and discard. Each time I open a closet to start I will pray the prayer below, inspired by words from Joyce Rupp. I have added an antiphon, inspired by something I found online.

My Pentecostal background didn't prepare me for Lent. I've slowly warmed to the idea. I think that's how it usually is with a life of faith. As we journey, we encounter new places and vistas in the Holy. This year I have been looking forward to Lent for weeks. My soul has been thirsting for it.

I resolve to spend a few minutes each day—sometimes more—with the prayer below before sorting and discarding. And like Teresa of Avila, I will set a chair in the room for Jesus. When I can't decide whether to keep or discard, I can look to him. Something tells me he's going to give me the thumbs down on a lot of stuff.


My Giving Up Stuff During Lent Prayer
Inspired by Joyce Rupp

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
God, open my mind and my heart.
Lift the barriers,
unbind the strong grasp of my demands
when I want everything to go my way.

God reach into my inner space
sweep out all my old clutter,
enlarge my capacity to receive. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
God, empty me of whatever impedes
the growth of our relationship.
Help me to recognize and accept
your sources for my growth.
 
God, soften my resistance to emptying.
May I welcome each inner season
as a catalyst for my transformation. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
O God, deepen my trust in you.
Ease my doubts, fears and discouragements.
When I am feeling vulnerable,
remind me that you are my safe haven.

God, may I be ever more rooted in you.
Draw me into solitude.
Entice me into endless encounters
where I experience oneness with you. 

Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.
O God open the ears of my heart,
May I hear your voice within the silence
as well as within the noise of my life.
Re-awaken me so that I can listen to you
wholeheartedly. 

God of goodness, we yearn to be open and receptive
to your generosity.
May we trust your presence amidst the cycle
of emptying and filling.
Possessions do not feed my spirit. I am liberated from the desire to hoard things.

Community Kitchen

Yesterday I had the joy of representing my congregation, First United ChurchFirst United Church, at the groundbreaking of Community Kitchen's new facility. Last year Community Kitchen provided more than 200,000 meals, mostly to seniors and at-risk children through their many programs.

Last year we learned we were inheriting a sizable estate from a recently deceased member. This launched a series of discussions, how do we honor God and model to ourselves and community by being generous with our resources? How seriously do we take tithing? How do we practice what we preach of being generous with our resources? Ultimately, we voted to give a tithe—$100,000—to Community Kitchen’s building campaign.

In the six months since we notified the congregation of this inheritance, not one person has asked, how can we spend this money on ourselves? I’m overjoyed to be part of a congregation that is getting it right.

This community of Christian faith has taught me much about living for Jesus. I came to this congregation more interested in studying and discussing the Bible. My Pentecostal background prepared me for and taught me an importance of Biblical knowledge. It’s funny how the Holy leads us in another direction.

This congregation has taught me we are called to do what Jesus did, to feed, to clothe, to shelter, to embrace all God’s people who are in need. When Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved him, he instructed him, “Then feed my sheep.” In his first sermon, Jesus preached, “He has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” He proceeded to feed, heal, and embrace the downcast and every marginalized group. Now it is up to us.