4+ Weddings and a Funeral

The title is not a movie, but my June. Also, not included at each occasion was a band of hipster-before-their-time British folk.

I sit here the day after my plans stop. I have just been striving to make it to June 26th and haven't looked forward at all. So, today is a day to start looking at what July and August might hold for me.

Three of the weddings were ones in which I officiated. All very different couples from one another. All happily happened. And, I'm glad my role is finished.

One wedding was for dear friends - I had a small, but upfront, role. It was a wonderful weekend to celebrate them. I wish I'd had more time to just settle into that fun. Finally, I joined P in celebrating with friends who were married in South America, but celebrating here.

The funeral - the reason for my post - was my grandmother. Irmgard Anna Elizabeth Knock Becker. So much of my memory of her was as sternish provider. I realized as we celebrated her life that I never doubted that she loved me and I never doubted that I loved her. It wasn't until these later years, however, that we spoke the words.

She was tenacious (which makes me proud to identify with her :-) ), she was faithful, she had strong opinions and shared them. She regularly served others without really talking about it much. And, she is the person who modeled regular exercise.

I have some key memories:

I visited during my first year of seminary (2001-2002). She was ironing and talking about lesbians. Yup. Lesbians. She said to me something like, "I don't understand it. But, I guess I don't need to understand it." I got the sense that she wasn't so sure of my sexual orientation (I'd never really talked about my dating life...partly 'cause I didn't have much of one), and she wanted to know that I'd be loved by her no matter what. I also think that she'd been thinking about it because of conversations happening through her church.

Two memories from being young: 1) Cousins were playing in the basement - with the pool table in particular. One of us decided it'd be a good idea to jam the pool cues into the ceiling tiles and make holes. I remember doing it a couple times. It was pretty satisfying - sort of like popping bubble wrap. She came down those stairs livid. I don't remember what she said or how she said it, but I remember going from a feeling of "hey, this is fun!" to "oh, Grandma's mad. This must have been bad."

2) She and Grandpa were in a car accident and her seatbelt, while saving her, also bruised her pretty badly. I remember being instructed not to make her laugh and being somewhat amazed at the fragility of my Grandma at that time. She had never seemed fragile before to me. I also remember that she would laugh and then wince.

Due to the nature of my job, I'm not able to get to the family Christmas gathering when all the cousins are there. So, I've made it a point to go and visit Grandma at another time. I started to appreciate these - usually Jan or Feb - visits a lot. One of the visits happened to be right after she got home from knee replacement surgery - and it was the first time that I really felt like I was allowed to help her out. It was an honor to get to - to help her with her physical therapy. To help get meals together. To chat with her throughout the day.

I got to see Grandma alive one last time - the day it was decided to not put the feeding tube back in. She'd gone into the hospital due to pneumonia and the day her discharge was being organized she had a major stroke. As I sat with her, as I saw her interact with people in her diminished capacity, I realized a sweetness that I've recognized at other times. But, I got to really think about that sweetness. It undergirded everything - even her opinions - even her tenacity - especially her faith and her care for her family.

Our phone conversations in the last few years were about the same things - the weather, her health, my busyness, my dad's church, the great-grandchildren - and her voice always held a sense of joy to it. It's that quiet, yet strong joy that I imagine her still holding on to as she is welcomed into the life everlasting.

Proof texting life.

I have recognized a trait in me recently that I don't like. Sometimes, when I'm talking through things with someone - trying to see a bigger picture - or find an explanation - I end up making a supposition boldly. Then, I try to explain it...pretty much proof texting life.

Maybe it's why someone has behaved a certain way. Maybe it's an explanation for why people relate to one another a certain way. Maybe it's naming a dynamic bigger than 2 people. Essentially, I make things up. Not in a mean way, but to try to understand it myself.

The problem isn't in the wondering, it's that I don't communicate (to myself or others) that what I'm doing is wondering, instead, I come off as declaring.

I've got this image that what I'm doing is creating a ball of explanation that I spit out with the intention of exploring it - maybe removing the parts that don't work - massaging it to be what might be right. But, instead of working with it, I set it down right away - look at it and say, "This is what it is." Then, try to attempt to make that make sense.

Perhaps this image isn't helpful to anyone but me (but really, who is this blog for?).

It seems to me that I'm getting more assertive and more declarative as I get older. I'd rather maintain my sense of wondering about - of exploring - of searching for what is truth rather than just declaring it (especially since so often lately I've been way off).

Deep down, this comes from a desire to be wise. And, I've been told I'm wise. While I know wisdom isn't in declaring that I know something, it's tempting because when I do hit the nail on the head, people recognize the wisdom.

This is a confession of sorts - with a hope that by confessing, I'll better recognize this before I say something. By confessing, I'll be able to change this piece that bothers me.

This Is For You

Tears welled up yesterday as I handed out bread to people who are slowly - oh. so. slowly - becoming mine.

