WWUUD stream

๐Ÿ”’
โŒ About FreshRSS
There are new articles available, click to refresh the page.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Memorial Services for Tim Jensen

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
There have been two memorial services scheduled to celebrate Tim's life

PORTLAND, OREGON - September 19, 2009

Friends and family of Tim Jensen will gather Saturday, September 19, 2009 to celebrate his life. You are invited to attend.

Date: 19 September 2009

Time: 11:00 a.m.

Place: The Melody Ballroom, 615 SE Alder Street, Portland, Oregon

If you are unable to attend, you may write about what you learned from Tim and send it to margaret.weddell@yahoo.com . These rememberances will be collected into a book for Tim's family.


PORTLAND, MAINE - November 7, 2009


Date: 7 November 2009

Time: 1:00 p.m.

Place: First Parish Unitarian Universalist Church
425 Congress Street, Portland, Maine
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Tim Talks with the new President of First Parish

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
To follow Tim as he starts his new journey
Log on to www.firstparishportland.blogspot.com
or go to firstparishportland and click on
leadership blog
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

From Tim's Youngest Brother Erik

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
It is with sadness that I have to report that my brother Tim passed away on Sunday morning last (August 9th) after his eighteen month battle with cancer. He died at the UC Davis medical center surrounded by his former wife, Margaret, his father and myself. We were all pleased that he was able to make his end of life decisions on his own and he was alert until slipping into a coma on Saturday night. He passed away, peacefully, at 11:00 a.m. Sunday morning.

I know that he would have wanted me to thank all of you for your support in his battle with cancer and with your friendships, whether they were lifetime friendships or had lasted only for a short while. Your support gave him great strength and happiness, not only in his valiant struggle with cancer, but throughout his entire life.

Tim will be cremated and his ashes sent to Camano Island where they will be kept with those of his grandmother and mother and his beloved Boston Terrier, Parker. We will announce plans relating to a memorial service when we have made appropriate plans.

Erik Jensen
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Next stop, Sox? Or Celtics?

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Here's the latest post White House Brew Fest UPDATE from "Skip" Gates, speaking from his summer place on the Vineyard. Funny the little things that bring us together. This whole situation has me reflecting back on my first few encounters with law enforcement officers in my youth, and discovering that little things like the fact that I was an Associated Student Body Officer at my High School didn't really cut it much during a traffic stop, and that in retrospect mentioning it at all simply seemed stupid and naive. Or hearing from my cousin (a sworn officer and retired Sgt. of Detectives in Spokane) that probably the most antagonistic thing you can say to a cop is "I Know MY Rights!" (when the BEST thing to do would be to remember that you have the Right to Remain Silent, and to use it); or hearing from my wife (an administrative law judge and former trial lawyer) about the seven-figure damages award granted by a jury to an African American airport traffic cop who asked a wealthy white physician to move his car, only to have the latter threaten him personally and refuse to comply on account of the differences in their incomes (and one assumes, their race, social class, and relative importance), and then was hit by the fender of the physician's vehicle as the officer reached for his ticket book, and the doctor angrily pulled back into traffic.... Gosh I wish I could remember more of the details of THAT case. Meanwhile, here's all best wishes for smooth sailing from now on for both Officer Crowley and Professor Gates. Now, about Harvard....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

A Critical Sense of Urgency

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
For those of you who have been missing One Day Isle, and are desperate for a little cheap entertainment, you might try looking here or maybe even here.

Yesterday was pretty much consumed by Medical appointments, punctuated by the information that I needed to be careful when relieving myself, because I know had "hot urine" (What! As in Radioactive piss?") thanks to the contrast agent I was injected with for the PET scan. Still won't know any answers for awhile either, unless the information is really bad (in which case they will tell me right away), so this really is a situation of "no news" being "good news."

Even so, I can't help but feel anxious. Times like these are just a very invasive and persistent reminder that I really am sick, that I'm never going to really be "well," and that while I may very well be able to look forward to many, many years of a reasonably healthy, energetic, fun, loving, and even productive lifestyle, the long-range trend is down. And that thought can sometimes be very depressing indeed.

Of course, it helps to have something to look forward to. And yet ironically what I find myself feeling most right now is nostalgic for the ministry. I keep catching myself wanting to go "back to church" shopping, and thinking about where we were programatically in my last church, and what we needed to be doing next in order to grow into the kind of dynamic, challenging, ground-breaking, life-changing, world-shaking faith community I envisioned, and knew we were capable of becoming. The cancer changed all that too, not just for me, but for them as well. Bummer.

And at the same time I'm feeling frustrated because I still have so much to do on my plate right now, and can't seem to push through it all. Just a little at a time I tell myself. But the pile seems to be getting bigger faster than I can get it done. And I'm still feeling very much like I'm living out of a suitcase here, knowing how much more there is to unpack, how LONG that is going to take (months) before it is complete, and also watching and waiting while Debra and my Dad slowly pack up their stuff to go over to the new house a mere seven minutes (three miles) away.

But for now it's mostly just chaos and clutter. And a little progress, every day. Sometimes so little it almost appears invisible. But it's happening, and I'm grateful for it.

Even if it does glow in the dark when I pee....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Report from the Rose Garden

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”

This just in. Professor Gates enjoyed a Samuel Adams Light, while President Obama opted for a Bud Light. Sergeant Crowley indulged in a Blue Moon Pale Ale, while Vice-President Biden contented himself with a "near-beer," Buckler. I'm not certain that their beverage choices really give us much insight into issues of race, class, and police power/authority in our society. But they do perhaps provide some small insight into the personality of each individual.


Sam's Light is, to my taste, probably the best light beer being commercially brewed in America today. Samuel Adams is a growing regional brewery based in Boston, and produces a wide variety of ales, lagers, and seasonal brews, all of which are of high quality. "Skip" Gate's selection of Sam's Light is the educated choice of a calorie-conscious connaiseur, and is admirable in that regard.

Bud Light, on the other hand, is simply piss. Not even Clydesdale horse-piss (which all needs to be reserved for the regular Budweiser), but rather something that came out of a Dalmation after a long, leisurely lope through middle America. Although to be fair to Anheuser-Busch, they do produce very clever advertising...about half the time. The other half they are just down-right annoying. But Barach's choice of a Bud Light shows him as attempting to show himself as a "man of the people," who really understands what a beer or two (or twelve or twenty...) after work can really mean.


Blue Moon is a very respectable Cambridge microbrewery with a brewpub (as I recall) right in Harvard Square. The Sarge really knows his suds, plus he works out often enough that he doesn't have to worry about a few extra calories. As for the Vice-President's choice, I kinda wish he'd gone for something a little more in the line of a Raspberry Lemonade, rather than following the near-beer route. Although maybe now thanks to his example I'm going to have to try a Buckler's myself, just to see what it's like. This is, after all, BBQ season. And there's nothing like a cold brew on a hot day with a freshly-grilled brat in hand.


All in all, I think this was a very nice gesture on the part of the President. And I'm glad to hear that Skip and Jim are planning to do this again on their own. Who knows, this could turn out to be a regular Thursday afternoon event at Grendel's Den? And we could ALL probably learn something from that....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Congratulations are in Order!

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
And it turns out that today, July 30th 2009, is the 54th anniversary of my parents wedding! In as much as I will be celebrating my 53rd birthday at the end of October, clearly they weren't wasting any time...although the charming legend that I am actually a contraception malfunction during final exams of my mother's Senior year is clearly unfounded -- my mother had already graduated from college and had entered the workforce as a schoolteacher by then. My dad was still in school though, attending the University of Washington on the GI bill in what would have been his sophomore year. But finals at the U-Dub would have been well over by then; if anything (and assuming I'm counting backward correctly on my fingers) I was simply a mundane "back to school" diversion. Which makes a lot of sense in terms of how I turned out, when you stop to think about it.

[l to r: Beth (Gildow) Horton, Shirley (Jensen) Ennis, Laura (Paulson) Pressy, Mary Lou Krause, Gerald Frederick Jensen, Betty Jo (Krause) Jensen, Harry Jensen, Irene (Ward) Jensen, Nathan Krause, Susan (Steele) Krause. July 30th, 1955]

Meanwhile, my parents didn't order a very elaborate wedding album - only about 20 prints all told, and pretty traditional poses to boot. I suspect finances and the use of a professional photographer had something to do with it. How different from today, where the guests have cameras in their telephones, and EVERYTHING gets photographed!

The happy (but nervous?) Bride and Groom.

View of the ceremony from the balcony. My dad's best friend, Chuck Hazen (my "Uncle Charlie") is the best man; my Aunt Mary Lou was the maid of honor. I believe the wedding took place in the Methodist church where my mother grew up, and the officiant was the Rev. George Poor (a renowned Seattle Social Activist in his day).

"I now pronounce you man and wife." Nowadays we would say "husband and wife." Because let's face it. I can pronouce a man a husband and I can pronounce a woman his wife. But I can't make a man into a man, no matter how often I say it. And then there's the whole same-sex marriage issue.... "Partners in Life?"

A traditional cake-cutting shot. Call me silly, but I sometimes used to fantasize about cutting the cake with an honest-to-God sword, before recessing out of the church in full dress uniform beneath an arch of drawn sabers. But you know, I just don't see that happening for me any time soon....

Admiring the Rings. The older woman holding my mother's hand is Chuck's mother, my "grandma Hazen."

Escape to the Honeymoon!

With the car all decorated too, Chuck's last duty as the best man.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Transition Tension

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”


And I can't remember where I first saw this image, but obviously it made an impression on me; so I copied it on to my own desktop, and now I'm sharing it with all of you. Just one of the things from "out there" in the in the larger culture that is bothering me, even though I would just as soon not have to be bothered about it at all. But that's scary too -- feeling the way that my life just seems to be compacting down more and more into a size that I can handle from day to day, and how often even that seems to be way too much. It's frightening. Even terrifying Makes me feel so [f-Word] helpless. Sometimes I feel like I just can't stand it any more. But then I realize that I have to, because the alternative is not to have a life at all.

Two of my past three mornings have been taken up with medical appointments; tomorrow I get a day off, but then Friday I've got a double-header. And then another long weekend waiting for results. The days pass so quickly, and yet so slowly. So much to do, but does any of it really matter? My mortality feels very close this evening. And I don't like it one little bit.

;Happy Birthday Daudre!!!
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Old Habits Die Hard

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And I caught myself at a discount book rack today, purchasing a title that caught my eye but which I have no intention of reading any time soon, simply because the price was right, I knew it would be hard to find later, and I knew that It would "preach" -- that is to say, that if I ever found myself caught late in the week without a good idea for Sunday morning, I could spend a few hours with this book and come up with SOMETHING to say for twenty minutes that would not be either a waste of my time or the time of those good people who had come to church that week in the hopes of feeling inspired by something I had to say.

A lot of preachers I know jump on books like this when we find them; but the point that I am trying to make is that I don't HAVE TO any more. Those days are over for me...at least for now, and as far into the foreseeable future as anyone can look. And while it makes me feel a little sad, it also gives me a great deal of relief knowing that the stress of meeting those deadlines is now behind me as well, and that the only person whose time I need to worry about wasting really is my own. And it feels pretty good, actually. So good I'm a little ashamed to admit how good it feels. Amen, and Blessed Be.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Living for the Weekend

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And you wouldn't think, that for someone in my situation, the difference between "weekend" and "weekday" would make that much difference. But it does. There are a lot of factors that figure in, but mostly it's because nobody can really schedule any medical appointments for me on the weekend, which means that I'm much less likely to have my day broken up by that sort of thing. And on the other hand, there is also always church...which so far I've pretty much been playing hooky from for the month of July. The church in Sacramento is scheduled to have a forum on Health Care facilitated by a member of the UU Legislative ministry: that sounds terribly inspiring, doesn't it, even if it does hit a little close to home. Can't find the topic for the church in Davis, but I do know the service is a half-hour earlier and a 45 minute drive. So maybe I will just plan on sleeping late. Especially since I'm going to have to talk by dad into giving me a ride anyway.

Next week the medical appointments come on fast and furious: MRI first thing Tuesday morning, a visit to the Coumadin clinic first thing Wednesday, and then Friday at noon a double-header, with a PET scan scheduled for noon, with a CT scan immediately to follow. I know my new docs also want to take another look at the tissue samples from my first biopsy over a year ago now, and... and I just need to remind myself that none of this is intended to "cure" my cancer. It's all about comfort, quality of life, extending my life, and essentially creating a new lifestyle for myself that will allow me to live with cancer like a chronic disease, until it (or something more interesting) eventually manages to take it all away.

And that's the hardest part right now. The cancer itself seems to be fairly stable (so far as I can tell at least), I have reasonably good pain control, people keep telling me how GOOD I look, which I'm convinced now is clearly a sign of how much stress I was under before, trying to struggle with this disease and still serve as an effective minister at First Parish. But at the same time, my shortness of breath continues to grow more and more acute, at times even causing terrible panic attacks after I overexert myself and feel as though I am suffocating right there in broad daylight! So more talk now of evacuation more fluid from my right chest cavity, and even of putting in a permanent shunt so that it can be routinely drained at will.

Assuming that's the problem, right? I mean, the presenting problem which is leaving me feeling so weak, helpless, and breathless....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

IPA or PBR?

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Now here's a little breaking news that should make just about everyone just a little happier. And it will probably end up just being a Bud....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Louis Gates and Walter Begaye

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”


And what do THESE two cases have in common? Not much (actually) which is a whole other issue, but not really what I wanted to write about this morning.

I sure wish everyone would just accept the last word on this incident, which is that it was unfortunate and regrettable, that apologies are doubtlessly due all around, and that it's time to move on, without necessarily ignoring the underlying issues which this incident has once again raised.

I wish people (Professor Gates in particular) would acknowledge that the ONLY reason the police were at his door that day was to protect his life and his property. I wish Professor Gates could acknowledge that he was tired, that he was perhaps hypersensitive (I know I will be criticized for the use of that word) to the deeper social implications of this encounter, and that he did indeed lose his temper and behave in a disorderly manner, whether or not it was truly worthy of his arrest. I ALSO wish people could acknowledge the underlying Class issues of this incident: that Professor Gates clearly attempted to use his perceived position of privilege within the Harvard community in order to intimidate Sgt. Crowley, and that this tactic didn't really go over very well, and never does.

As for Sgt Crowley, I suppose it would have been easy enough for him to walk away after seeing Gates' ID in the kitchen, with a quick apology for interrupting his day, and wishes for a good night's sleep. The fact that he didn't is in itself a clue that there was more going on there than meets the eye, but I doubt that underlying personal racism had anything to do with it.

Finally, I really like Chalice Chick's analysis of this entire situation, especially her early tongue-in-cheek advice that "Unless you’re Stephen L. Carter, be nice to the cops anytime you interact with them." I mean, let's face it: it doesn't really matter who you are, it is ALWAYS a bad idea to get into an argument with someone wearing a uniform, carrying a badge, and in possession of a loaded firearm.

Meanwhile, let us not forget that my friend Walter Begaye just spent two months of HIS life in jail (without trial) on a bogus weapons charge, and for the "crime" of being a drunken Indian sitting in the wrong place with the wrong person at the wrong time. Nough said?
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Law of Averages

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
"I'm beginnin' to feel like a fugitive from th' law of averages."

I've been thinking a lot about the Law of Averages lately, and also about this whole metaphor of cancer as a "war" -- something we battle courageously and to which we never surrender, even when the odds are long against us and we seem to have little to live for. The cancer survivor as heroic warrior -- and if for some reason they do not survive, their courage must have somehow failed them, or they just didn't battle hard enough.

