Moomin Light

"Jesus Loves Me..."... this I know?

Since I became a Christian again in college, for the most part, I haven't had difficulty with the idea of God as a loving Father.  I think it's because my father was so loving that it seems totally natural.  

I've been reading "Searching for God Knows What" by Donald Miller lately.  I like the way he describes the Biblical stories, not just in an analytical way, but really getting into the emotions and what things meant to people.*  I was totally stopped, however, on page 139:

And so when I consider the way I am treated by Christ, the degree of kindness with which He guides me, I know that as Napoleon said, I would die for him because he threatens me; I would die for Him because he loves me... [emphasis mine]

I still can't get into, or over, the italicized phrase.  I haven't resumed reading the book, and I won't until I can get past this idea.

At first I was surprised at myself.  Of course, Jesus loves all of us.  That's what it's all supposed to be about.  Jesus is supposed to be the loving, Human Face of God.

However, I realized that, deep down inside, that wasn't my picture of Jesus.  

How do I have a view of Jesus that varies so much from my view of God?  

I went back to my original impression at the top of this post.  If I could, in some way, understand God's love by looking at my father's love, what did I have Jesus tied to?  It didn't take me long to figure out.

Jesus started the Church/church.  That kind of puts him, in a Catholic sense, in the same place as the Pope, who would (when there is one again) definitely disapprove of me because we've used birth control and now dear husband has a vasectomy.  

Okay, what about in a Protestant sense? No help there.  Jesus ends up, subconsciously in my mind, linked to some leaders of local churches - ministers, priests, preachers, etc.  [By the way, I'm discovering all these assumptions I had that had never totally reached my conscious mind before.  This isn't something I ever consciously put together.]  These particular leaders speak very authoritatively and often are very good at raining down judgment.  There are some preachers I've heard that made me feel like I'm definitely one of the "vessels of wrath prepared for destruction" (by God) [Romans 9:22].

In fact, I realized that I've incorporated every story where Jesus is angry into my view of Him, but not the stories where he is gentle.  

One of the ministers I've known that was the best at raining down judgment was at the church we went to when I was in college.  I knew that I wasn't everything that women were expected to be at that church.  If I saw him coming down a hallway, I'd hop into the nearest Sunday School room and become engrossed with the bulletin boards.  I didn't want to encounter his judgment.

I realized that this is the sort of thing that I have Jesus linked to in my head.  Subconsciously, I've concluded that Jesus is Someone to avoid because of judgment.  

I've read all the verses where Jesus is loving and gentle, but I can't hang anything on them.  They're in a story, but they don't enter the real world for me.  

I have known gentle ministers and priests - both men and women - so that's not it either. 

I have no conclusion to this post, just wandering thoughts (and a window box from Charleston).**

 

* The sermon last Sunday was like that.  It was my favorite sermon I've heard at our church.

** We were there for half of last week for part of older son's last Spring Break.  Daughter is home on Spring Break this week!

The strangest Lent ever

Giving up chocolate for Lent is far less pleasant, but it's actually easier.  Chocolate doesn't follow you around.  You can make efforts to avoid it.  Chocolate isn't the stream underlying every waking moment - and probably lots of the sleeping ones.  Chocolate isn't a creature constantly sitting on your shoulder and whispering in your ear. 

Let's back up.  Two weeks ago, I mentioned something that was bothering me, and younger son said that I should give up feeling guilty for Lent. 

How bizarre!  Isn't that what Lent's about?!

I thought about it for a while.  I even offhandedly mentioned younger son's comment on Facebook.  I didn't expect any response, but twenty-three people either liked the post or left a comment agreeing with younger son.  

It's such a strange thing to give up for Lent, but, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed the right thing to do.

Here's an example of what I'm giving up:  That Friday, I did the usual morning Zumba class.  It was the instructor's 30th birthday, and we all applauded for her at the beginning of class.  