It's one of the difficulties of transitioning to and associate position - there is another pastor who has been there for over 20 years. He is The Pastor. Certainly not an ego thing on his part, or something he strives to be over and above me. Never would I suggest that - or even think that about him. But, it is the reality.

Additionally, this congregation is much bigger. It takes longer to learn the stories of so many. It takes longer to have pastorly experiences with so many - not to mention so many who are upper middle class (to even whatever is wealthier than that). That fact sometimes exhibits the personality of not quickly sharing difficulty and heart ache.

And so - I was surprised yesterday as I started welling up while I handed out the bread. I was surprised by the importance I saw this gift taking in people's lives. I was surprised to recognize a love for them.

I also was surprised by the wonder I felt. It hasn't been the most spiritually connected transition. I haven't been at the edge of my rope very often - which is most regularly where I am immersed (necessarily) in the wonder of God.

I've been struck by the meal anew. I've been struck by the earthiness of it - the commonality of the elements - the work of creation that goes into it. I've been struck by the gift and they way in which that gift was and is given.

I really feel lucky. Not everyone gets to week after week hand out the body of Christ.

The Examined-(with no clarity)- Life

All in all, life is pretty good.

But, I'm not living a very forward-looking life.

I've so often had a plan. Every single time I've had a plan it's not gone quite as I expected....so rather than a train track with no option of meandering, I've been on what could be more easily likened to a deer path in the woods.

But, I'm currently in a place of unknown. I don't know what I want to work towards making happen. I'm feeling unsure of what I imagine for myself in a year, in 3 years, in 10 years.

I guess it's a one-day/week/month/year-at-a-time approach for the time being. With discernment being something I regularly attempt.

Path-o-logic

In the past months I have had more than the normal amount of time spent alone steering a moving vehicle. Between the driving to work and to and fro the Chicago-land area, and riding my bike, I have found myself with a lot of time to think about paths.

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Part 1.

Sometimes, when driving through construction late at night, I get the feeling that I'm a vehicle in a video game. The reflectors along the barriers and on the road in front of me create an unreal feeling to what I'm doing. I make myself realize that I'm not in a video game, that if I were to crash my car it would be very real. (I still have moments of dread and fear when I remember the accident I was in last December.) But, the driving offers a sense of detachment.

I've appreciated that time of detachment when it's meant that I'm coming home from work. I've really not appreciated it when it means I'm leaving people I'd rather spend more time with. The amount of driving certainly lends itself to compartmentalizing, only my compartments are far, far apart from one another. When I lived 1/2 a mile from work, it was necessary to work at separating work and play. Now it is already separate. I write this mostly to note it. I don't have a judgement of it - or rather, I have many judgements, but they seem to balance themselves out.

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Part 2.

When I'm on the bike path behind my house, I sometimes look ahead of me and think, "oh my, it looks like it's uphill for a little ways."

I pedal.

I make it just fine.

When I turn around, I feel no real effect of a downhill.

Sometimes, it is to difficult to judge what the path is like when I'm looking ahead into the horizon. It might seem to be uphill, but perhaps it's not. Or, perhaps, it is slightly, but not in a way that I can't make it.

When I look too far out, my judgement of what is to come is blurred - seeming more difficult than it actually is.

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Part 3.

Also on my bike.

I only notice the wind when I am having to fight against it. I have to consciously think about the fact that the wind is propelling me when it is at my back. Hello faith/life-metaphor.

Second in Command

My heart is aching for a woman and her family in my congregation who have, within the last few hours, heard the devastating news that her 20-something son died this morning in a crash.

This morning, I announced three funeral services in the next two days. It seems like a lot, especially because two of the three were relatively young. And now, this one. The young man had joined our church last March.

I keep searching for news because I want more information about what happened. Not that more information would really help.

It's this strange thing where I'm the pastor of many of these people or their families, but not the pastor people expect to see or hear from in an emergency. I will call and offer condolences, but the one who is "on" in the moment of urgency is my colleague who has baptized, married and buried someone from most families.

I recognize that in this is my desire to do - something - anything - to help. That really, presence and promise, time and tears, hope and listening are what I will offer...but not as the first on the scene.

Putt Putt

I like puttering. When I have things I want to accomplish, but the deadline isn't urgent. When I can just slowly do one thing and then another and see some results, small results, but results all the same.

I got up early this morning to putter. Laundry, dishes, putting things away. But, I'm also going to blog and read a little bit.

Actually, part of puttering is that I don't always follow what I say I'm going to do. But, I'm usually doing something productive - like calling with an insurance question, like I just did in the middle of writing the blog.

Sometimes there is a thrill to high pressure - sometimes I can get much more done in that time, but I really prefer puttering.

Lists are helpful, but not always followed. Breaks sometimes occur spontaneously when I've thought of something I want to do. I move along slowly.

Putt....putt......putt....putt. What a nice morning.