But modern warfare isn't really like that at all. You wait, you patrol, you wait some more; you clean your weapons and look forward to hot chow, and when the battle comes (and it can come at any moment) it is loud, and confusing, and you follow orders and act as you've been trained, and just hope that today is NOT the day that your number comes up. The violence of the modern battlefield is anonymous and unpredictable, and often times who lives and who dies really does seem like merely a matter of luck and random chance. And courage consists of being there despite your fear, and doing your duty, following your orders, accomplishing your mission, even when you would rather be just about anywhere else in the world.

Cancer courage is a little like that, I think. I didn't choose to get cancer, but now that I do have it there is nothing really that I can do to get rid of it besides just hanging in there day by day and following my doctor's orders. It doesn't matter how brave I am, and I can't really change anything by being afraid either. Just don't give up and don't give in...knowing like the combat soldier that your number might come up at any time. The one that has your name on it. The one you never hear....

As for the law of averages, I know that when I managed to survive my first year after diagnosis, my odds of being alive five years from now improved from one-in-twenty to approximately one-in-three. But I also know, like the combat soldier, that so long as I remain in "harm's way" my odds of eventually being killed in combat increase to 100%. But also like the combat soldier, I don't really have the option of simply remaining in my warm bed with the clean sheets pulled up over my head. (Ok, maybe I do - but only every once in awhile). I need to get up and live with my disease every day.

In any event, stumbled over a copy of Bill Mauldin's book that Debra had found in some sale somewhere, and left here in my new bedroom, and it has been a real joy to read -- an almost divine Godsend of inspiration and perspective. And a feeling akin to finding a lucky penny this morning in the parking lot outside the pharmacy, and actually being able to lean over and pick it up! I like my new oncologist, who in many ways is much more down-to-business than my very capable oncology team at the Maine Center for Cancer Medicine. Bothers me a little how casually he talks about the possibility of brain metastasis, for instance, or how one of the potential side effects of some of the drugs I am taking is a form of medically-induced diabetes.

But I'm going to let all that play out at its own pace; right now apparently the agenda is to "re-stage" me, running an entirely new set of diagnostic tests over a year after my original diagnosis, simply to get a sense of how far my disease HAS progressed, and what new might be available for me now in the way of therapy. Meanwhile, I still need to pull together the rest of my treatment team as well -- meet my new Primary Care Physician, and track down as well a new psychotherapist, a new Physical Therapist, and perhaps even a new Massage Therapist as well. I'm getting a new nutritionist this time around as well, which should be pretty interesting. And I still haven't really given much thought about what I'm going to do in the way of church.

Meanwhile, here's Bill Mauldin:

Religious services in battle zones offer weird contrast to bursting shells and the twisted wreckage of war. I is strange to seee reverence helmeted and armored. I saw a Catholic chaplain at Salerno gather up is white robes and beat a Focke-Wulf's tracers into a muddy ditch by a split second, tghen return and carry on the service as if nothing had happened. I have a lot of respect for those those chaplains who keep up the spirits of the combat guys. They often give the troops a pretty firm anchor to hang onto.
[Bill Mauldin, Up Front, (New York: Henry Holt, 1945) p. 103]

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"That's one small step..."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`


and then another, and another after that, and another and another and pretty soon don't you know it but you're walking. I've always loved this "Earthrise" photo -- I've used it as a meditation mandala, and as a central focal point for a meditation altar, and have always found lurking near it both a strong source of inspiration, and also a sense of cautionary humility. For millennia humanity has been gazing up at the night sky to contemplate the vast infinity of which we are such a small and unintrusive portion. And then, for a brief moment in history some four decades ago, a handful of lucky individuals had the opportunity like Prometheus to ride the stolen fire once more into the heavens for a God's eye view of our tiny island in the vast darkness. And the outcome, if anything, is even MORE humbling than the view from around our solitary, stone age campfires.



Mount Rainier finally had the good manners to peek its nose out on my last full day at Camano. I've already mentioned how invigorating and rejuvenating those two weeks were, and I just wish there could have been a few more of them...maybe toward the end of the summer, after I've had a little more opportunity to settle in here in Sacto and get myself unpacked. Had my first visit with my new Doctors today (more on that later), and there's certainly much awaiting me there. And the unpacking, of course, always goes more slowly that anticipated. If I'm LUCKY I'll be fully unpacked and moved in by the end of October, just in time for my 53rd birthday.

Drove down to Portland Friday with my son Jacob's fiancee Shelly, who had already driven to Seattle earlier that morning to obtain an expedited passport so that they can elope to Italy the week after next. But of course in the process of developing this wonderful plan, they discovered that it's a lot harder to get married in Italy than they thought, so now the plan is simply to go to Italy, and then get married at some later date back here in the States. I don't know what it is about my family. Margie and I essentially eloped to Atlanta back in 1985, while Steph and Craig have actually been married for months (for insurance purposes involving the baby), but put off having an actual public ceremony and reception until now. We all seem to enjoy the party part (when it finally happens), and the chance to get together with friends we otherwise might not see so often, but we are also all basically of the opinion that a big, fancy wedding is a huge waste of money that might well better have been spent on something else.

"Steph-n-Jen" -- my joined-at-the-hip daughters by mutual discernment. Looks like they may have picked up a new admirer.

In any event, as someone who at one point in his life earned a significant portion of his livelihood by officiating at weddings, I knew better than to offer any advice or make any critiques of the Judge who actually officiated at both the ceremony last Saturday and the earlier one down at the courthouse some months ago. And as a professional, I LOVE large weddings, think I do a pretty amazing job when it comes to "solemnizing" them, and always used to consider the big party afterwards as part of my compensation (although even just 5% of that in cash would have generally been more than satisfactory). Weddings, Child Dedications, and Memorial Services -- those sacerdotal milestones by which clergy share the lives of their people, regardless of their specific faith tradition.



Meanwhile, we were confronted with a little mystery Sunday morning: "the decapitation of Saint Frank." One of Margie's garden statues had its head go missing at some point during the weekend, while we were all off celebrating the union of Steph-n-Craig. The head was eventually recovered, but the culprit is still at large; meanwhile, this reminds me of one of Steph's favorite cartoons growing up, of a monk walking out of a devestated barroom, beaten-up bodies littering every broken chair and table, while the caption reads "After that, no one dared call Francis a Sissy again."



Flew down to Sacramento Sunday night, and was picked up by my Dad at the airport here right on time. As I mentioned earlier, still plenty of details to be worked out about unpacking and the like -- Debra and Jerry are in the process of moving into a new house they purchased about a year and a half ago only a few miles from here, while most of my things are still in storage waiting to space to open up here. And I truly am guessing it could easily be another month or more before I'm really unpacked and up to speed.



In the meantime though, I have new doctors and I have a new view, plus clean clothes, a comfortable bed, a functional desk (and internet connection!), and even a new dog! Well, not exactly, but the next best thing -- a calico cat named "Lou Lou" who belongs to my father, who dotes on her shamelessly, and provides us all with hours of fascinating entertainment.



When she's not sleeping, that is....

[cross-posted from The Eclectic Cleric]
.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"That's one small step..."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`


and then another, and another after that, and another and another and pretty soon don't you know it but you're walking. I've always loved this "Earthrise" photo -- I've used it as a meditation mandala, and as a central focal point for a meditation altar, and have always found lurking near it both a strong source of inspiration, and also a sense of cautionary humility. For millennia humanity has been gazing up at the night sky to contemplate the vast infinity of which we are such a small and unintrusive portion. And then, for a brief moment in history some four decades ago, a handful of lucky individuals had the opportunity like Prometheus to ride the stolen fire once more into the heavens for a God's eye view of our tiny island in the vast darkness. And the outcome, if anything, is even MORE humbling than the view from around our solitary, stone age campfires.



Mount Rainier finally had the good manners to peek its nose out on my last full day at Camano. I've already mentioned how invigorating and rejuvenating those two weeks were, and I just wish there could have been a few more of them...maybe toward the end of the summer, after I've had a little more opportunity to settle in here in Sacto and get myself unpacked. Had my first visit with my new Doctors today (more on that later), and there's certainly much awaiting me there. And the unpacking, of course, always goes more slowly that anticipated. If I'm LUCKY I'll be fully unpacked and moved in by the end of October, just in time for my 53rd birthday.

Drove down to Portland Friday with my son Jacob's fiancee Shelly, who had already driven to Seattle earlier that morning to obtain an expedited passport so that they can elope to Italy the week after next. But of course in the process of developing this wonderful plan, they discovered that it's a lot harder to get married in Italy than they thought, so now the plan is simply to go to Italy, and then get married at some later date back here in the States. I don't know what it is about my family. Margie and I essentially eloped to Atlanta back in 1985, while Steph and Craig have actually been married for months (for insurance purposes involving the baby), but put off having an actual public ceremony and reception until now. We all seem to enjoy the party part (when it finally happens), and the chance to get together with friends we otherwise might not see so often, but we are also all basically of the opinion that a big, fancy wedding is a huge waste of money that might well better have been spent on something else.

"Steph-n-Jen" -- my joined-at-the-hip daughters by mutual discernment. Looks like they may have picked up a new admirer.

In any event, as someone who at one point in his life earned a significant portion of his livelihood by officiating at weddings, I knew better than to offer any advice or make any critiques of the Judge who actually officiated at both the ceremony last Saturday and the earlier one down at the courthouse some months ago. And as a professional, I LOVE large weddings, think I do a pretty amazing job when it comes to "solemnizing" them, and always used to consider the big party afterwards as part of my compensation (although even just 5% of that in cash would have generally been more than satisfactory). Weddings, Child Dedications, and Memorial Services -- those sacerdotal milestones by which clergy share the lives of their people, regardless of their specific faith tradition.



Meanwhile, we were confronted with a little mystery Sunday morning: "the decapitation of Saint Frank." One of Margie's garden statues had its head go missing at some point during the weekend, while we were all off celebrating the union of Steph-n-Craig. The head was eventually recovered, but the culprit is still at large; meanwhile, this reminds me of one of Steph's favorite cartoons growing up, of a monk walking out of a devestated barroom, beaten-up bodies littering every broken chair and table, while the caption reads "After that, no one dared call Francis a Sissy again."



Flew down to Sacramento Sunday night, and was picked up by my Dad at the airport here right on time. As I mentioned earlier, still plenty of details to be worked out about unpacking and the like -- Debra and Jerry are in the process of moving into a new house they purchased about a year and a half ago only a few miles from here, while most of my things are still in storage waiting to space to open up here. And I truly am guessing it could easily be another month or more before I'm really unpacked and up to speed.



In the meantime though, I have new doctors and I have a new view, plus clean clothes, a comfortable bed, a functional desk (and internet connection!), and even a new dog! Well, not exactly, but the next best thing -- a calico cat named "Lou Lou" who belongs to my father, who dotes on her shamelessly, and provides us all with hours of fascinating entertainment.



When she's not sleeping, that is....

[cross-posted from One Day Isle]
.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"A Perfect, Whole, Healed World."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Hurray for Mary Harrington, minister emerita of the UU Church in Winchester MA and this year's preacher at the Service of the Living Tradition in Salt Lake City last month. This is part of a much longer post that originally appeared on the UUMA chat, and was later reposted (with permission) at Kim Hampton's East of Midnight blog. And I'm reprinting this last paragraph here because, quite frankly, I COULDN'T have said it better myself, and it's a message that is well worth hearing. So thank you Mary, again and again and again, not just for your willingness to speak the truth in love to power, but for your ability to speak up on behalf of the rest of us who feel as though maybe we have lost our voices, or that people are just sick and tired of listening....

"...One reason you might not hear as much about people’s physical needs and struggles as exists is because of the high price involved in speaking up and then not being heard or helped, being ignored, being pitied, being condescended to or patronized, being accused of costing others too much money/being too expensive, being impatient, being fawned over or its opposite- having others refuse to even see you’re there or make eye contact- I have experienced all of these from my colleagues, from other ministers, not just ordinary citizens. It can be awkward, embarrassing, insulting, offensive, infuriating, heartbreaking or humiliating, depending on the situation. It doesn’t make you want to go back for more. I’m saying this now, out loud, so you can’t say you didn’t know, from now on. And because I don’t want to say it again, I don’t want to have to say it again, even though I know that’s not realistic or even fair, it’s still what I want. A perfect, whole, healed world."

Yours always, Mary
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Be it ever so humble...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
[l to r: Beth (Gildow) Horton, Shirley (Jensen) Ennis, Laura (Paulson) Pressy, Mary Lou Krause, Gerald Frederick Jensen, Betty Jo (Krause) Jensen, Harry Jensen, Irene (Ward) Jensen, Nathan Krause, Susan (Steele) Krause. July 30th, 1955]

And these past three weekends in the Pacific Northwest, with two full weeks in between just hanging out at Juniper Beach, have revitalized and rejuvenated me in ways that are difficult to describe and even more difficult to understand. Part of it is just the plain old fashioned simplification of my life -- minimal stress, minimal responsibility, familiar friends in familiar surroundings, not to mention the healing power of all that love. Lot's of sleepy-time too, which never really hurts.

First weekend was devoted to immediate family and the Fourth of July. Not too many people missing from those pictures: only two of my Spokane cousins (Earl and Jeff), and Earl's son Johnny. Middle weekend it was mostly friends from High School, or from church...but the latter proved hard to meet up with face to face in the summer, when we all seem dispersed to the four winds "on leave." And now this final weekend in Portland OR, with my daughter and former wife, plus son Jacob and his fiancee/girlfriend (they were planning to be married two weeks from now in Italy, but the bureaucracy was just too overwhelming. I told them Friday that if they were willing to go down to the county clerk's and ask for an expedited license, I could take care of their problem in 20 minutes). Looks like this part of the family really likes to elope anyway. That's basically how Margie and I handled it: married in Atlanta in June at the General Assembly, with a nice party back in Seattle for all our friends when it was over.

And not a lot of time to write or reflect about ANY of this now. Hope to get caught up a little once I arrive and am settled in a little in Sacramento. In the meantime though, here are a couple of images that have caught my imagination this past month. The first is from Mom and Dad's wedding in 1955. What interests me about this photo is that all the bridesmaids standing to my Dad's right are still living, and relatively close at hand. Laura lives on the other side of Camano near Utsalady Beach, and Beth just across the bay at Warm Beach on the mainland, while Mary Lou lives in Seattle and Shirley in Spokane, and both were at the beach as recently as the 4th of July. The second photo is from last night's dinner: my daughter at 8 months (and due Aug 26 +/-), and really feeling the heat. Anyway, I'm guessing the baby will be a little early, in order to join the other two Leos who are his mom and uncle. Not that I really believe in any of that....

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Bastille Day

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And thanks to James Ishmael Ford for posting this clip: one of my favorite film moments in one of my all time favorite movies ever.  Vive la France indeed!