Now, I can blame my behavior on other things.  I had been to Broadway Dance class the night before so I was into the musical theater part of my personality.  The instructor occasionally has people come up and dance a song onstage along with her, and I was one of the ones she chose that day.  The onstage part of my personality was in rather high gear for a non-musical-theater-rehearsal day.  

During the cool down and stretch as the class was winding down, I remembered how special it seemed when the whole cast of the musical sang "Happy Birthday" to one of the cast or crew last summer.  At the end of the Zumba class, after the teacher finished and said to have a nice weekend and people started chatting with each other, I jumped up onstage, got everyones' attention, held up my fingers in a "Three, Two, One," and we all sang "Happy Birthday" to her.  

And I spent the rest of the day fighting guilty feelings.  What if she didn't want us to sing to her?  What if she doesn't like other people hopping up onstage?  What if...?  What if...?

I thought I had banished that from my head by Sunday.  However, Monday morning, when I went to class, she said hello to me and asked how my weekend went.  Obviously, she wasn't angry at me, and I relaxed a couple of notches.  Apparently, I hadn't totally banished the guilt from my head.  

I feel guilty when I do something that might bother someone.  I feel guilty when I'm doing the speed limit in the right hand lane on the highway and someone is tailgating me* because I'm holding them up.  I feel guilty if I have too many books at the library or too many groceries in line at the grocery store - anything that might inconvenience others.  I feel guilty if I don't respond in conversations the way other people seem to need.**  

I also feel guilty when I don't live up to the expectations I have in my head.  Last night, we celebrated older son's birthday.  We got him lots of books and CDs.  It was an unusually good set of very special stories and music.  Dear husband and I made lasagna, Swiss chard, and brownies - which we had with 9th Street Bakery challah and Edy's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.  We didn't finish celebrating until after 10:30 pm.  

Did I feel good about putting that together?

No.

I ALMOST felt guilty because I was too tired to do the dishes.  One of my own expectations for myself is to have the kitchen clean before I relax in the evening.***

I couldn't feel guilty, though, because I gave it up for Lent.  There were five different times yesterday evening where I would clench my hands in frustration because I was tempted to feel guilty, but couldn't.  The guys kept giving me stranger and stranger looks everytime I did that and said what I was feeling guilty about.  Younger son finally said, "Your mind is broken."

As I said at the beginning, guilt seems like a stream that underlies every moment, or a small creature who always sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear.  How can I get rid of that?  Can I?

Every time I feel guilty, I push it out.  I may have to do it every ten five three really often.  It's often hard to remember.  

The result is really strange, though.  It feels like there is a really large, open, grassy park in my head, or a large dance studio.  There's all sorts of room to think all sorts of things.  What do you fill your mind with if you're not filling it with guilt?!

Getting rid of guilt doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden doing all sorts of wrong things.  Morals and guilt aren't the same thing.  I do what's right because - it's right - not to avoid guilt, which I can't avoid anyway.  I actually feel freer to do things the right way because I'm not spending my time and energy on guilt.  I actually even have more energy to think about God this way.

Strange.  

I'm not sure where this focus on guilt came from.  I certainly didn't grow up with it.  It came along later.  I know lots of people used guilt on me in college and after, and there are lots of religious books/blogs/articles/sermons that motivate with guilt.  Interestingly, the numbers are pretty even in terms of Catholic and Protestant as far as motivating by guilt.  Protestants do it a lot too.  

On the other hand, my experience with the clergy has been different.  Thinking back on all the priests that have been at the Catholic churches I've gone to, I can't think of any priests that focused on guilt.  Oh, they would discuss right and wrong, but they didn't use guilt to motivate.  Occasionally, a visiting priest would, but the regular ones didn't - not the one whose homilies sounded like editorials from the Independent, not the one who had been a clown before becoming a priest, not the one who was involved in the Charismatic movement, not the one who was a poet, and certainly not Father C.  However, I've known two Protestant ministers who could make me feel like I was God's biggest mistake and that everything was hopeless.  They're part of that guilt stream that runs under every moment.  

