We always begin again

I just finished reading Kathleen Norris' book Dakota: A Spiritual Geography. I had heard snippets of it in my Rural and Small Church Ministries class at Gettysburg Seminary with Gil Waldkoenig. He was reading it at the time I took that class and used it for opening reflections. It's been on my shelf awhile, courtesy of a priest friend who bequeathed her library to me.

It's a fascinating book about monastic spirituality ... not agriculture. Ms. Norris is originally from NYC and moved to Lemmon SD when she inherited the family home there. Lemmon is due north from where my mother's family came from, so I felt some connection to much of what she described about living in that environment. It's hard for anyone who's never been there to really grasp how vast the sense of space is. You can stand in one spot and turn 360 degrees and see horizon in all directions. At night, the lights in the distance are towns 40-50 miles away. The sheer vastness of space is only equaled by our great deserts. It's a place where you really understand how small you are. The isolation makes you face two realities: your true self and God. Both prospects can be terrifying.

Norris talks about how she became connected to a Benedictine monastery in South Dakota. She eventually became an oblate, living the Rule of Benedict but as an outsider. Interestingly, her monastic retreat experiences and her friendship with the monks brought her back to her Presbyterian tradition and exorcised the "Monster God" her fundamentalist grandmother had imparted to her as a child.

One aspect of Benedict's rule is that we always begin again. Our lives are to be a continuous beginning again and again. I find this concept helpful when I find myself thinking I have things all "figured out." Just when I think I know somebody or something or I think I understand about the nature of God ... well, that's the time to set my thoughts aside and begin again. If I don't, I run the risk of rigidity and hubris. When I think I have things all figured out, I start to miss so many little details precisely because those things don't fit my perception of how things work. I've constructed a box that only lets some things in and leaves so much out.

Benedict's reminder to always begin again challenges me to let go of the boxes I construct and start looking at my relationships again with new eyes. Seeing others and God again for the first time is a challenge, but one which keeps me humble and sharpens my ability to get past my own filters and perceptions.

Advent is a time to begin again. It's the beginning of the new church year. I don't know where God will lead me and my family this year, but I've asked God for the grace to dismantle the boxes I've been holding on to. Happy New Year!

Join the Conspiracy

We're entering a time of year that gives me angst. It's "the holidays." My dad calls it the National Eat-a-Thon and says it lasts from Thanksgiving to New Years. But eating isn't what gives me angst (although putting on the extra weight is getting much easier as I get older and harder to take off once it's there).

What gives me angst is the distortion of priorities that goes along with our consumerist culture. Last year, I blogged about the Buy Nothing Christmas and Reverend Billy and his Church of Stop Shopping (check it out here).

This year, we are facing a serious economic crisis caused by the false god (small "g") of consumerism. We have depended upon consumer spending (and wastefulness) to drive our economy since we shifted from an agrarian focus to an industrial one just over 100 years ago. But consumerism has failed us and now I believe we are in a place where our economy (and the world's for that matter) can no longer be sustained by shopping. I don't know what will replace consumerism, but I hope for something more holistic.

I was sent this video by friend today:




If this doesn't put it all in perspective, I don't know what does. Even in our current situation, we still live in one of the wealthiest places on earth. We have poor with us, but remember that if you have a job, access to transportation, access to health care, housing, food and clothing, you are wealthy in comparison with most other people in the world. That's right ... you are wealthy. No, not super wealthy like Bill Gates (super wealthy being a relatively recent historical phenomenon), but you are part of the "ordinary wealthy."

As Christians, I think we need to bury the god of consumerism and heed the call of the Advent Conspiracy to worship fully, spend less, give more and love all.

Vision Quest

In the Navajo culture, a young person makes a vision quest as a rite of passage into adulthood. They go into the wilderness for a number of days to spend time in fasting and prayer. This experience prepares them for their life's direction. It can involve a change of their name to one which suits their new identity and self-understanding. This is not unlike the Biblical story of Jacob wrestling with the angel at the ford of the Jabbok where he receives his new name: Israel.

I think I've finally figured out what my new name should be:

Sticks Face in Fan

Yep, that's pretty much me. It doesn't really matter where I am or what I'm doing, but a constant red thread in my life is sticking my proverbial face in the fan. This past week, I did so at a vestry meeting over the issue of facilities usage, all the while not having a clue that there had been some friction over this with a group who is using the St. Luke's undercroft. Amazing how those issues arise during the 30 hours a week you aren't "in the house!"

I'm still amazed at how people think I know what's going on when I'm not there. It's the persistent belief that the bishop conferred mind reading powers when he put his hands on my head last year. I wish he had ... but he didn't ... either time!

I suppose if I have to either fall off of someone's pedestal or shatter people's expectations of who I should be or what I should be able to do, I'd rather fall sooner than later. Maybe after that, we can find realistic ways to work together.

Sticks Face in Fan ... yep, that's me.