Monkey Mind: Briefest Rumination on the 14th of July

The French Revolution had some small impact of the emerging Unitarian movement in the United States.  That famous "Unitarian by Myself"-- Thomas Jefferson -- was very closely tied ideologically to the French Republicans in the minds of many, while many expatriate French aristocrats somehow found their way to the South Shore of Boston, where they were often taken under the wing of the soon-to-be Unitarian congregations there.  Don't ask me why, or how significant this really was.  Just something I stumbled over in the course of my research
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Touchstones

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Camano Island reunion, c. 1998

Just found this image of another Camano Island family reunion from perhaps a decade ago. And it's fascinating for me to see the differences, and review the continuities, in the changed, familiar faces of both the present and the absent. Cast of Characters: Back Row, standing L to R: my mother Betty Jo Jensen, my sister-in-law Lynne, and my aunt Shirley Ennis. Middle Row, seated on bench L to R: my cousin Jeff Ennis, my brother Kurt, myself, my cousin Jim Ennis. Front Row, standing L to R: an unidentified friend of my daughter's visiting from Mt Holyoke College, my cousin (nephew? cousin once removed?) "Little Johnny" Ennis, my nephew Michael, my daughter Stephenie, my niece Emily, and Chrissy O'Connell (or was it O'Conner?), another friend of my daughter's from Mt Holyoke, who was living with us that summer.

What a crew we were!  All kinds of sports (volleyball, touch football) and other summer activities, lots of grilling on the Weber, campfires on the beach, boating when the tide was high....  

Summertime.  

And now I look at this photo, remembering my mother (who in many ways was the heart of this reunion, since this was her home) passed away two years ago, while all three of Erik's offspring have been born in the decade since this photo was taken.  Michael and Emily are now all-but-adults, while I am struggling hard, hard with my own mortality, just wishing I had the energy, the resources, the simple ability to step into my mother's place here, and keep the cabin occupied all year round.  Stephenie will be giving birth to my first grandchild sometime in August.  Time slowly seems to slip away, while at the same time rushing toward me with all the intensity of an on-coming train.

And it will take Time to measure the levels and limits of my new abilities, to check and monitor the course of my disease, to create a lifestyle that works for me.  Slowly, deliberately, patiently...but I don't have time to lollygag either.  "So many...  so little time...."  And yet the WORST thing I can do is to hurry or rush.  Daily Practice: exercise, meditation, reading, writing, healthy & nutritious eating.  Not exactly Brats fresh off the grill and an icecold microbrew after throwing a touchdown to your cousin when your brother bit on the pump fake.  But maybe that's for a younger generation now....





โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Loaves and Fishes

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
The View from my Kitchen Window

And another really wonderful weekend, entertaining friends from half a lifetime ago, and just celebrating the time we have known one another, and what it has meant to us. Meanwhile, shared the cabin with my nephew Michael and a dozen or so of his WSU (pronounced "Wazuu" or WaZoo) friends, who basically camped in their cars, in our loft, on the lawn, whatever...and had a lot more boisterous time than we did. And of course my aunt was still here also, who has memories of the summer that my friends and I all turned 21 as well, and invade her home like a descending hoard of ravenous barbarians.

Saturday's party was myself and Thomas N, Jeff T (briefly), Mike W., Val C. Ann B., and Kanell A. Everybody brought a little something for the "potluck," but it was really Kanell who provided the meal - arriving with a freshly-caught Sockeye salmon and a whole restaurant's worth of supplies in his car. That and Ann's freshly-baked bread would have been enough to provide a meal of biblical proportions, but we also had fresh fruit salads and a pasta salad, sticky rice, and plenty of green salad fixin's as well: truly, a feast. And since I can't and everyone else was driving, virtually no alcohol excepting a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Stella Artois. I felt almost sorry for the kids, whose meal was...well, let's just say very different than ours. Chips, Brats, Microbrews...hell, I subsisted on that sort of thing for years. But from here on out it is probably going to be a rare treat indeed.

The thing I was most jealous of was the touch football. But try as I might, I couldn't throw a spiral to save my life, either sitting in my chair or standing and trying to balance myself using my cane or the walker. Part of the problem was the ball itself, a cheesy little half-sized WSU-logoed Nerf ball which tended to fly out of control no matter who was throwing it. But a lot more of the problem was just me. Yet here was the small light of hope -- although nobody throws a football like an 80-year-old and still plays (even in the front yard), there are plenty of 80-year-old golfers who ride the cart, drive like only an old man can, focus on their short game, and still have a helluva time. So maybe that's what I can look forward to, someday, n'est pas?

Sunday's guest list was a little less crowded: the kids had mostly all gone their own ways by noon, and I only had two visitors: a long-time mentor of mine, Rev. Marvin E; and my high-school debate partner, Bill V. And this meal was very much a "loaves and fishes" affair: Kanell's leftover salmon and Ann's leftover bread, plus the rice, the green salad, and (for everyone NOT on Coumadin) some left-over spinach lasagne Mary Lou had prepared late last week. More fantastic conversation (which I can't and won't try to share), and nobody went away hungry.

Finally, one of the other real highlights of the weekend was Saturday night's thunderstorm, which really didn't hit here, but which we could see from our front porch to the south, the west and the east of us in all of its awesome magnificence. And such a strange contrast from the human fireworks of the previous Fourth of July weekend -- the fireworks seemed so up-close and, well, explosively overwhelming; but by comparison the thunderstorm dominated the entire sky -- and the amount of energy represented in those thunderbolts (when compared to the skyrockets) is simply so many multiples of magnitude greater. Which is not to dismiss the energy of the fireworks, and...well, this is starting to ramble. Prometheus and Zeus. Three Cheers for the firebringer. But the power of the Gods is not something to be dismissed lightly....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

More Self-Indulgent Fourth of July Family Photos

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Why? Because they're there....

My aunt Mary Lou and my niece Katie demonstrate the use of a solar box cooker. Using nothing but a cardboard box, some aluminum foil, a pane of glass and sunlight, Mary Lou can heat this oven to nearly 300 degrees, and cook/bake in it just about anything you like. She's demonstrated them all over the world in places where diminishing firewood is a problem (including both Africa and Pakistan), and has helped Duncan Heinz and Betty Crocker dramatically extend their box cake brands into the Third World in the process.

My brother Erik's three children, their dog cousin, and a rather unflattering view of Erik's crotch. Fortunately, nobody seems to be paying much attention.

My father Jerry and his lifelong friend Bob.

What a haul! 17 fresh dungeness crab, after first loosing track of the location of our pots, and assuming they'd been poached. Maybe it's time to start thinking about a GPS.

My brother Kurt and cousin Jim clean the cooked crab.


And How Many Family Portraits Does One Really Need to See?












The 13th Camper (who tried to keep a pretty low profile through most of the weekend. But someone finally managed to capture her on camera in the end).
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Bury My Heart in Freshman Alley

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
OK, maybe my title doesn't EXACTLY fit. But I was both relieved and delighted to learn that my friend Walter, who was arrested nearly two months ago in the alley behind First Parish in the company of another man who was loading a high-powered hunting rifle at the time, has finally been released on a Personal Recognizance Bond after spending 51 days in jail on a flimsy concealed weapons charge.

I've blogged about Walter here many times before, so I won't try to repeat his ENTIRE story, but my hope now is that with the help of his friends (including those in the church) he will get himself admitted into a good, residential rehab program that WORKS, and then continue on in Art School once he has completed that work and is ready to resume on this new path to a much better life. And in the meantime, I hope he finds the new "school clothes" I bought for him equal to his expectations. A new pair of Levis jeans, a long sleeved work shirt, fresh socks, t-shirts, and boxers...I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to shop together for the jacket (which I know was the most expensive thing on the list), but I do hope that someday Walter you will realize that it is possible to own more than one pair of clothes, and that you don't have to restrict yourself to what will fit in a tent, sleeping bag, and backpack.

On the other hand, I can also see some of the attractions of that lifestyle, especially if it's something safe and familiar, compared to the challenges of stepping into an entirely new and unfamiliar segment of society, and in effect turning your back on just about everything that you had known before. But I'm also convinced it will be worth it. Walter has an artistic talent that is worthy of being developed and shared more widely. And he is also at heart a kind and gentle soul, who deserves something far better than a lifelong camouflaged bivouac deep in enemy territory.

Somewhere deep within Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee, Dee Brown writes about the four qualities that made for a respected leader among the Plains Indians. They were (as I recall): 1-Courage and personal Bravery, 2-Integrity and personal Honor, 3-Generosity, and 4-Personal Endurance/Fortitude. These same characteristics, I think, are worthy of the character of ANY leader. And I believe they will also help Walter
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

& seven ate 9

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
The weather is turning nice again, I'm starting to hear back from my local friends, even the photos are trickling in, while good news from the right coast has me smiling, although still a little short of information.

One of the most interesting parts of this journey back to the place of my origin before continuing forward to my new residence in California is that it has forced me to consider very carefully just how much "life" I have space for within the boundaries of my current levels of ability. And it's not just about physical stamina; it also involves mental acuity, and the amount of concentration required just to get me though my ordinary "activities of daily living." I'm no where close to being able to live independently, for example, even with good friends and neighbors close at hand. By making adjustments to my environment and "living smarter" rather than harder, I can get closer to that goal (I hope!), but right now it still seems pretty elusive. Good news is that while the nights are often difficult and my mornings even more so, usually by mid-morning/early-afternoon I'm moving around pretty well, and with fairly decent mental focus as well. But even so, the demands upon those few "good" hours are still more than I can really accommodate within them. But I'm trying to do better, you know -- keeping a list, and gradually catching up a little at a time. But what I really want to be free to think about is what I want to do NEXT, now that I'm gradually feeling more and more freed up from the routine responsibilities I've felt most of my adult life, and have (one hopes) the time and the opportunity to pursue some of these other intellectual curiosities I've mused about for years.

But before going there, some photos from this past weekend:

Frightening, isn't it?

My Nephew Zach and his dog-cousin, Jesse


I may not be playing, but I still can coach!



The "Dirty Dozen" - my family of origin (minus an aunt, two more adult cousins, a nephew, two spouses, an ex-spouse, and my children -- who I will be seeing NEXT weekend in Portland, OR) BACK ROW (standing l to r) Michael Jensen, James Ennis, Kurtis Jensen, Lynne Jensen. MIDDLE ROW (seated on or behind bench, l to r) Emily Jensen, the Reverend Dr Timothy Ward Jensen (moi), Katie, Zachary, and Jolene Singer-Jensen. FRONT ROW (standing, l to r) Gerald Jensen, Shirley Ennis, Erik Jensen. NOT PICTURED/NOT PRESENT* Mary Lou Krause, Earl Ennis,* Jeff Ennis,* Johnny Ennis,* Claudine Singer-Jensen, Debra Jensen,* Brandon Jensen, Margaret Weddell,* Jacob Sullivan,* Stephenie Sullivan,* Craig Bowen,*
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Seven. Seven. Oh Nine.

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And finally, at last, breathing space: a little stability, clean laundry, a good night's sleep and a relatively easy morning, and now the Michael Jackson memorial service to keep me company while I work on line. So precocious in his childhood, that he lived his adult life as a child. Or something like that. A very moving celebration, even for someone like myself who was never that great a fan to begin with.

In any event, I've really enjoyed this social time with friends and family, and am hoping that a lot more of my local friends here in the Seattle area will give me a call or drop by to see me and spend an afternoon, especially since it is so hard now for me to get around to visit them. And I've been waiting for folks to e-mail me photos from these past few weeks, so that I can upload them to the blog as well. Until then...well, just the sound of my own voice and a view of this screen.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Independence Day

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Ordinarily our quiet little beach is host to about half-a-dozen eagles, who roost (eagles do roost, right?) up on the hill right behind us; but today they have all long since departed for less patriotic places. The bombs have been intermittently bursting in air since about 10 AM, and now that the sun has finally set (about 12 hours later) the red rockets are squealing with the consistency of clockwork. The displays seem a little less ostentatious than they have been in years past, which is fine with me. I'm not really that big of a fireworks guy anyway. And this year is especially tricky because of my poor health, my restricted mobility, and all of the travel problems thrown in on top. I miss being able to wander from campfire to campfire, and catch up with folks for whom this weekend may well be their only visit to the beach this year. Now, just physically getting MYSELF down to the water is a pretty major accomplishment, and not something that I'm especially eager to attempt in the dark.

I wish I could adequately describe what goes on here, but I can't. Thousands (and maybe even tens or hundreds of thousands) of dollars worth of privately purchased and privately detonated fireworks are exploded over our little bay, in a display that has very little thematic coordination beyond start strong, finish stronger, and don't let anything go to waste in between. Free Market capitalism at its most unabashed, uninhibited, and certainly unregulated WORSTSEB. Wish I could adequately photograph it even more. In any event, it is exciting. And even worst, fatiguing....

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Third of July

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
A few quick images from the glorious third...twenty-four hours from now and this place will feel like a fire-fight, with tens of thousands of mostly illegal fireworks being detonated all along our mile-long stretch of beach, and similar beaches all around the circumference of the island. But tonight, thank God, relatively quiet -- the calm before the deluge.



the Beach at low tide




my dog-in-law- Jessie





another world-famous Dungeness crab meets his end. "Meat is murder. Tasty, tasty murder...."




New Cheetos GIANT. Coming soon to a supermarket near you.




My Nephew Michael. Also made with real cheese....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

What's in a name?

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Thought I'd reply to something James Ishmael Ford wrote over at Monkey Mind.

But rather than launching into a long discourse about the respective aromas of roses and turds (cf. Romeo and Juliet II, ii, 1-2), I thought I'd simply observe that sometimes it seems to me as though "We UUs" make much too big a deal about what we call ourselves.

Or shall I say, how we label ourselves. Brand ourselves.

Most Protestant traditions deriving (on some level) from the Anglican tradition have taken their names from a distinctive form of ecclesiastical polity (Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Congregationalist, the "Society of Friends"), or something distinctive about their liturgical practice (Methodist, Baptist. "Quaker"), or simply taken on the name "Christian" as a generic marker of their shared faith tradition.

But Unitarianism, Universalism, and "Unitarian-Universalism TM" are all derived quite specifically from two distinctive (and heretical) theological doctrines: the belief that God is One, and that ALL Souls shall ultimately be reconciled to their Creator.

Which, lets face it, are both great doctrines, even though I doubt few of us these days give them much thought in ouir live-a-day lives.

But then comes Grammar, and those dreaded hyphens. Typically in English the adjective precedes the noun, but this is not always the case. Are/were we, actually: Universalists who also believe in a Unitarian Christology? Unitarians who believe in a Universalist Soteriology? Both at the same time, and freethinking Christian heretics to boot? Some sort of other deeply-hyphenated (and profoundly personal) amalgam of adjectives (say "Unitarian-Universalist Pagan Feminist Vegan Taoists), however we might chose to identify ourselves in public or in private?

And then there are the ever-more-clever "Jewnitarians," "Unipalians," and "Smorgasborgians?" Is it still possible to be JUST a Unitarian or a Universalist any more? And what if a few of us decided on our own simply to scramble things up for awhile, by becoming "The Association of Universalists and Unitarians" (or AUU/U&Us for short)?

And then there is always the Christian piece. And the question of whether we are trying to describe ourselves individually, or our movement as a whole: theologically, or historically, or institutionally. Are we a sect, a cult, a liberal protestant denomination, or perhaps even our own "new religion?" (and how do these things differ from one another?)

Or in the alternative, are we basically still "Enlightened Puritans" who believe in Freedom, Reason, and Tolerance?