It will be interesting to see how Lent plays out.  

 

• Here's another post I wrote, six years ago, about guilt.  I like the post - it's a shame I can't keep these thoughts in my head.   

 

 * Older son said that he's decided not to feel guilty about following traffic rules.  

**  I've realized, recently, that, after a while, this has the result of making most people seem very needy and incapable of handling any inconvenience whatsoever.  

*** I don't have those expectations if someone else is doing dishes though.  If someone else were doing them and they were tired and left them for the morning, I'd be fine with that.  I certainly wouldn't want to exhaust them any further.  I don't treat myself that way, though.

Prayer

For those who think God alters the outcome of a football game while today 30,000 children die from preventable disease, we pray.  (Unvirtuous Abbey)

Unvirtuous Abbey is a Facebook page where the digital monks post humorous prayers about common aspects of society.  For instance:

We pray for the kid texting how bored he is on a piece of technology that 20 years ago could have launched a space shuttle. Lord, have mercy.

or

For the Facebook option to hide people from timeline who you can't unfriend but wish you didn't know, Lord we give thanks. [BTW, I've never done this.]

People also send in their own prayers.  I particularly like this one:

For those who slow down to let you in when you don't have a prayer of changing lanes, we give thanks.

I also liked this submission:

For those who think that posting cute cat pictures on Facebook actually helps anyone in any way, we pray to the Lord--even as we eagerly await more cute cat pictures..

Yesterday's prayer, however, stayed with me a good bit of the day:

For those who think God alters the outcome of a football game while today 30,000 children die from preventable disease, we pray.

It makes sense, and I understand wanting to say this, but...

...if you take it to its logical conclusion, you never end up praying at all.  

At least I did.

Actually, I did pray for other people, even though I didn't think it would do any good at all, but I didn't pray for myself.  Whatever problems I had, I could always find someone with worse problems who didn't seem to be getting any relief.  Should I pray for help when others are worse off?  Is there any point in praying at all if others are stuck in horrible situations?  How could I be selfish and pray for myself?   Why would I be helped if they aren't?  

I have no idea.  

At the same time, my faith had already been fading fast.  Is God even there?  If He (She?) is, does He (She) care?  Did God just get everything started, but that's pretty much it?  Was I mistaken about everything I had believed for decades?  Had I wasted all that time on faith?  I still kept going to choir, but when we would say the Creed, I would preface everything with "I would like to believe..." instead of "We believe."  I wasn't part of that "we."

This went on for a few years.  I would pray for other people daily (probably pointlessly, but still...), but never for myself.  The faith I had had for decades seemed to be gone.  Nothing at church helped.  In fact, it felt sad to watch everyone else so enthusiastic about something which didn't mean anything to me.  

It would be wonderful, writing-wise, to be able to point to some event or dramatic realization on my part which reawakened my faith, but that didn't happen.  I just realized, in mid-December (less than two months ago) that I believed.  Strangely, I realized it at church, during a sermon, even though the sermon didn't have anything to do with my faith or doubts.  

It was the first Sunday that daughter went to church with me when she was home during the Christmas break.  Was that why I felt faith-hopeful again?  Maybe it was just an emotional reaction to her being there.  

However, she's been back at college again for three weeks, and I still believe.  I'm not sure why, and I'm not going to bother analyzing it.  

I also realized that I missed... well... talking to God.  I had restricted my praying to praying for others, which is more important than anything else, but I missed all the rest of prayer.  

[BTW, sometimes I feel that, prayer-wise, my purpose is to be the one saying, "Hey, really neat beetle!  Thank you!" or "Wow, what a beautiful violet!  Thank you!" - about the little things that often get overlooked.]