This is WAY too complicated for my poor little head. I think I'm going to go pray about it for awhile....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"Washed Away & Back Again with the Outgoing Tide."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`




So, Sunday's sermon - quite possibly my last sermon ever (and certainly for the foreseeable future), and much different than most of the preaching I've done in my nearly 30 years of ministry. Just a list of notes scribbled on the Order of Service in roughly the order I hoped to address them. But on another level you could say I'd been preparing that sermon my entire lifetime. Started out with a little riff about Father's Day, and the summer solstice, and what it was like to be called "father" by people who really didn't know much about our faith tradition. Was sitting in my wheelchair at the head of the aisle, because I just wasn't feeling strong enough to climb up into the high pulpit, even though it wasn't nearly as high as I'd remembered. And eventually I got around to describing how I became a Unitarian to begin with (a story I've often told in the context of newcomers orientation classes) -- knowing that I WAS a Unitarian, but not really knowing what that meant, since my father had chosen to leave the church in Palo Alto at just that time, in rebellion against its "Hippie" culture and anti-war activism.

But fortunately, once we moved back to Seattle the following summer, there was another UU Church (Eastshore Unitarian in Bellevue Washington) just a mile or so from our home, so on Sundays I would arrange to ride my bicycle past the front door just as services were letting out, and then jump off real quickly just to see whether there was anything of interest in the pamphlet rack or on the book table. That's where I found a 35 cent Bobbs-Merrill edition of William Ellery Channing's "Unitarian Christianity and other Sermons." Channing preached that sermon on May 25th, 1819 at the ordination of Jared Sparks as the minister of the Unitarian Church in Baltimore, Maryland...Unitarianism's first real expansion outside of New England and "the neighborhood of Boston." And he took as his text that day a passage from Paul's First Letter to the Thessalonians, chapter five verse 21: "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good." Channing argued from this text that Unitarianism's leading principle in interpreting Scripture is that the Bible is a book written for human beings, in the language of human beings and its meaning is best discerned in the same manner of that of other books, which is to say through the constant exercise of reason.

Well, that all sounded perfectly reasonable to me, but next I needed to come up with an actual Bible of my own, which I eventually did a few months later during a High School Debate trip, where I stole a Gideon Bible out of my bedside drawer at the Leopold Hotel in Bellingham, Washington. I mean, it was right there waiting for the taking, and so I took it...and I haven't really looked back since....

The rest of the sermon pretty much explored many of the same themes I've been talking about in Portland the last few months: the importance of (and relationships between) Worship, Education, Fellowship, Hospitality, Outreach, Social Justice and Pastoral Care in creating authentic and devoted communities of faith, along with the interdependent qualities of Humility and Gratitude, Generosity and Service, which form our Character and provide the energy and commitment to "be of use." This commitment often has its seeds in some sort of "unitive" experience (which someone like myself might even describe as "mystical"): the recognition that we are a very small part of much larger "whole," yet whole within ourselves and still completely dependent upon things beyond our control for our very existence and survival.

There were a few other minor themes I touched on as well, but I can't for the life of me now remember what they were. It was SO great though finally to have this chance to get back to church, to see so many of those wonderful, familiar faces, and also to met some of the folks who have joined the church since I departed from there in 2003. And then there are the faces of the missing: Grace Grossman, Faith Oldham, Ginny Coffin, Cynthia Young, Bill Hance, and Margaret Hitchcock to name just a few. So many fond memories, of challenges faced and risks taken, and joys and sorrows shared.

But the most gratifying thing of all was the way in which so many people pulled together to make the trip possible at all. What under "normal" circumstances might have been an easy and pleasant weekend excursion turned into a major expedition, physically challenging for both myself and my caring hosts, and with hundreds of dollars of additional, unanticipated expenses. And I'm also worried that this may well have been my final visit ever to The Faraway Island. Couldn't even make it to the deck to throw my pennies at the Bryant Point Lighthouse; had to send my traveling attendant upstairs to do it for me instead. So we'll see. One thing I do know for certain; I love you all so much that the mere thought that I may have just seen you all for the last time breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes.

Something that seems to happen to me pretty routinely these days....


โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Captain Rainbow and the Magnificent Saffron Boy Rise Again!

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Following my early Friday morning pain episode, which deeply concerned both my traveling companion and my hosts, there was a long discussion about what would be the best way to proceed -- whether I should check myself into the hospital, or even continue to remain on the island at all. Both the current settled minister and the minister emeritus also become involved in our conversation, as well as eventually an ER Doc and the hospital caseworker...both of whom are good friends of the ME. This after a ride in with the firefighters, and about a three-hour wait in an examination room, while my pain gradually subsided (as I knew it would) and the hospital officials tried to explain to all concerned why they couldn't just admit me to the hospital because I would sleep more comfortably there. So they sent me home after walking me around the hospital a little, with instructions to carry on with my usual routine and return if things got any worse.

Meanwhile, the CSM lined me up with a friend and parishioner who does live-in home health care as part of a business he calls "Good Works!" Six years earlier, just as I was getting ready to leave the island, he and I had become acquainted at a going-away party for yet another parishioner. He was wearing a magnificent saffron shirt from a Buddhist monastery/meditation center where he had been for awhile, and I was wearing a white greek fisherman's hat with a rainbow-dove pin attached in the front, so I had quickly christened us "Captain Rainbow and Saffron Boy," and it was a great relief to all of us that he was available to stay with me the rest of the weekend, especially since PB needed to get back to the mainland Saturday morning so she could preach at her own church Sunday.

So, so far so good. Went to bed Friday night feeling fine and looking forward to a great weekend, but woke up Saturday morning once again feeling "acute and intractable back pain," which lingered on until nearly two in the afternoon, when I finally discovered that one of the reasons it hadn't dissipated was that I had forgotten to take my ordinary morning painkillers earlier that morning! Unfortunately, at that point one can't merely double the dose and try to catch up; instead, I simply took my regular afternoon dose (plus the daily meds I had also missed that morning) and added as much breakthrough as I though was appropriate. That night I got in a car and drove to the home of some other parishioners who had invited me for a cookout, but I knew within 20 minutes of arriving that I wasn't going to be able to do it, so it was back to the ER at the Nantucket Cottage Hospital, where this time I was admitted right away

Of course, now I faced an entirely different set of problems. Slept like a baby, but I was terribly concerned that the attending physician wouldn't discharge me in time to preach on Sunday morning! Shouldn't have worried though. Not only did my cohorts from the cook-out slip me in a plate of ribs the night before, but the attending physician wrote the orders and the day nurse had me packed up and out the door before I could even finish my breakfast. Plenty of time up at church too, since for some reason I though the service started at 10 am, instead of the far more civilized 10:45. Which gave me plenty of time to catch up with more church friends as I thought a little about my message for the day: "Washed Away & Back Again with the Outgoing Tide." On Nantucket, a "Washed-Ashore" is someone who is not native to the island, but who typically lives there year round and shares many of the same hardships and concerns of the Islanders themselves. But more about that in my next post.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Good Rev. Dr's 2009 bi-coastal "Adios, Adieu and Godspeed" final farewell tour

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
I've decided to post-date a few of these entries from my journal, which has also suffered in terms of timeliness because of my travel travails, but it seems like the most logical thing to do. So looking back now to the "thirteenth" hour, I ended up giving my Pink Martini tickets to the woman and her son who had been driving me around Portland for most of the past two months, and then was able to rent a Ford Explorer at one of the local agencies, and with the help of two self-appointed "handmaidens," arrived in Carlisle on June 16th just in time for the "Milk & Cookies" meet-up they had been promoting through their church bulletin. Still, a very touch and go thing, with a lot of folks going the extra mile just to make it happen at all. Makes me wonder whether I should change my policy of only rarely mentioning people by name here, but they know who they are...and, of course, Jackie was first among them.

After the cookies, I met up with another old friend of mine from the Carlisle church, and we had dinner together at the Concord Grill. One of the waiters there just so happened to be one of the guys I used to play basketball with regularly at Concord Parks and Rec, so we also exchanged e-mail addresses which may lead to some renewed contacts there as well. Like all of these events, the missing faces were just as prominent as the familiar ones; and yet that just seems to be the way it is these days in our high-speed, highly mobile 21st century society. I try to celebrate the people I see, mourn (on some level, at least), the people I miss, and hope that somehow the technology will also allow us renew these contacts and enjoy them even at a distance.

I'd planned on having Wednesday morning just to hang around the hotel spa and try to recover a little from the previous day's travel, but instead I received a phone call from another "favourite" family, which resulted in morning coffee with mom and eldest plus youngest, then lunch (at the Bamboo!) with dad and middle child. Nothing TOO strenuous at the time, but when my good friend PB arrived later that afternoon (recently home herself from five weeks in Turkey, Romania, and Paris) I knew I was going to feel a little pressed to keep up. We hadn't really communicated that clearly about the exactly extent and limitations of my abilities and "disability" (which would have been hard to do anyway since I really wasn't sure what they were going to be in the first place) or how much I was counting on her to help me navigate Nantucket (another essential unknown), but that first night at her house was a little challenging for me: upstairs bedroom, too-tall bed, trouble getting in to and out of the bathroom...that sort of thing. We wisely decided to pack lightly for the island, even more wisely deciding simply to leave the wheelchair in the car rather than unpacking it in the first place, caught our afternoon boat with little trouble, and soon were happily ensconced at the home of our host and seemed "home free" - a convivial atmosphere, lots of help if I needed it.... Mission Accomplished, and nothing more to worry about until it came to Sunday morning....

Wrong. Trouble really started a little after 2 am that morning, when I struggled out of bed to answer a call of nature and discovered that my walker could not navigate around a wooden hamper just inside the door. Hurt my back figuring that out though, which left me collapsed in bed with an excruciating back pain radiating down my right leg and (my apologies to the squimesh) an urgent, nearly bursting bladder to accompany it. Finally broke down and called PB on her cell phone (she had decided to sleep in the other house in order to avoid my snoring), who arrived just a little before 3 am appearing exactly as you might expect someone to appear in such a moment: tousled hair and spectacles, as angry as a drowned cat, and not a bit of artifice or inauthenticity to her -- in other words, to-die-for, drop-dead gorgeous...although I suspect she would have taken those sentiments in a slightly more LITERAL sense than I did. Not exactly Florence Nightingale or Clara Barton, but a close approximation. I was sure happy and relieved to see her, in any event.

Friday morning, after several phone calls and face-to-face conversations with my hosts and the current minister, the previous minister, and (of course) PB herself, I agreed to take a ride in a firetruck up the the Emergency Room of the Nantucket Cottage Hospital, to see whether there was anything they could do for me there. But I'll tell that part of the story in the next installment....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

D-DAY!

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Whew! -- and what a departure it was! Both my brother from from Greenwich and my ride to Boston called in sick this past weekend- the former with a sick child in the hospital, the latter with a temperature of 100.5 - news which sent us all scrambling trying to pull together plan B. Only cost my $3000 to "sell" my car back to the dealership (more on this later - promise), with only 6000 miles on it, and a $12,600 loan balance. Books weighed in at a lot more than anticipated as well, although I knew that they would, they ALWAYS do. But a great group of volunteers from the church managed though to get everything packed, and without much help with me, who basically spent most of Sunday afternoon and evening fast asleep and unable to communicate with the outside world except in brief moments of lucidity. In any event, the movers picked up everything Monday, and Tuesday Jackie once again scrambled around to line me up with a rental car and a couple of volunteer drivers from the choir eager for a road trip. And away we went! Itinerary from here on out included milk and cookies this afternoon with my former congregation in Carlisle, and then a week-long trip to Nantucket over the weekend, where I will also be preaching the sermon on the 21st. Don't have a title yet. Probably something about the longest day of the year. And then after Nantucket, New York (well, suburban Connecticut) where I will be staying with my brother until we all fly out together on the 30th. Fourth of July fireworks on the beach, perhaps 3 weeks of reading and sunshine, followed by a quick weekend trip to Portland OR to visit my daughter, rub her tummy for luck and celebrate her marriage last spring to her longtime live-in boyfriend (another firefighter), and the expected arrival of their first child (Margie's and My first grandchild!) sometime near the end of August.

But first from there to Sacramento, to unpack this great mess and get hooked up with my new team of doctors ad UC Davis. Like most tragic heros, my great strength (boundless optimism)) is also the source of my undoing. So ouch! But there it is: Tim's 2009 BiCoastal Farewell Summer "Tour de la Couer." Hope to see or hear from all of you somewhere along the way.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Approaching the Eleventh Hour

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
A very difficult time this morning getting out of bed in time for my 8 am ride to Maine Medical center for a procedure during which my pulmonologist stuck an eight-inch needle into my back and withdrew about a quart of very yucky greenish-yellow fluid from the cavity between my right lung and the chest wall. Thankfully, I saw NONE of these things until the procedure was completed. But all was overlooked when the dreary, grey-rainy day that we started out with became a lovely sunny afternoon, just perfect for taking a two-hour sail around Cushing Island with a dozen or so of my parishioners, aboard the FRANCES, a 74-foot locally built Windjammer. Plenty of photos to follow, I hope; just until then, please enjoy their WEBSITE HERE, and daydream about the day when you might get an opportunity to spend an afternoon afloat in one of the most beautiful sailing venues in the world.

Meanwhile, moving day continues to loom just over the horizon: Monday morning at 9 am, no excuses. And yes, I will be ready. We will ALL be ready....

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Take Me Out to the Ball Game...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Went out last night with a dozen or so of my parishioners to see the Portland Sea Dogs play at Havelock Field. Noticed for the first time the "Binga's Fowl Pole" out in left field, near the faux Monster which gives our double AA ballplayers a small taste of what it might be like to hit in Fenway someday. Now all they need to do is remodel the right field bleachers in a similar fashion, putting in a "Pesky Pole" out by the picnic area, so that those who come there for the nightly BBQ can have that experience as well. We actually sat in the Pavilion seats out in right field, right next to the Sea Dogs Bullpen. Not nearly as elegant as I had hoped, but reasonably handicapped accessible without creating TOO much trouble. In any case, you can read a lot more about it at my sports blog, Obi Wannabe Kobe . Enjoy!
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Greatest Single Tool

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Q: What advice would you give to aspiring poets?
A: Read poetry. As much as you can, as often as you can. It's the only way to develop an eye for what sucks and what doesn't, which is the single greatest tool a poet can possess.


"and the rest is, well, not history, but at least a matter of record...." --Catherynne M. Valente


Catherynne M. Valente is the daughter of one of my High School debate partners, who has also just recently moved here to Peaks Island in Casco Bay. Haven't had a chance to meet her yet, and probably won't before I move back to the West Coast myself; but I have at least bought a few of her novels, and am looking forward to reading them this summer when my own life settles down a bit. She is apparently quite well respected in the tiny, cutting edge corner of the science fiction/fantasy world where she has found her niche, and I'm really looking forward to reading and learning more.

But today I just wanted to focus in on this small bit of advice to aspiring poets -- which is also true for aspiring novelists, playwrights, journalists, essayists, and even preachers.

Read.

Read as much as you can, as often as you can...in order to develop an eye (and more importantly, an ear) "for what sucks and what doesn't."

Neil Postman used to call it a "crap detector," and it really is the most important tool any aspiring "literary" artist can possess.

Or any reader, really.

Or for that matter, simply anyone....

Really.

Read.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

300 Households

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
At the congregational meeting last Sunday, Search Committee member Jeff Logan announced that one of the things we are looking at as a congregation is starting a blog. And I wish I’d had the presence of mind at the time to mention that this congregation already HAS a blog, and you’re reading it right now! So far I’m the only one who has posted here, but there are others (at the moment Will Saunders, Steve Jenks, and Ashley Lansbury) who all can any time they like, and I hope you will choose to add others as well. It’s a good way to communicate about the things that are important to us all, as well as an archive of good ideas and our on-going plans.

Last Sunday Ashley also mentioned her personal goal of growing First Parish from the 100+ household congregation we are now to something in the 300-350+ range -- a so-called “Program-sized” church. It’s a tough transition, because there are a lot of advantages to remaining a church of 100: the relationships tend to be more personal and easily-formed, for example, and it is even possible to know everyone in the church. This can be true of a larger church as well, but first one needs to recognize that larger congregations are highly-structured institutions -- organizations rather than “organisms.” They might best be thought of as a collection of overlapping communities, rather than a single large community in its own right. And simply recognizing that in itself requires a big change of attitude

But more importantly, we don’t want to grow to 300 households simply for the sake of being 300 households. Rather, we have a duty and an obligation to grow this congregation to whatever size the greater Portland community requires us to be, and 300 households is merely the next easily-defined “plateau” at which we might rest. And I’m VERY confident that there are AT LEAST an additional 200+ households “out there” who would very much appreciate having First Parish in their lives, if only someone would be willing to take them by the hand and show them around. They may not even realize that this is what they are looking for; instead, they may simply be feeling a little discouraged by what they witness going on all around them; they may be feeling discouraged, unfulfilled, angry and frustrated by their inability to make a real difference. We can help them change all that...or at least help them in making a start. Besides, we need all the partners we can find in our own efforts to make this world a better place.

Of course, we can always just sit here in the heart of the city, through open our windows and our doors, and receive whomsoever is sent. It’s a good ministry of “radical hospitality,” and an important one as well. But the big advantage of going out and GETTING these new members (as Ashley suggested Sunday) is that we get to cherry-pick a little: we get to invite our friends, or people we have met at other progressive venues who you just might enjoy getting to know a little better after worshiping together. Get aggressive: they may very well already know that you attend this church, and are wondering why you haven’t invited them already. Pick something special: special music, or a special ritual (like the Flower Communion), or perhaps a high-profile guest speaker. Every Sunday can be “bring a friend” Sunday, if only you decide to treat it that way.

Finally, and this is VERY important, we are NOT inviting people to join this congregation so that they can help us to pay our bills. So just put that idea right out of your head right now. Of course as our programs and expenses go, we will encourage our newer members to contribute their fair share -- principally by practicing financial transparency (which includes simplicity as well as accuracy) and setting a good example ourselves. But if anything, this outreach initiative is going to COST us money -- and we all need to know that and accept that going into it. But just as our spiritual ancestors here at First Parish invested in us, we have a duty to invest our resources in those who will follow us here. It’s both a duty and a privilege, for to those to whom much has been given, much will be expected as well.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

THE ECLECTIC CLERIC - "Execution"

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
In sport we see it so often it’s become a cliche. When it comes right down to the final seconds, when it’s crunch time and the game is on the line, the ONLY thing that really matters is whether or not your team can EXECUTE. Sure, it’s nice to have the right people in the line-up, and the perfect game plan all prepared. But unless those people can get it done -- perform in real time what you’ve drawn up on paper -- you might as well all just go home.

And it doesn’t just happen in sports. It’s a problem in business and in every other human organization I can think of, including churches. In fact, especially churches -- where so much to the important work is done by volunteers, with limited time, minimal training, an abundance of good ideas and a very complicated playing field.

But here are some ideas for better execution, both at church and in the wider world:

• Keep it Simple. Circumstances will complicate matters plenty on their own. So plan and stick to something that you know you can make work, and that will have the most meaningful impact. As my Dad (a process improvement consultant, among many other things) often says, it’s more important to do the right things than to try to do everything right. So concentrate on figuring out what those things are, and keep it all as simple as possible.

• Plan to Practice. Practice to Improve. I don’t think anyone ever does things perfectly the first time around, and for most of us perfection is just an abstract goal anyway. But recognize that there is a learning curve to any activity, and plan to take advantage of that by integrating what you learn into your plan.

• Know your Role and your Goals. Sometimes it really helps to figure out what to do if you know the outcome you are hoping to achieve. And likewise, if each “player” on the team knows and understands what his or her role is, it becomes a lot easier for everyone to work together in harmony.

To turn this around for just a moment, one of the essential tasks of Leadership is to be able to communicate that vision, and to explain and teach to every member of their team exactly what is expected of them, and how to accomplish it.

Rarely do organizations fail for lack of good ideas. Most folks I know have more good ideas in the course of a week than they could every hope to accomplish in a lifetime. The key is to focus on the RIGHT ideas, to keep the process as simple as possible, and to continue to practice and improve until you can execute like clockwork in crunch time EVERY time. That’s what seperates the winners from the losers, and the champions from the also-rans. And it really is in your hands now. So hands in, on three: TEAM!...............twj
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"Man, I look like Geronimo...."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`


And those were practically the first words out of his mouth when I last visited Walter at the Cumberland County Jail, and we got to talking about his mug shot in the paper. And he really does look pretty scary in that photo -- dangerous, older than his years, a little used up by a hard life of drinking and living on the streets. But this is not at all the Walter that I know, the man who has sat quietly in the back of the church for over a year now, and occasionally attended the coffee hour, and actually made some friends (other than me) in the congregation. We know a quiet, gentle, kind and talented wandering soul who has found his way into our community and who now has an opportunity to create a new life for himself as an artist and college student...or at least he did until he was arrested three weeks ago. And now that life is up for grabs, simply because his right to a fair and speedy trial looks like it will be neither speedy nor entirely fair.

Notwithstanding the legal technicality that it was within his reach had he known it was there, no one who knows Walter believes that he is guilty of the crime with which he is charged, Possession of a Concealed Weapon. It wasn’t his car, there’s no evidence it was his knife, if it was concealed from anyone first and foremost it was Walter, who just so happened to be sitting in the passenger seat under which the knife was hidden. The only thing Water was concerned about concealing was the beer, and that only after he realized that the alley was full of cops, well after the initial confrontation and arrest, all of which he claims happened behind his back and without his knowledge. All he was interested in was sitting in the passenger’s seat and drinking more beer, which is kinda how he’d gotten to be there in the first place.

Nor does anyone who knows him believe that Walter is guilty of the crime with which he is NOT being charged (at least not formally), which is conspiracy to participate in a cold-blooded, premeditated triple murder. It simply doesn’t pass the so-called “sniff test.” None of the evidence implicates him: not his car, not his guns, and this time the weapons weren’t even in his possession -- rather they were still behind him in the trunk, while Walter himself never left the car. Walter told me that he wasn’t even aware anything was going on until the back-up arrived with their lights and sirens, at which point his big concern became trying to hide (or finish up) the booze!

Which is not to say that Walter ISN’T guilty of a LOT of things, all of which basically boil down to using poor judgment and making bad decisions, which once again led to him being in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong people...”three sheets to the wind,” as sailors are fond of saying, and his own worst enemy. And as I tried to tell the judge at Walter’s bail hearing last week, it’s not society that needs to be protected from Walter, it’s WALTER who needs to be protected from Walter...and the best way to achieve that is NOT to keep him in jail, but to send him through Rehab and to allow him to enroll in college, which is exactly where we were two months ago, when Walter was discharged from the hospital.

And this is where my boundaries all start to get a little fuzzy (and maybe even a little crazy), as I try to sort out the differences between my relationship with Walter as his pastor and our relationship as friends, between co-dependence and “Christian charity,” between Walter’s status as unique and individual human being, as a Veteran, as a Native American, as a member of an oppressed and marginalized social class, as a homeless alcoholic. Just another stereotypical "Drunken Indian." That sort of thing.

All this is further complicated by the fact that a month from now I’m going to be living on the West Coast, and will be unavailable to stand by Walter and support him in what I know firsthand is the very intimidating situation of enrolling in college as a forty-something year old adult. And for Walter this is even more intimidating that it was for me, who already had three college degrees when I returned to school again as an adult learner, and who had always found school a fairly friendly and welcoming place. So it’s no surprise for me that Walter sometimes feels cold feet, perhaps even self-doubt; or that he wonders whatever possessed him to make this decision, and second-guesses himself all the time. I can even understand why at times the street, drinking, and even jail might seem like safer (or at least more familiar) alternatives to the experience of attending Art School.

When he’s not drinking (and often even when he is), Walter is a very talented artist, and an intelligent human being: kind, caring, generous, funny, spiritual, and yet hardened in a way that once again is very different from my own experience, just as my experience as a student is very different from Walter’s. Once more, this is where the boundaries start to get fuzzy. For this to work, Walter has got to want this for himself more than I (and the other people in the community who have been pulling for him) want it for him. But I’m not really sure he even understands how important this can be for him in the same way that I do. This opportunity truly represents for him a chance for a new and different life, a “second chance” to create for himself whatever kind of lifestyle he chooses. Which is why it is SO IMPORTANT that he learns to make BETTER choices than he’s sometimes made in the past.

I also want to say that we all owe an incredible debt of gratitude to Officer Stephen Black, whose perceptiveness, quick action, and personal courage turned what might have been a national news story into a few local headlines. There have been enough church shooting tragedies in the news this past year. Thank God and Officer Black that we are not another.

My prayers right now are for everyone whose lives this incident has touched: Walter to be certain, but also the other defendant and the alleged targets, the members of my church (many of whom aren’t entirely sure WHAT to make of all this), the members of the larger Portland community, and a legal system where both justice and mercy (not to mention the presumption of innocence) are often obscured by the pressure to convict, and the ubiquitous “guilt” of just about everyone who is unfortunate enough to be swept up into the process. Including those of us who are only guilty of making assumptions, jumping to conclusions, or looking the other way. Walter has already served three weeks, and could easily be incarcerated through the end of the summer, on charges he is not very likely to be convicted of should this matter ever come to trial. No doubt at some point he will be enticed into pleading guilty in exchange for time served, and then with any luck he will be able to pick up the pieces of the life that was waiting for him. Or else just return to his familiar world of shelters and alcohol, until his next run-in with the law. I just wish it were possible for me to make more of a difference in all this. And who knows? With the help of others, maybe I still can.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Two Weeks and ticking....

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”


And I can't believe how quickly the time is flying by, and how much I still have to do to be packed and moving by June 15. Preached my last sermon here Memorial Day weekend --a large congregation despite the holiday, and a very emotional time for us all. Used the "Moment for All Ages" to pass out small awards to some of the folks I've worked most closely with the past two years -- UU-theme lapel pins, mostly, but slightly nicer medallions for both the Past President and the Outgoing President, and some very nice chalice earrings and a pendant for Jackie, who has been my personal Pastoral Care Coordinator this past year and more. And then at the very end I had several brightly-colored basketballs to pass out to the Governing Board, the Board of Trustees, the Finance Council, the Membership Committee and the Worship Committee, each of which was labeled with the name of the committee and the dates 2007-2007, and autographed by me, with the instructions that the members of the committee should all autograph the ball as well, and then keep it as a memento. I know, kind of a silly gesture (especially since I haven't really had a chance here to go into my basketball schtick the way I generally do with other congregations). But I think they got the message about teamwork and recognition , and I think the kids got it too, who were there to witness all this up close, and especially to see the actual awards with their own eyes.

The sermon was basically a summary of the major themes I've been preaching about for the past two years, with a bit of a Memorial Day twist and reference to the arrests outside our church the previous Monday. Wanted to emphasize the importance of mission, and of the seven key areas of Worship, Education, Fellowship, Hospitality, Outreach, Social Justice and Pastoral Care, as well as the three mottos or slogans we've been using to promote our identity: "Portland's Original Faith Community," "Heart(h)fire," and "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City." But it began and ended with the theme of Leadership, starting with Lyle Schaller's 44 parallels between ordained ministers and commissioned military officers, and concluding with the "Be*Know*Do" model of leadership in the "Three Meter Zone," where a leader's knowledge and the performance of the team both follow the character and bearing of the leaders themselves. You can read the whole thing HERE if you're so inclined; just click on the link and away you go.

Of course, the other big thing on my mind this past week (besides packing to move, figuring out how or whether I'm going to be able to COBRA my heath insurance, and generally dealing with too much to do in too little time and my poor health to go along with it) has been Walter. Finally met his court-appointed attorney and his counselor from the University of Southern Maine at a bail hearing last Wednesday. Of course, nothing changed; Walter's bail is still $1000 -- not a huge amount in the greater scheme of things, but for Walter it might as well be a million. And, of course, he really doesn't have anyplace to go other than the street anyway, which in some ways makes me feel relieved knowing that at least as a guest of the county he receives his daily "three hots and cot," he's relatively safe and supervised, and he isn't drinking. I guess my hope would be that we can find him a bed somewhere in a rehab program, then raise the money for his bail, and make sure he finishes rehab before starting school, all the time still awaiting trial. But that's an awful lot for me to take care of personally in the next two weeks. Especially with all the other things I've got on my mind.



Anyway, I'm probably going to have a lot more to write about Walter later, but for now I just need to keep scrambling to get it all done: the farewell parties and final leave takings, acknowledging the grief over the loss of "what might have been," the sobs and hugs and all the rest. Timetable right now is a June 15th departure from Portland, followed by a few days in the Boston area before heading out to Nantucket the middle of the week. I'll be preaching there on Sunday June 21st, and then hanging around for as long as they can stand me before heading back to the mainland and down to Greenwich CT to stay with my brother until June 30, when we will all be flying to Seattle and then driving to Camano Island for the 4th of July. I'll be staying on that island for another couple of weeks after that, and then traveling down to Portland Oregon on or about the 15th of July, to attend a party celebrating my daughter's marriage and the expected birth of my first grandchild at the end of August. But rather than waiting around in Portland for that to happen, I'm planning at that point to head on down to Sacramento and beginning to unpack my new life as a Californian. When the time comes, it's a relatively quick and cheap flight back to PDX anyway.

Finally now, a quick bonus photo from Mother's Day, and the Christening of Anna Sophia. I love this photo, just like I loved officiating at the event itself, and everything that goes along with it. Another thing I'll miss about full-time long-tenured parish ministry.

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Theodore Parker's destructive legacy....

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Why did Theodore Parker die? He died prematurely worn out through this enormous activity, -- a warning, as well as an example.... Had he been a mere student, this had been less destructive. But to take the standard of study of a German professor, and superadd to that the separate exhaustions of a Sunday preacher, a lyceum lecturer, a radical leader, and a practical philanthropist was simply to apply half a dozen distinct suicides to the abbreviation of a single life. And as his younger companions had long assured him, the tendency of his career was not only to kill himself, but them; for each assumed that he must at least attempt what Theodore Parker accomplished.... [Thomas Wentworth Higginson]


There were quite a few 19th century Unitarian ministers whose exhausting work was felt to have contributed to their premature demise, Joseph Stevens Buckminster and Henry Ware Jr. to name only two. But Parker's persona as a constitutionally robust child of farmers was a sharp contrast to the frail, "spiritual" ectomorphic body-types generally associated with piety in that era.

More to the point though is Higginson's observation that for many of the generation of clergy who followed Parker, the challenge of his accomplishments as Preacher and Abolitionist Reformer, Scholar, Lecturer, "Practical Philanthropist" (a reference to Parker's active involvement in hands-on public/pastoral ministry as well his more radical political involvement), and general all-around busybodyness set an impossibly high standard, while implicitly encouraging neglect of many of the more run-of-the-mill institutional duties of parish ministry.

Yet even recognizing this, we still admire him to this day as one of the "Three Prophets" of Religious Liberalism. We point to the 28th Congregational Society as some sort of great institutional success, the 19th century equivalent of the modern Megachurch, and...