I was going to write this post yesterday, but then by the time I got home from choir, we had a nice long lunch conversation, dear husband and I took a walk at Ayr Mont - we ate a wonderful dinner, talked to daughter on Skype (happy!), watched a strange episode of Red Dwarf, and showed dear husband and older son a song on My Little Pony that reminded us of The Music Man ("Trouble, right here in River City!") in order to get psycho-Rimmer out of my head... I wasn't up to blogging by the time I got to it yesterday evening.  

 A post at Experimental Theology brought this back this evening. ET is one of the things that helped me during the last few years.   In This Ritual of Hallowing, he writes:

...What happens in prayer? Does God really listen and answer? I have no clue. But this much I've learned:

Prayer is an act of hallowing.

Imagine someone comes to you and shares a great burden. They share loss, failure, despair, fear, brokenness, or sickness. Their own or that of someone they love. What do you say upon listening? Thanks for sharing? Good luck with all that? I'm so sorry?

Something has happened, something was shared, that needs to be set apart from every other mundane and silly thing that has happened during the day. The moment needs to be hallowed--set apart, consecrated, made holy...

This makes sense.  It doesn't answer anything, but it helps.  

Rambling thoughts on faith and choir, also "An' I Cry" and "Lift High the Cross"

This month, every Wednesday evening choir rehearsal has felt like a mini-Lent.  We've been singing through the anthems for Lent, in order, so we go through the Lenten weekly themes, and the the Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil anthems.  It's like a time lapse - seriousness, sorrow, and joy in a little over an hour.  It's one of older son's favorite times of year because of the music, and it's one of mine too.

For whatever reason, for the last few months, I've been finding that I feel closest to God, not on Sunday morning, but on Wednesday evening.  The short prayer before rehearsal starts really reaches me, and I focus on prayer through the words of the anthems.  One evening, there wasn't enough sheet music for everyone so I sang When I Survey the Wondrous Cross from memory (I even remembered the second soprano harmony parts!).  Because I wasn't looking at the notes, I really focused on the words

...See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

I got teary.

I totally failed at Lent this year.  The reactions I had to blood pressure medicines knocked out the Lenten things I was attempting.  I've spent the last two weeks just trying to get everyday life back to normal.  After writing the previous post, I actually was able to relax more on Thursday and start really enjoying things again.  I should feel guilty for failing at Lent, but it's just not in me anywhere. 

I wrote a long, depressed post last week, but never posted it.  Here's part of the post:

Last Sunday was a lousy morning.  Even though it's been in the 70's and 80's lately, the heat was on at church.  In the choir robe, I was overheated* and just trying to get through.**  I blew my voice out (my throat swelling isn't totally gone) singing too high during the rehearsal beforehand so I couldn't sing much in the service itself.  Our seating was different than usual - I was way out on the end and couldn't hear the rest of the sopranos, or even the rest of the choir.  The anthem was a cappella so you can't rely on hearing the piano.  There were points where I didn't even try to sing in the anthem because I couldn't hear the other sopranos well enough to blend with them.  We sang Amazing Grace during communion, which reminded me of the funeral I'd been to the previous week.  I got through the funeral without crying too much, but singing Amazing Grace again somehow opened the spigots to full.  I couldn't stop crying and totally missed the last three verses (and I wasn't even crying for myself, I was sad for his family (who are my family too)).  I was sitting so far from most of the choir that there weren't many people to shake hands with during the Sign of Peace so I ended up just watching everyone else shake hands. That reminded me of the time before I joined the choir. During the Lord's Prayer, I missed holding hands with those next to me, like we did when we went with daughter to her Catholic church a few weeks ago.   The service just made me feel very isolated. On the way home, I realized that I would have been just as happy to have gone home when the rehearsal was over before the service even started...

...Except for the Eucharist.

Today was totally different.  I ended up in the middle of the soprano section so I could hear and blend (and shake lots of hands during the Sign of Peace).  I was even able to be at peace for the eight measures that were too high and quiet for me to sing without straining my voice.  I just joined in again when I could - without kicking myself for not being able to sing the whole thing!  I mentioned this to older son, and he said that there are bass parts that he can't sing because they are too high.  He loves it when the bass part is down in the basement.