Let me just say this. There's a lot more to "the Golden Age of Unitarianism" that Parker, Emerson, and Channing. But most of us seem hard pressed even to understand them in their context. And so we find ourselves trapped by a form of idolatry, flirting with "half a dozen distinct suicides" as we attempt to minister effectively in our time and place based on a false knowledge of our past, and a mistaken understanding of our real charge.

And yes, I still adore Theodore Parker....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

My Vote for Laurel Hallman

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
...as if anyone really cares.

I don't know either of these candidates especially well personally, although over nearly thirty years of ministry (Laurel and I were by coincidence ordained on the exact same day in 1981) my life has crossed paths with Laurel's on several occasions. We are mutual friends of mutual friends, and I know her by reputation to be an outstanding and thoughtful religious leader. To my knowledge, Peter's and my paths have never crossed (although apparently he discovered UUism in Eugene Oregon in the mid-nineties, at exactly the same time I was completing my PhD there. But for some reason we never met personally). He certainly has many strong supporters among my friends in the PNWD, which is to his credit I'm sure. And I also believe that the issues he has identified as crucial -- radical hospitality and ministerial formation -- are the right ones, and will be priorities for whoever is elected next.

But here's the thing for me. When I look at Laurel's resume I see someone with three decades of solid experience in the ministry, and who has literally given her entire adult life in service to our movement. She has successfully served two very different churches, been a Berry Street essayist and the Living Tradition preacher, and served on more boards, committees, commissions, whatever than I can comfortably count. Perhaps most importantly (and I say this as an historian of our movement who was also there to witness with my own eyes), her work with Harry Scholefield on "Living By Heart" was one of the earliest, most influential, and perhaps even the single most important catalyst for the renewal of interest in All Things Spiritual among Unitarian Universalists.

Peter, by contrast, was only first discovering Unitarian Universalism at the moment Laurel was helping to profoundly change its face. After a year or two in the pews he headed off for seminary, and since then has successfully served the same church -- twice -- with a brief (and somewhat mysterious, at least to me) interlude at 25 in between. He's clearly an attractive and compelling speaker, who is capable of inspiring great loyalty in the people who hear him. And he has carefully positioned himself as the "outsider" candidate, who is going to bring to our movement new ideas from outside the box that are going to transform it into whatever it needs to be in order to thrive in the next century.

But I guess I'm just old school enough to think that the last thing we really need right now is more new ideas from outside the box. For too long I've watched our denomination chase after this "latest thing" and the next, every one of which is going to be "just the thing" to grow us to relevance and thus expand the impact and influence of our values and principles. But I'm not even certain that's the right problem, much less the best course. Instead, I feel what we really need is a leader who truly understands the heart and soul of our movement, not only at this moment in history, but throughout its history. Once again, Peter is certainly capable of saying all of the same right things so many of us have been thinking and saying for years (that we are not a social club, or a political party for instance). But Laurel "gets it" in a way and on a level that is difficult to put into words...although in my opinion she has certainly done so very effectively, over and over and over again.

That's why she won my vote. As if anyone really cares....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

CLERIC-2 ACTUAL OUT

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
a farewell sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Memorial Day Weekend, Sunday May 24, 2009


OPENING WORDS: “At the Un-National Monument Along the Canadian Border” by William Stafford

This is the field where the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed — or were killed — on this ground
hallowed by neglect and an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.

****

[Extemporaneous Introduction] -- I’ve been thinking for months (and in some ways maybe even decades) about what I wanted to say this morning in my last sermon from this high pulpit, but it wasn’t really until this past week that I figured out where to begin. [details of Walter’s arrest].

My own reaction to all this was actually a lot easier than you might think. All I did was ask myself what I would do if it had been my brother Erik arrested in the alley behind my church after a 12 hour drinking binge, and then went forward from there.

But in many ways this situation with Walter is emblematic of my ministry here. This is the first time, in thirty years, that I have ever had occasion to visit one of my own people in jail, even though it is one of the duties specifically mentioned in the New Testament. My ministry to Walter is something that I’m not going to be able to finish before I leave here; maybe even something that I never should have taken on in the first place. Who’s to say?

But maybe this is also in some small way a part of what my own illness and my own disability are trying to teach: that it doesn’t really matter how capable you are, or how intelligent or talented, or even how organized and hard-working...there will ALWAYS be more than you can do alone, more than you can finish by yourself; and there are times, LOTS of times, when we just need to let go and turn it over to somebody else. Preachers and teachers come and go, but somehow the sermons keep on being preached, and the teaching endures; somebody new takes on the duties and the responsibility, picks up the work and carries it forward, often in directions we ourselves might never have dreamed of....

Back in 1984 the widely-respected church consultant Lyle Schaller published a book called Looking in the Mirror: Self-Appraisal in the Local Church, which was widely-read within our denomination (as these things often are) during its brief season of popularity among us. Schaller was one of the first consultants (at least of my era) to talk about church culture as a function of congregational size. What we today would call the Family, Pastoral, Program and Corporate-sized churches, Schaller vividly labeled as “Cats, Collies, Gardens and Ranches,” emphasizing not only the very different styles of leadership appropriate to each of these vastly different congregational cultures, but also that the smaller two types of congregation (the Family-Cat and the Pastoral-Collie) really do function mostly as organisms, while the larger two (the Program-Garden and the Corporate-Ranch) are true organizations, and demand a very different kind of ministry.

Schaller’s main point though was that a church is NOT a business, and that religious institutions of all sizes can lead themselves deeply astray if they look too eagerly in that direction. In fact, Schaller was also one of the first (along with Peter Drucker) to notice the exact opposite trend in our society: that businesses are looking more and more to faith-based institutions to try to figure out how they can generate the kind of loyalty, devotion and faithfulness (both among their customers and their employees) that churches seem to take for granted.

And in a handful of pages buried just beyond the place where you were most likely to have stopped reading out of boredom, but not so far that you would notice if you skipped ahead to the end, Schaller presented an even more provocative idea which has stuck in my mind now for 25 years. Rather than looking to business for models, Schaller suggested that the military would be a better option, and then went on to list (mostly for skeptical clergy) 44 different parallels (Schaller is very fond of the number 44) 44 different parallels between ordained ministers and commissioned military officers which he believed were worthy of attention.

Among these were the fact that these are both seen as distinctive “offices” set aside from secular/civilian society, and marked by attendance at special schools and the tradition of a special commissioning or ordination ceremony (which includes the taking of an oath or vow); along with the use of special titles and rank, and special clothing reflecting that rank.

“In both vocations” Schaller noted, “the handicap of a comparatively low salary was offset by perquisites of office, womb-like care from entrance to death, the mutual support of the brotherhood, the feeling that one was responding to a calling rather than simply ‘making a living,’ a sense of service to the public and a pension following retirement.”

Likewise, both are professions where “the practitioner, at an early age, had many firsthand encounters with death” and where the mission comes first and the needs of the cause or the institution far outrank the preferences of the individual. And likewise both are deeply vulnerable to what Schaller called “the blight of ‘careerism,’ of placing the future career and well being of the individual ahead of the cause.”

Schaller’s observations had a great deal of impact on me 25 years ago, both because they were at once deeply insightful and well outside the box, but also because they connected so directly with the ancient archetypes of the hunter and the shaman, the warrior and the priest. It’s much more complicated than mere life and death, or the contrast between killing and healing, between violence and peace. There is also here a fundamental principle of leadership, around the necessity for leaders in effect to put their own lives on the line in order to bring the group together. The leader’s personal ambitions and desires, and at times in many ways even their personal safety, are all “sacrificed” for the success of the group. The soldier must learn to lead “from the front;” the preacher must teach “by both precept and example.” To do otherwise is to lead the mission to failure, to mislead the community into hypocrisy and shame.

The core mission of churches doesn’t really change that much from place to place or from generation to generation, or even from denomination to denomination. It begins, of course, with Worship: a time of inspiration and devotion, solemn contemplation and community solidarity, during which the members of the congregation recommit themselves to the values, traditions, and prophetic vision of the church. This word “prophecy” can seem a little intimidating, but all it really means is “to speak for another” -- that is, to speak for God in behalf of the voiceless: the widows, the orphans, the strangers, the prisoners, and others on the margins of society who need someone to speak up for them.

Then there is the mission of Education, a process by which spiritual wisdom and values are both learned and taught, and passed down from generation to generation. The mission of Fellowship (in Greek, koinonia) seems simple enough, but creating an authentic and shared common life by which People of Faith become a true “Faith Community” can be more complicated than it seems. Yet it begins with simplicity itself, and our natural human desire to be together. There’s an old Viking poem which the Unitarian Church in Denmark sometimes uses as a chalice lighting, and it goes like this:

Overvæld ingen med flotte gaver.
Små ting får ofte megen ros.
Med et brød til deling
og en kop sendt rundt
fandt jeg venskab.

[Overload no one with lavish gifts.
A small thing often finds much favor.
With a little sliced bread
and a cup shared ‘round
I found friendship.]
—From the Hávamál (Sayings of the Vikings)
[Submitted by the Danish Unitarian Church]

Hospitality likewise follows on in this same spirit: “open the windows and the doors, and receive whomsoever is sent” Yet hospitality alone is pretty lame without some form of effective Outreach, or what more traditional churches might call “Evangelism” -- effective methods for proclaiming OUR Good News to all who are hungry to hear it. Effective Pastoral Care returns us once again to the essential healing mission of the archetypal shaman.; in fact, the entire mission of the church might easily be summed up as taking people who are hurt and helping them become whole, then taking people who are whole and helping them become wise. And often it is as basic as simply showing up: what seminary professors call “the Ministry of Presence” -- showing up when others can’t or won’t as a reminder that God and a whole community of people who care are still out there even though you can’t see them, and eager to help you any way they can.

And then at last there is the mission of Social Justice, and working to build a better world -- in essence, creating a taste of the Kingdom of God on Earth, where basic fairness is found (or perhaps created) at the balance point between accountability and compassion. “He has shown you, O Mortal One, what is good; and what does THE LORD require of you, but to do justly, and to love mercifully, and to walk humbly with your God?”

That’s the mission, more or less, and it’s pretty much the same wherever you go. But how we put this Mission into Practice here in THIS Time and THIS Place, with the people (and the resources) of this community, for the larger community out there, is entirely up for grabs. It’s a matter of context and execution: what are we prepared to do, and how effectively are we able to make it happen?

During my brief tenure here, and even beforehand, we at First Parish have essentially organized our understanding of Mission around three overlapping themes.

The first of these is that we are Portland’s Original Faith Community, gathered in 1674. [There are several different dates for this floating around, depending on what you mean by “gathered” “organized” or “established” -- loved to have been the one to research all that, had “nature and nature’s God” been willing to grant me the time to do so]. I’ve always been attracted to this motto because it works two ways: yes, we were here first (and that is never going to change), but I also like to think that we are committed to being the most innovative, and thus the most “original” faith community as well, especially when it comes to finding new ways of expressing and promoting the fundamental wisdom and values of our liberal faith tradition, and passing them on to yet another generation of devoted Unitarians and Universalists.

The term “Heart(h)fire” is a concept that the leadership team of this congregation came up with at their annual retreat the year before I arrived here. Here’s the definition that was written at the time: “A source of positive energy, the heart(h)fire is fed, and as it grows, we get back warmth and light that spills beyond our borders and draws in those passing by.” It too is a wonderful image, and as I said two years ago when I first arrived here, the quality that makes it all possible is represented by that central letter “H” within the parentheses. That “H” stands for “Hospitality” -- for the willingness to open up our circle and invite those who have been attracted by the beacon of our fire to join us around the glowing hearth, and be warmed there alongside us, as we learn to share our lives with one another, heart to heart. But it can also represent Hope, Health, Honor and Honesty, and above all else, the simple willingness to be Helpful to neighbors and strangers alike.

And then finally there is the slogan I rode in on, “A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City.” I like this turn of phrase for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is because it embodies yet another challenge I heard articulated within the first few weeks of my arriving here, the challenge of “becoming the kind of church people expect us to be.” Which brings us back again to the question of size, and the challenge of evolving from an aging yet still friendly, furry, and very frisky dog into a tranquil, productive, and sustainable garden. It’s perhaps the most difficult challenge a minister and a congregation can face, especially when the temptation is always there just to get another puppy.

But growing a congregation from a hundred or so regular worshipers to one where attendance is routinely in the 350-500 person range, along with all of the accompanying changes in staffing and governance, program offerings, even congregational culture itself, begins with a willingness simply to see things through different eyes, and the desire to continue to innovate, to continue to improve, while remaining grounded in the solid foundation that has sustained this congregation for centuries now.

It’s not so much about new ideas for new times, or a desire to change simply for the sake of change. Rather, it’s about the willingness to commit to the RIGHT ideas, and to practice and refine them until they become second nature. How do we best worship together? How do we enjoy one another’s company, and educate our children and newcomers to our faith? How do we reach out to strangers and invite them to be our neighbors; how do we take care of one another, while still working together to make the world a better place?

The answer, of course, is Leadership. Leadership, Leadership, and still more Leadership. The military seems to understand this in a way that the Church (or at least a liberal church like ours) perhaps never will. Of course, there is a world of difference between leading a platoon of 45 soldiers, and a company of 200. (not to mention a battalion of 600 or brigade of 3000), just as there are differences between ministering to family, pastoral, program and corporate-sized churches. But in the army, every third or fourth soldier is some kind of leader -- a squad leader or team leader, a sergeant or some other kind of non-commissioned officer who is responsible for training and leading their small unit of soldiers in the fulfillment of their mission.

Army training now, especially at this hands-on level, is oriented around the model of “Be*Know*Do.” And it really is just as simple as it sounds. Obviously, a leader needs to know what they are doing -- expertise is an important part of any job. And the ultimate measure of success is performance: can the team actually get the job done? But it begins with the character of the leaders themselves: who they are as human beings, and those inner qualities of courage, duty, loyalty and respect, honor, integrity and selfless service that we’ve been considering all morning.

If character is important in a military leader, it is even more essential in a religious leader, at every level from Committee Chair or Covenant Group facilitator to the Grand Dali Poobah of the UUA itself. And it begins not just with courage, but also profound humility, and deep gratitude for the great gift that is life itself. We learn to express this gratitude through generosity and service...not just as a spiritual discipline, but as a sign of our religious discipleship, our devotion and fidelity to the principles and values of our liberal faith tradition, and the important work it calls us to.

And so we too follow the Great Commandment to “love the Lord thy God with all thy heart (and all that other stuff), and love thy neighbor as thyself;” to “do unto others as you would have others do unto you,” and perhaps to “Judge not, lest ye be judged” just for good measure.

And then finally there is my message from two weeks ago: not so much a commandment as simply a reminder, that “Wir Alles sind Gotts Kinder” -- We are ALL God’s Children -- and thus brothers and sisters to one another, even when (as with our more traditional family siblings) we didn’t really ASK for them to be born, and we didn’t really get to choose them either, but we’re still stuck with them through ties of blood and DNA...just as we are, I suppose, with the whole human family of which we are a part.

[Extemporaneous Conclusion] First introduction to public speaking, sophomore in High School: “tell ‘em what you’re gonna tell ‘em, tell ‘em, tell ‘em what you told ‘em.” For two years it has been my honor and my privilege to serve as the minister of this parish, and the minister to the members of this congregation...who in so many ways have ministered to me far better than I was able to minister to all of you....

***
“May Thy whole truth be spoken here
Thy Gospel light forever shine
Thy perfect love cast out all fear
and human life become divine.”
[Our final hymn is number 35, “Unto Thy Temple, Lord, We Come”]
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Last Sunday in Church

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`


With all the excitement about the potentially deadly "incident" in the alley behind the church, I almost forgot to post this. Last Sunday in church one on the most venerable members of the congregation (a retired psychiatrist) stood up during the candle-sharing and said this:

I want to express the joy of our relationship with Tim, the concern over his disabilities, and thanks for what he has given to us. He has promoted the very important need for each of us to feel "connected" to each other.

As we come closer to the end of Tim's time with us I want to express deep appreciation for his ability to share who he is at so many levels. In my later years I have begun to learn that hiding thoughts and feelings that I don't want to share with others only hides who I really am. The more of myself that I learn to share with others the more I become who I really am.

Tim has modeled that behavior for all of us and I want to thank him/you with all my heart. He has given us many great readings and sermons but I have never felt that he was preaching "down" to us from our high pulpit.

In summary, "Thank you Tim for being here and being you".


Nice testimonial, n'est pas? Thank YOU Robbie!

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

One tragedy averted; another in the making....

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Monday morning an observant, quick-thinking and courageous police officer assigned to Portland High School (which backs to the back of our building across a small courtyard), turned what might have easily been another national headline (like Knoxville) into just another local news story. To quote the press account,

Officer Stephen Black said he was locking the rear school doors, as he does every day at 8 a.m., when he saw Herbert Jones, 46, holding a rifle in a small paved area behind the school known as Freshman Alley. He said he then saw Jones, whose back was to him, loading rounds into the gun.

Black drew his sidearm and ordered Jones to put down the gun, a 7 mm Remington. Jones complied immediately, Black said.

That's the good news. The bad news is that there was also a passenger in the car that Jones had driven to the church, and that passenger was my friend Walter, who had been drinking with Jones since about 6 pm the previous evening. That part of the story was a little slow trickling out, but when I finally learned the details I was heartsick. I've blogged about Walter and his situation here before, and he is certainly a familiar figure to the members of my church, where Walter has been worshiping on and off Sunday mornings for about a year and a half. A few months ago he was hospitalized and sobered up, a caseworker took an interest in him, helped to get him admitted to college...but it was either not quite enough or a little too much. In either case, a few weeks after the hospital discharged him Walter starting drinking again, and things just started to go downhill from there.

The last time I saw Walter (before today, that is) was exactly two weeks ago. His leg was infected again, he was clearly drunk (and smelled it), and had come by the church to hit me up for a few bucks for booze. Told him I couldn't help him out that way, and that he needed to return to the hospital to have his leg looked at again...even offered to put him in a cab (since I'm still not driving myself), but he told me he could manage on his own, so I took him at his word, knowing full well that he would probably never make it all the way there on his own initiative. But honestly, how much more could or should I have done?

That question became all the more pressing after his arrest Monday. For ages I've been preaching that good old Universalist gospel that we are ALL God's children, and thus brothers and sisters to one another. Now I found myself asking, How would I have reacted if it had been, say, my brother Erik arrested in the alley behind my church after an all-night bender, while his drinking buddy loaded up a high-powered rifle in preparation for what sounds like premeditated mass murder? (those of you who actually KNOW Erik know how ridiculous this scenario is, but just for the point of illustration...).

I would no doubt feel angry, disappointed, and probably mostly just a little confused; I would certainly expect some sort of explanation as to what he was thinking, assuming that he WAS thinking. But I certainly wouldn't stop caring about him, certainly wouldn't give up on him or stop trying to support him...even as I made it clear to him that there was only so far I could go to shield him from the natural consequences of his own bad decisions.

Yet I would also do everything in my power to prevent him from being victimized by "the system" as well. Wouldn't want to see him crucified to "set an example" for example, or to beef up some ambitious prosecutor's conviction record (not that stuff like that ever REALLY happens in the United States of America....)

In any event, earlier this afternoon I went down to the Cumberland County jail to visit my friend Walter. First time in thirty years of ministry that I have ever had occasion to visit one of my own parishioners in jail, and it was certainly a learning experience...although one that went much more smoothly than I had any reason to expect when it turned out that my driver/assistant also just to happens to be a thirty-year friend of the current chaplain there, Rev. Jeff McIlwain. Jeff was very impressed with my UUMA ID card, BTW, since apparently so few clergy of other denominations have anything like that at all. (Then again, I didn't realize until he handed back my ID that in my wallet it had become stuck to my Harvard University ID identifying me as an "Officer" of the University). But he ushered me through the whole drill, and got me back into an interview room for what turned out to be nearly an hour-long conversation with my Navajo brother.

As his pastor, I get basically the same access to Walter as I would if I were his lawyer, and that got me thinking quite a bit afterwards about something one of my college girlfriend's fathers (an attorney) once said to me about becoming a criminal defense attorney...that it meant you had to spend a lot of your workday hanging out with criminals....

Lots more to cogitate upon here, but it's getting late. No doubt you'll get a chance to read much more though later in the week.

LINK TO TUESDAY'S PORTLAND PRESS HERALD NEWSPAPER STORY

LINK TO MONDAY'S NEWSPAPER STORY

LINK TO TV NEWS STORY
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

A "theory" of Worship?

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
The Rev. Erik Walker Wikstrom, until a few years ago our neighbor at the First Universalist Church in Yarmouth ME, and more recently now the Worship and Music Resources Director for the Unitarian Universalist Association was back here in Maine this past Wednesday to share some of his ideas about worship with the Maine chapter of the Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association, which just so happened to be meeting here at First Parish. Among the resources Erik shared was his list of the Top Ten Things You Can Do To Improve Worship, three of which resonated very powerfully in my own experience. Tend Your Own Spiritual Garden, Make Sure There's Something To Learn By Heart, and Strive For Excellence. The other seven are good as well, but these three are really special.

Erik also inspired me to look again at Wayne Arnason and Kathleen Rolenz's recent book Worship That Works: Theory and Practice for Unitarian Universalists. In particular, Wayne and Kathleen write about the "four dynamic forces that influence how a congregations worships," and which are "often beyond the control of the worship leader to directly influence in a short period of time." To frame this in a more positive tone, in order to lead meaningful worship for the congregations we serve, those services need to be authentic to the Founding Culture of the congregation, respect and embrace the existing Worship Traditions, acknowledge the normative Musical Baseline, and be appropriate to the Physical Space in which the worship takes place.

Over time, with trust, and in partnership with the people, a good worship leader can expand and maybe even change these dynamics, but they will probably never be able simply to ignore them or replace them with something entirely new. Rather, "the dimensions of worship -- the ability of the service to engage mind, heart, body, and spirit, to touch all the senses, to appeal to diverse generations and cultures -- arise from something beyond the will and creativity of the worship leader." It's not about us, boys and girls, not by a long shot. It's about our ability and our willingness to invoke the Spirit, and allow that Spirit to flow within us and through us and out again amongst the people in ways that feel at once both familiar and transformative [Nov 28, 2007].

Of course there is also always the popular old-school alternative view: "If you want to fill the church, fill the pulpit." Even in a denomination blessed with as many good preachers as we have, the truly great ones are few and far between. It's hard to argue with the success they enjoy though...both in theory AND in practice.... But fnding a good preacher and offering them Freedom of the Pulpit needs to be reciprocated by finding a preacher who will also respect and understand the "four dynamic influences" within the congregation they are serving, and adapt their style to fit the context.

Finally, how does one become a great preacher? Good question -- lots of practice to start with, I would guess. But the right kind of practice too -- not the kind that simply ingrains bad habits, but rather a discipline that grows new strengths. And there are classes one can take, and certainly plenty to read...both about preaching and worship, and about life and the human condition in general. (I think that's number four on Erik's list: "Read Poetry and Novels"). But tending your own spiritual garden, learning some of what your read by heart (the poetry in particular), and striving for excellence are three very good disciplines as well. Good Luck! And may your worship always be profoundly inspirational, and deeply devotional, and filled with the good feeling of community -- the love of God and the love of neighbor, and the love of strangers as if they are our neighbors, fellow children of God, and thus all brothers and sisters to one another....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Denied, Denied, Denied...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
The letter they sent me said my phone interview would take "at least" an hour, but in reality it was over in about twenty minutes. Back in 1984, when I was first presented with the option, I chose to file form 4361 exempting my clergy earnings from the Social Security Self-Employment tax. I can't really recall what I was thinking at the time: some highly-idealistic notion about the separation of Church and State no doubt, and the power to tax being the power to control...but basically it was just that I couldn't really afford to pay an additional 15% surtax on my already-meager clergy earnings and still keep body and soul together. So I "opted-out," always kind of assuming that at some point in time I would gravitate into academia (and the regular tax system) again, and by which time our elected government officials would have figured out and finally fixed all of the quirky idiosyncrasies of the current system, thus completing the promise of the New Deal.

Certainly hadn't counted on eight years of Bush 43 and his "steal from the poor to give to the rich" fiscal policies, nor that as a first world nation we would resist universal health care for so long, nor any of the other bizarre, "alternative reality" scenarios we've been living through here in the 21st century. At the very least I assumed that after our 19 year marriage, I would be able to collect benefits under my former wife's account...but apparently that's only true if she is dead, or we have both reached the age of 62.

Do you think I'll make it another 10 years to collect? I think I've got a pretty good chance to just on the strength of my old-fashioned, mule-headed stubborn tenacity....

Meanwhile, last meeting ever of the Maine Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association chapter yesterday, appropriately held at First Parish I felt, since no one could remember the LAST time we'd hosted one. Come July 1st this chapter will consolidate with the UUMA chapter in New Hampshire and Vermont, and become the "Northern New England" UUMA chapter instead. And likewise, my last meeting with this particular group of colleagues, whom I've actually had very little chance to get to know in the past two years.

So F*** Cancer! and let's get on with life.

Such bittersweet emotions: so sad to be leaving, angry at the way that this disease has taken...stolen, actually...not only from me, but from so many other people who love and care about this church the way that I have come to. I hate the feeling of helpless powerlessness, sitting on the sidelines not being able to make a meaningful impact on the outcome of events. Jealous of the colleagues who originally came in to help me out, and have now essentially taken my place -- I'm happy for their happiness, just as I know they are sad for the tragedy in my life that made their opportunities here possible. And I'm not really happy about the direction the church is going, and the restrictions (real or imagined) that "the current financial situation" have imposed upon us all.

Obviously we all need to live within our means. But the essential mission of the church is not to balance the budget. A budget is just a tool, for crissakes -- its a plan for how we will use our money if our revenues come in the way we predict they will. A complete act of educated fantasy, actually; or better yet, "guestimation," which we can hopefully make as accurately as we can without letting it completely dictate the terms of everything else we do. Worship, Hospitality, Fellowship, Education, Outreach, Pastoral Care, Social Justice -- these are the things that need to be at the HEART of our lives together. We will figure out a way to ends meet. Somehow....

But that's an awful lot of Inside Church for a sunny spring morning, just the sort of thing I'm supposed to be letting go of for the sake of my own health. And it's true. The relief I feel at NOT being responsible for all these issues any more is actually quite profound; surprising too, notwithstanding the grief I still feel over the loss of "what might have been," my feelings of helplessness and powerlessness in terms of being able to make a difference, or even just the disappointment I feel about the way that the events of these past two years -- both on the larger, international economic level, and in my personal/interpersonal life struggling with cancer -- have changed the "Vision of the Possible" at First Parish, and "grounded" it in a way that was perhaps a little TOO "realistic."

Sigh. At least yesterday finished up with a WONDERFUL little dinner party, hosted by the church treasurer no less! And not one of these topics came up; instead our congenial little group (the Treasurer and his wife, the Nominating Committee chair and her husband, our new Director of Religious Education and myself) talked about just about everything else EXCEPT church. Well, that's not EXACTLY true...we actually talked a great deal about church, but not about its problems. Instead we spoke mostly about opportunity, and planning/designing ahead to fulfill the possibilities rather than working down to overcome the challenges. I have been SO BLESSED by the people of this congregation; I feel so PRIVILEGED to have been called to serve as their minister; I am so DISAPPOINTED about the way that God, Fate, Destiny, Cancer has stolen this wonderful gift way from us all; and yet I TRUST that I will find meaning in it, and am CONFIDENT that I still have more work to do before "God calls me home" once and for all.

And as for those Social Security Disability benefits?.... well, consider the lilies of the field....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Best Intentions

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
It dawned on me this morning that between all the work I did preparing for last Sunday's service, and the amount of time I've spent reading and commenting on Other People's Blogs, that I've pretty much neglected my own blog here, and the sixty-some faithful folk who apparently lot in just about every day to see what I've been up to. So here's the deal:

Sunday's Mother's Day service was truly special: Lebanese Marionite hymns and a belly dancer (both the dancer and the soloist are church members), wonderfully contextualized as a women's art form for our indroit and children's story, then a baby dedication, and finally (if I do say so myself), a very moving HOMILY which concluded with one of my favorite hymns, "For All That Is Our Life/we sing our thanks and praise/for all life is a gift/which we are called to use/to build the common good/and make our own days glad."

Then, not having my own mother available any longer, I took my colleague and "affiliated minister" out to lunch...at Friendly's, no less (you will understand the irony if you read the sermon), which she swears she loves and has loved since childhood.

Monday was pretty much taken up with medical appointments -- all is well, but time is fleeting...only six weeks now til I fly back to Seattle, and before then I need to make sure a) that all my health insurance change-over is in place; b) that I have new Docs lined up in Sacramento, and c) that everything else I own and want to keep is all packed up and ready to go on the truck. Six weeks, and me still desperately dependent upon the kindness of strangers.

Tuesday was mostly a church day -- staff meeting in the early afternoon, and then the Governing Board that evening. The latter in particular was very depressing; like everyone these days it seems, we are looking at some pretty harsh financial realities, and still trying to fulfill our mission while living within our means. And I really can't say too much more than that.

Today is another church day -- the monthly UUMA (Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association) Maine chapter meeting is being hosted at First Parish for the first time in recent memory; we've got a very interesting program planned on the subject of worship, but also a lot of logistics to deal with...most of which I've also been able to delegate to the members of my ministerial "team." And then tonight, a small and informal dinner party at the home of some of my parishioners, who just wanted this chance to say goodbye more personally. Still, it's a long day. And I can't even look forward to having a drink at the end of it....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

My Cyber-Stalker

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Shortly after the Presidential Election, I drew the attention of a notorious U*U blogger (Robin Edgar, the so-called "Emerson Avenger") for posting this image on my blog, and comparing it to (among other things) a Phoenix rising from the ashes. Robin accused me of stealing my idea from him (which, I hope it goes without saying, I didn't) without giving him "credit where credit is due" (apparently, the truly important consideration in his mind), and then later (after I tried to defend myself) called me a plagiarist and "the Klepto Cleric," accused me of "conduct unbecoming a minister," and generally began to heap abuse upon me every chance he got (which was quite frequently, since he apparently has a lot of time on his hands).

Finally, when I got tired of the whole business and tried to disengage, I made the mistake of quoting an old folk saying I first heard from my grandmother: "Never get into a pissing match with a skunk. You both end up stinking, but the skunk LIKES it." Robin took to that like...well, like a skunk to a pissing match, frankly...now he routinely warns his victims to stock up on tomato juice because when he's finished with them they'll need it!

But here's my point and my request. Robin is obviously free to write whatever he likes on his own blogs, and good for him if it keeps him off the streets, out of trouble and out of harm's way. But for God's sake, PLEASE will people stop linking to his site, publishing his comments, and allowing him to gain greater exposure for his slander and abuse than he can gather on his own! All the high-falutin' arguments about "a free and responsible search" notwithstanding, all you are doing is contributing to his hateful, hurtful campaign of lies and abuse. You're not doing him any good, and you're not making our movement smell too sweet either.