I had the anthem going through my head all afternoon.  I love the different musical colors of the three verses.  The first one is more normal anthem-y, the second we all sing harmony with the soprano solo, and the third has very tight harmonies.  It's like walking into a new room for each verse.  Here is the Norfolk State University Concert Choir singing An' I Cry:

The attendance at the 11 am service varies lately.  Communion is sometimes one hymn long, and sometimes two hymns long.  Today, I was silently willing everyone to take a long time for communion because I really wanted to get to the second communion hymn.  We made it!  I had Lift High the Cross in my head a good bit this afternoon too.  Here, it's sung by Trinity Episcopal Church in Fredonia, NY:

(Okay, I got teary the last verse again.  No spigot, though.)

 

 

* Older son, who gets very easily overheated and is quite happy in 20 degree weather, said that he only remembered two things from the sermon - the part about the hike in the desert, which was very fitting, and the story about the rattlesnake.

** The title of the post involved the phrase:  "Sing 'till you pass out" - a variation of my garden motto from last summer:  "Garden 'till you pass out."

[I've been to Duke Gardens three times this week.  Thursday, I had a good time there with my mother and younger son.  I didn't want to slow them down too much so I restrained myself from taking too many pictures.  Friday, I went back by myself and took too many pictures.  Saturday, I went with dear husband, who had been in Atlanta all week and had listened to me bubbling over about how beautiful the gardens were. 

The Terrace Gardens are filled with tulips in full bloom, and it feels like you're swimming in color.

Thursday, it was moderately crowded.  Friday, I got there early, along with Garden staff and a handful of other people taking photos.  Saturday (photo, above), it alternately sprinkled and poured so there were very few people there.

The photo has nothing to do with the post.]

Two thoughts on All Saints' Day and "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones"

Today was All Saint's Day, which starts out with the Litany of the Saints as we process into the nave (sanctuary).  I looked online, but I can't find any examples, much less the exact one we used.  The part of the litany which particularly struck me today was the part which reads (emphasis mine - I really like that part):

Priest:  With John of Damascus, Hildegard of Bingen, Charles Wesley, and John Mason Neale; with John Eonne and George Hergert; with Dunstan of Canterbury; with all the faithful who have shown us the splendor of your creation in art and science, we pray to you, O Lord.

Response:  Lord, have mercy.

Among their other achievements, the first four were composers, the next two were poets and the last one was an an artist.

That reminded me of a conversation yesterday.  While we were hiking in Asheville this weekend (more on that later (maybe)), older son mentioned a scientist who said that God has "an inordinate fondness for beetles,"* but he couldn't remember which scientist.  I looked it up, the saying is attributed to either Charles Darwin, or, more likely, British geneticist, J.B.S. Haldane. Quote Investigator mentions:

On being asked what one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of his creation, Haldane is said to have answered, “An inordinate fondness for beetles.”

[If you like beetles, there's a Flickr group called An Inordinate Fondness for Beetles with lots of photos.]

Today was my first day to sing on Sunday in choir since last May.  It's also the first time I've sung in a group since the musical was over at the end of July.  I tried not to overdo my voice in the first half of the service so that I could sing all the notes in the anthem.  The anthem went fine.  I wasn't as hoarse after the service as I usually am.  I think that's partly because I've really been focusing on singing correctly and using the things I've learned in my voice lesson in my choir singing (rather than desparately trying to get the notes out whatever way I can, which is what I've done in the past).

I particularly enjoyed the second communion hymn, which is one of my favorites - Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones, here sung by the choir at St. Peter's Catholic Church** in Columbia, SC:

 

* Because there are over 400,000 known species of beetles in the world

** A Catholic Church which sings traditional hymns?!

[Photo:  I particularly liked the altar flowers today because I love gladiolas.]

On-ramp prayer

The on-ramp to I-85 north near our neighborhood is uphill and short.  Because of the lovely stand of trees between the ramp and the highway, you can't see who's coming until you're almost at the end.  Most of the time, it's not a problem, but occasionally, particularly during rush hour, a little prayer spontaneously happens - like this morning:

Me (seeing that the traffic is heavy):  "Please may there be a spot for me to pull into."

Me (a second later):  "That spot between the two 18 wheelers is really small!!!!"

Me (a few seconds later):  "Please bless that truck driver who pulled into the left lane to let me in!"

Enjoying church

At one quiet point during the daily service on Tuesday, I realized that I was enjoying church.  That's not surprising during a daily service.  I've enjoyed daily services and daily Masses since dear husband and I used to go to daily Mass at the convent at St. Leo's in Winston-Salem - back when I was in college. 

The surprising realization was that I currently enjoy everything I do at church - daily services, choir rehearsal, and singing at Sunday services.  My only problem with church is that my voice hasn't allowed me to be there as often as I wanted this spring. 

Let me back up.  When we first started going to church, we went to an Evangelical Presbyterian church.  It was the sort of place where you were expected to be there as often as possible, and we were.  Sunday school and services on Sunday morning, Prayer and Praise on Sunday evening, guest visitation another evening, Wednesday evening programs, women's group, small group, etc.  Along with Sunday morning, we were there Sunday evening through Thursday evening. 

Did I enjoy these things?

No.  I enjoyed the Sunday services, learned a bit at the adult Sunday School, but, if I'd been doing what I wanted, rather than what was expected, I would have stopped there.  It was always a rush to get my work done for college because evenings were all taken up.  The orchestra at Wake Forest University met on Wednesday evening.  I never even tried out for it. 

I'm not one to sit around regretting the past, but, if there's one thing that I've done that I could change, it would be to go back and never have joined that church at all.  I look at all the things that daughter is involved with in college, and I really regret not having taken advantage of opportunities when I was in college.  Wake Forest was the last of the three universities I went to as an undergraduate, and I never even made any friends there.*  I only went to classes.

We went to the large, crowded, and noisy (exhausting for me) Wednesday evening dinners because that was part of being a Christian.  We volunteered for all sorts of things because that was part of being a Christian.  We taught Sunday School, even though I hate having to discipline other people's kids, because that was part of being a Christian.  By the end of the school year, we were barely on time for Sunday School because I dreaded it so much that I didn't get out of bed until the last minute.

Do you know that girls, on the whole, potty train a bit earlier?  I spent a good bit of the second half of the year in the bathroom with potty-training, two year old girls.  Some of them liked to read books on the potty.  Except for the whole sitting-on-the-disgusting-bathroom-floor aspect, that part actually wasn't so bad. 

Except for the Presbyterian pastor saying that we must be under the influence of the devil because we were switching to the Catholic Church, it was a relief to join the Catholic Church.  Yes, some priests emphasize the whole guilt-by-birth-control part, but most priests never even mention it.**  Catholic churches seem to feel lucky to get any volunteers at all so there wasn't any pressure to be there every evening during the week. 

We did get involved in various things at church, but, overall, we had more time.  At this point, I was working and dear husband was in college.  That's when we really got into hiking, camping, backpacking, folk music, going to concerts, actually making friends and having them over to dinner, etc. - all the things we didn't have time for before.

Once we had kids, our involvement varied.  We did children's liturgy for a few years (alternating with others so it wasn't every Sunday).  I still hated trying to keep other people's kids in line, but at least it only took place during the readings, the sermon, and the prayers of the people then we could send the kids back to their parents. 

The biggest drawback, for me was the music.  Catholic music was changing in that time, and, after the first few years, in most of the Catholic Masses we went to, the music varied from mediocre to dreadful - except for a year when one church had a fantastic choir director.  Really, I would have preferred to have Masses without music at all. 

When we joined our current Episcopalian church (with fantastic music, though that's not why we joined), we tried to get over-involved again.  We were there too many nights, there were too many attempts at socializing, and I was back to just enjoying Sunday services.   We spent almost no time with friends and very little time with relatives. 

[One aspect of churches that I've always enjoyed which I haven't mentioned yet is any sort of small (discussion) group involvement.  This was one of the only things I enjoyed in the Presbyterian church, it happened occasionally in the Catholic churches, and it happened in the program to join the Episcopalian Church.  I love discussing faith, but I'm always amazed at how little that happens at churches unless we're involved in something formal like a small group.]

Something strange happened at our current church, though.  All the things I volunteered for that I didn't really want to volunteer for but I did anyway because it seemed to be expected? - I was turned down.  They had enough volunteers and didn't need any more.  This made me feel horribly guilty for a while because I wasn't "contributing."  The guilt was particularly bad during stewardship season when the preaching really emphasized getting involved.  I finally started skipping church during those months - until one year when older son mentioned that the sermons weren't like that anymore.

Eventually, I volunteered (again***) for the choir, and it worked.  Right now, I'm one of only two second sopranos.  I do feel like I'm contributing.

My behavior towards myself, church-wise, has been very different than my behavior towards my kids.  I have dragged myself to all sorts of things at church because I'm "supposed to" as a Christian.  On the other hand, we've always focused on what the kids want from a church.  Do they want to try Sunday School?  Fine.  Do they want to go back to homeschooling instead?  Fine.  What do they want to be involved in?  We've always wanted church involvement to be a positive thing for them instead of a chore. 

Older son absolutely loves choir.  He almost never misses it.  Last fall, at college, daughter decided to go back to the Catholic Church, and she joined it at the Easter Vigil last Saturday.  I was surprised, because she was the one who was the happiest at having women as priests and deacons in the Episcopalian church.  I was less surprised when I found out that the Catholic church she attends in Asheville is about as liberal as a parish can be without getting in trouble (and more liberal than our Episcopalian church).  She's also been really encouraged by the Catholic student group there. 

Younger son?  When dear husband stopped going to the Episcopalian church, I didn't really feel that I could require the younger kids to keep going.  Sunday worship has always been the one thing that we did emphasize, church-wise, although we always tried to find a church that the kids could enjoy.  However, it seemed somehow hypocritical to make them go when he didn't. 

Although we still discuss faith, both as a part of everyday life and as part of our homeschooling, younger son hasn't had the regular church attendance that the older two did at his age.  This fall, we started going to daily noon services every few weeks (they're not held every week and sometimes with the rest of our schedule).  It turns out that he loves them!  He hates crowds and likes the peaceful, shorter service (though he does miss the music).  During the consecration, we all gather around the altar, which is a very special experience. 

I realized, at the daily service on Tuesday, that I was happy in what I'm doing at church.

Everything.

On Wednesdays and Sundays, I get to sing in the choir with a wonderful group of people.  In between, there are other non-choir people that I'm happy to see.  Occasionally, during the week, I get to sit with younger son at a peaceful, meditative, daily service, which he actually enjoys!

It's been a few years since I've felt like I have to drag myself to church.

Wonderful.

 

*  I went to MIT and UNC School of the Arts as an atheist so I had the time to make friends. 

** Trying to live up to Natural Family Planning brought us immeasureably closer to divorce than anything else has ever done.

*** I tried to be in the choir when we first joined but, because Wednesdays were so busy from morning until evening, I usually had a migraine by the time choir started.

Blog recommendation: Introverted Church

I'm at low ebb this evening, and I wasn't going to blog at all (my voice has been weak for a few months now, it almost totally disappeared at choir tonight, and I have an audition in a week!).  I wasn't even going to bother reading other blogs, but I have to pass the time until I can go to bed since I end up with insomnia if I try to go to sleep too early.

Then I read a post that I loved at Introverted Church, the blog of Adam S. McHugh, whose book Introverts in the Church intrigues me, though I haven't had a chance to read it yet.  As I wrote in a previous post, it often feels to me like being extroverted is a prerequisite for being Christian.  A whole book about being an introvert at church (written by a minister!!!) sounds like it would make being a Christian less discouraging.

The main point of this post isn't about introverts, though.  That paragraph was just an introduction. 

In his latest post, On Blog Traffic, Controversies, and Self-Promotion, Pastor McHugh writes about not having a "big" blog like some other well-known Christian authors:

...Yet sometimes I think I should work to attract more readers, especially when I compare myself to other Christian writers with hugely popular blogs.

Honestly, it would be really easy to do.  The secret? Take sides on controversies...

He has decided not to do so, and I liked his first reason (about not discussing the "Rob Bell/John Piper skirmish" (which I know nothing about)) so much that I decided to blog anyway:

...I almost always see the merit in both sides of the argument and value the contributions of both sides. John Piper was my favorite pastor and writer during college and early seminary. He introduced me to the theology and life of Jonathan Edwards, and he taught me that passion and intellect are not mutually exclusive. Rob Bell has been my favorite preacher for the past 3 years. He asks provocative questions that always leave me thinking, he makes me laugh, and he gives me an emotional sense of the transforming and healing presence of God. I don't agree with everything either one of them says, but I am grateful for both of them. I refuse to wear a Team Rob or Team John t-shirt. I'm going with Team Jesus, who loves both of them and is transforming both of them into his image...

The highlighting on that quote is mine.  That is the attitude I'm aiming at, although I have a long way to go.

Read the rest here.  I've also added his blog to my sidebar.

"One Bread, One Body" - LNB

One of my favorite of the modern Catholic hymns is One Bread, One Body.  We sang it as the second Communion hymn today.  Older son and I smiled at each other when it started.  I put my hymnal away part way through it because I know it by heart; it's sung very often in the Catholic Church.  There was a lady a few rows back on the other side of the nave who also sang through it without looking at her hymnal.  Another Catholic Episcopalian?

Here is LNB singing One Bread, One Body:

• John Michael Talbot also sings a beautiful version, but it's too slow for me (and a bit overdone in the accompaniment to the later choruses). 

Daily service

I wrote last year about trying to find daily services to go to with younger son.  I looked at the websites of a number of Episcopalian churches in Orange and Durham Counties, but never found anything regular that worked.  The closest I could find was a church in Durham that has services every Wednesday evening, but that's voice lesson/choir night. 

Our church has daily services on major feast days, but I always have ended up finding out about them after we've made our plans for the week.  This month, I made sure I looked at the newsletter in the lobby as soon as it appeared and wrote down the days for daily services.  Last Tuesday, there was a daily service, but we had ice.  Today is the Feast of the Confession of St. Peter so I planned the week partly around the service.

At first, younger son wasn't too thrilled at going, but he got used to the idea.  I remembered, again, why I love daily services (or daily Mass when I was in the Catholic Church).  The service (or Mass) is boiled down to the essentials - prayers, readings, and Eucharist.  I (obviously) love weekend services with all the singing, but I also love the more focused daily service (where I'm not worrying about making sure I drink enough water so my throat doesn't get dry, making sure I'm ready for the next hymn, etc.). 

I also really enjoyed sitting with younger son and sharing a Prayer Book with him.  Because there was a limited number of people there (9), we could all stand around the altar for the Consecration and for Communion. 

There's nothing quite like an Episcopalian service said by a priest with a lovely British accent.

It was quite wonderful, and I'm looking forward to the next one next month.  Even younger son said it was nice. 

Going to a Sunday service and singing with choir (with older son, even though we're in different sections) and then to a daily service where I can sit with younger son is really the best of both worlds for me. 

[The amaryllis has nothing to do with the post, but it's been blooming beautifully for a few weeks, and I don't seem to get around to posting about it.  The amaryllis bulb was a birthday present from dear husband.  I've never grown an amaryllis before.  

I'm hooked.]