I also feel compassion for Robin, and all the things he's apparently suffered...but believe me, helping him to inflict that same hurt on others is NOT the appropriate, compassionate, humanitarian thing to do. So please, PLEASE, PLEASE! just cut him off, right now, today, Cold Turkey, and maybe we can begin to put an end to this long, international nightmare....

BTW & FWI, here are the links to MY ORIGINAL NOVEMBER 17 POST, along with the COMMENT ON CHRISTINE ROBINSON'S BLOG that Robin claims I stole. So setting aside the fact that I hadn't even seen this comment until Robin brought it to my attention, you can decide for yourself whether Robin's accusations of "plagiarism" are really supportable. And then maybe the entire blogosphere will start to stink just a little bit less.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

WIR ALLES SIND GOTTS KINDER

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland Maine
Mothers Day Sunday May 10th, 2009

[extemp intro: Theodore Parker d. May 10, 1860 in Florence, Italy. “The Great American Preacher” and author of my customary benediction; Scholar and Theologian, Abolitionist and Social Activist - all subsequent Unitarian ministers have felt that they "must at least attempt what Theodore Parker achieved."]

I also thought that you all ought to know now that for the rest of my life now (however much longer that may turn out to be), I will always associate Mother’s Day with this congregation, and with the two years that I’ve been privileged to serve here as your minister. It was two years ago on this Mother’s Day Sunday that I first appeared in this pulpit as a candidate to become the called and settled minister of this Parish. The title of my sermon that morning was “A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City,” a phrase I THOUGHT I’d cribbed from Jeff Logan’s letter of welcome in your congregational search packet, but now I can’t find it there, so maybe I actually did make it up all by myself after all. But I certainly wasn’t alone in taking that slogan (and the vision it articulated) and making it a living reality here at the head of Temple Street. That was something you took to heart and that we all did together, by embracing this ministry of radical hospitality to neighbor and stranger alike.

And what none of us knew at the time was that my own mother was in the hospital that Sunday out in Seattle, with a metastatic reoccurrence of her own earlier breast cancer (that would eventually take her life in a matter of only a few months), but that she had deliberately kept that information secret from me until after I had spoken here, because she didn’t want me to be distracted on what she know was a very important day -- not just in my life, but for all of us. Talk about selfless Motherly sacrifice!

And then last year, I was the one who was in and out of the hospital, fighting my own battle against cancer.

The previous week I had at last been formally installed as the Parish Minister here, in a very inspiring ceremony that included receiving the key to the city from then-mayor of Portland Ed Suslovic, and extensive greetings from State Representative Herb Adams; music from the Traveling Ensemble of the Maine Gay Men’s Chorus, and from our own First Parish Choir, including an original hymn by our Minister of Music Charlie Grindle. There were bagpipes and a bassoon; as well as messages from other local clergy: the Reverend Jennifer Emrich of Yarmouth, the Rev Lee Devoe in Augusta, and First Parish’s own “native daughter,” the Rev Barbara McKusick Liscord, who now serves our congregation in Milford New Hampshire.

And of course it was all topped off by a very inspiring sermon by my good friend the Rev. Ted Anderson of Nantucket, and the actual Act of Installation itself, in which we pledged “to walk together in all the ways of faith known or to be made know to us,” as we worked together at this sacred task of ministry.

And I was a little surprised to hear rumors, (sometime afterwards, thankfully), that there were actually a few folks who wondered why we were even bothering to hold an Installation at all, given the tenuous state of my health; or (worse) that it was all just something that was done to indulge and humor me, and to lift my spirits as I struggled with my disease.

And I hope those attitudes weren’t TOO widespread, because to my mind the Installation was NEVER really about me at all -- it was about all of us, and a reminder that the work we do together IS sacred -- and that no matter what challenges or adversity may confront us, no matter how difficult the work may seem, we are not going to give up and we are not going to give in, we’re not going to quit, or surrender, or throw in the towel, but instead we are going to come together as a community of faith and fight back -- survive, persist, endure, and (with God’s help) ultimately triumph. Don’t just “hope for the best and prepare for the worst.” Rather, make the best PLAN you can to make “the BEST” happen, then do what you must to minimize the potential downside if the plan doesn’t quite work out the way you’d planned it would
.
These are the kinds of values that my own mom tried to teach me when she was still alive, and which I’ve also tried to take to heart and teach to my own children and the children I am called to minister to here, and basically to everyone I come in contact with, regardless of their age. And they are values I have certainly seen demonstrated again and again in the past two years, as we have walked together through adversity after adversity that none of us could have envisioned two years ago.

Yet as powerful and important as my memories of these past two years are, my FAVORITE memory of Mother’s Day is from another time, from the semester that I spent abroad as a visiting Doctoral Fellow at Aalborg University in Denmark, almost a decade ago now.

Mother’s Day Y2K.

My mom had come over to visit and travel with me for a few weeks, so to celebrate Mother’s Day I took her for dinner at a silly little restaurant called “the Frigate” located on the decks of a model replica of an 18th century sailing vessel which floats on a small lake in the tiny but venerable Tivoli amusement park in central Copenhagen, situated on a 15 acre site right between the historic City Hall and the main train station.

And like a lot of things Danish, the Frigate was kind of surprising -- because the food there is FANTASTIC. We both had a lamb shank slow-cooked in an herb broth with various kinds of shellfish and other seafood, just the kind of “locovore” slow-food meal that really makes one want to linger at table in the refreshing, warm night air, sipping wine and watching the fireworks in a quaint, cozy, postage-stamp-sized and TRULY magical kingdom right in the heart of one of Europe’s most sophisticated capital cities.



That meal wasn’t exactly inexpensive either, although fortunately the bill came in kroner, which helped me to persuade my mom that all those zeros didn’t REALLY add up to as much money as she thought they did. But how else might you express your gratitude to someone who carried you around inside her body for nine months, and who fed you from the same? -- who washed you and clothed you and taught you how to walk and how to speak, how to brush your own teeth and tie your own shoes, not to mention (at some point along the way, one hopes) the difference between right and wrong?

It’s a rhetorical question, of course; there are LOTS of different things we can do to show our mothers, and our grandmothers, and our stepmothers and those who have been LIKE mothers to us just how much we love them and appreciate all that they have given to us. A fantastic meal is just the LEAST that I could have done; I only wish now that I still had the opportunity to do it again and again, not just on Mother’s Day, but every chance that I can find.

Not long after that my Mom returned home from Denmark, and I packed up my own things in preparation for an extra month of travel at the end of the semester through France, Italy, and Germany. Basically, the same summer trip that a lot of college students get to make in their 20’s, I finally had a chance to take in my 40’s -- and I’ll tell you this in all honesty, having waited twenty years only made it all the better.

And as you might imagine, I visited a lot of churches while I was there. Notre Dame and Sacre Couer in Paris; the Cathedral at Chartes; Mont. St. Michel (what an amazing place THAT is!); Saint Peter’s Basilica and the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican, along with countless other smaller and less famous places too numerous to recall.

Mostly I was going to see the art and the architecture, but I also rarely failed to at least light a candle, or to offer up a little prayer about whatever happened to be in my heart at the moment. And I also climbed an awful lot of steeples, each time swearing that this one was the last one, and that I would never be doing THAT again
.
But it was in Germany, during my visit to the famous UNESCO World Heritage Site Cologne Cathedral, that something very small and unexpected happened which gave me an entirely new perspective and insight into what I was really doing there and why. Because of some poor planning on my part, I only had about an hour between trains to visit the cathedral, which is located only a few hundred yards from the train station -- but still, I had all my luggage with me and was feeling the pressure about missing my connection -- and then when I arrived at the church I was disappointed to discover that (except for the Narthex), everything was closed to tourists because there was a worship service going on!



Now under ordinary circumstances this wouldn’t have been a problem for me; I would have just gone on in and joined in the worship, and then done my sightseeing afterwards. But as it was, I had all this baggage with me, and I had this train to catch, so that option didn’t really seem appropriate. And at that moment, as I was standing outside the sanctuary under the statue of Saint Christopher trying to decide what to do, I overheard a sentence from the homily, as clearly as if someone standing next to me had spoken directly into my ear -- “Wir Alles sind Gotts Kinder” -- We ALL are God’s Children” -- a five-word sermon I have preached myself many times in the past thirty years, and which pretty much sums up the essence of everything I’ve had to say in three decades of ministry.

Wir Alles sind Gotts Kinder....

Ordinarily, I like to explore some of the other aspects of this message when I preach it, such as the part that we are also all brothers and sisters to one another -- it’s a lot more tangible and down to earth, plus it avoids the problem that not all of us enjoyed especially good relationships with our own parents, which tends to get in the way of exploring a similar kind of relationship with a Deity we may or may not actually believe in....

But today I just want you all to know that the Eternal Spirit of Life, which Scripture tells us created the Universe and everything in it, loves each and every one of us just as deeply, just as fiercely, just as PROFOUNDLY, as a mother loves her child. And once you have FELT that love yourself, if only just once, if only for a moment, you will know the truth of it in your heart in a way that transcends all need for any kind of rational “proof” or “evidence.”

Because Faith is not an irrational belief in things we know aren’t true. Rather, it is the CONFIDENCE to TRUST the non-rational experience of God’s profound love for us, and to respond to that love by loving our own neighbors (and strangers) as if they were our brothers and sisters. Which, in fact, they are, at least in some sort of abstract, metaphorical, metaphysical way.

Now as I mentioned earlier, I know that not everyone has enjoyed a perfect relationship with their own parents...in fact, I wonder whether any of us really have. And not all of us will be fortunate enough to experience the power of God’s extraordinary love for us firsthand either. But when we act in faith to love our neighbors, we also make it possible for them to experience God’s love through us! We become “Angels of the Gospel” -- or in plain English, messengers of God’s Good News that God is Love, that we are all loved by God, and that we should express this love by loving one another. So simple, and yet so profound. So why does it seem like we need to remind ourselves so frequently of these very basic truths?

Remember, those Truths that are universally and absolutely true are going to continue to be true regardless of whether or not we choose to believe them. And likewise, none of us is ever going to know “the Absolute Truth” perfectly and completely. It’s just more than any mortal being can handle. And it’s a long and often difficult journey from cradle to grave, with plenty of opportunities for our own ignorance to trip us up; we need the help of others to guide us on that journey, and at times will also be pressed into service as guides to others, who need to benefit from the hard-earned lessons we have already learned on our own.

The goal and purpose of life-long learning is a search for Wisdom; not just for more knowledge or information, or even “truth and meaning,” but for the maturity and good judgment and perhaps even the courage to use the things that we have learned wisely, both for our own benefit and for the benefit of those who will follow after us.

And even if by some good fortune one of us should come to know and understand everything there is to know and understand, in a matter of years...perhaps a few decades at most...they will have passed away, and the process will continue all over again.

With each new birth and with each rising generation we face the same challenge that has been faced by all humanity since time immemorial. And thanks to churches like this one, we successfully meet it, generation after generation after generation.

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Theodore Parker, the Great American Preacher

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”

born August 24, 1810 - Lexington, Massachusetts.
died May 10, 1860 - Florence Italy.


Lest we forget, both the Parker birth bicentennial and the Parker death sesquicentennial are coming up next summer. Might make for an interesting opportunity to reassess the impact his inspiration and influence have had on our movement. But until then, enjoy these:

The English Cemetery in Florence

The Grave of Theodore Parker

Yes, that's me standing in the rain next to Parker's headstone in Florence, Spring 2000
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Every Preacher's Nightmare

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
And I can't believe this actually happened to me, but about 3 pm this afternoon, approximately nine pages into tomorrow's sermon, I touched the wrong key and everything on my screen disappeared. And no matter what I tried i couldn't get it back, even though I'm CERTAIN I'd been saving regularly, just the way I always do since this last happened to me over 20 years ago. The only thing I can think of is that I did change the name of my file on the desktop, so I may actually have been saving my REAL file to another location...which I will probably stumble across, or figure out how to locate in another week or so. In the meantime though, imagine my panic! -- fortunately, since I've had such a long time to be thinking about this sermon, I had a good deal of it already written out almost word for word in longhand anyway in various notebooks and on random scraps of paper. So I just went back to the beginning and started over, not quite as polished as I'd been before, but what the hell -- I'm finished now, still hours earlier than I would have been back in the days Before Cancer, when I was still working full time at the office, preaching EVERY Sunday (instead of once a month), and writing my sermons in all day (and night) Saturday marathons based on an outline and a page or two of notes. And this Sunday's message is quite possibly the antepenultimate sermon of my career, with only Memorial Day Weekend (May 24) here in Portland and the Summer Solstice on Nantucket scheduled on my calendar.

Meanwhile, my colleagues at church have been giving me a hard time because not only do I know precisely how many sermons I have preached (this Sunday will be 653) but I can also generally tell you the titles and when and where I preached them (although there are a few sermons from my student days when I'm not exactly certain of the exact date or venue). What can I say? It was easy enough to figure out, and actually only took me a day or two to pull it all together. I'd have a lot harder time figuring out exactly whom I've married, buried, and christened...although I THINK I have pretty good records of those events tucked away somewhere in my files as well. Again, what can I say? I'm a historian and a pack rat -- what ELSE am I going to do?

I suppose I also ought to mention that about eight years worth of those sermons -- everything I preached on Nantucket, in Carlisle, and here in Portland, are all available on-line -- just go to my profile, scroll down, and click on the appropriate link. Now I'm wondering whether I ought to post a "Table of Contents" on each blogsite as well, just so people know where to look for what they're looking for. Maybe tomorrow. I've had enough computer excitement for this evening. So instead I'm going to try to get a good night's sleep, in anticipation of tomorrow's worship service, and the 149th anniversary of the death of Theodore Parker in Florence Italy, May 10th 1860....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"A Calm & Contemplative Space in the Center of the City"

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Spent most of yesterday morning again up at my private study in the Eastland Park Hotel, working with a couple of parishioners of mine to catalog my library and pack it to be shipped to California. We're developing quite an efficient routine, but it's still pretty slow going, even though I'm pretty much resisting the temptation to open every volume and thumb through the pages, remembering when and why I bought it, and how much of it I may or may not have actually read, or how eagerly I'm looking forward to reading it once I have the time. Time, time, time. So many books, so little time. So far I'd estimate we've cataloged about a third of what is there, 714 volumes so far, not including the half-dozen boxes that were already packed (but not cataloged) before we started, or the books at the storage unit (which may equal or even exceed the books in my study), or the things I have here with me at my apartment. Yes, bibliomania. It's a frightening occupational obsession of many UU clergy, I've noticed. Myself obviously included.

But that's not really what I wanted to write about.

What I'm realizing as I work to pack up my place at the Eastland is how much I am going to miss that physical space, even though it never really had a chance to come together the way I envisioned it would, even though since coming down with cancer I haven't really been able to use it much at all, except as a very expensive guest room. But this is what I've noticed. I open the door to that room, from the outside an anonymous door just like hundreds of others in that same building -- and I'm transported into a sanctuary of my mind...surrounded by my familiar desk and office furniture, and a collection of books I have acquired over a lifetime, all specifically related to one of my own personal interests, and there at my fingertips whenever I want it. Outside could be anywhere. But inside I am at the center of my own "intellectual space" -- an expression of a lifetime's worth of thought and curiosity, externalized and made manifest in paper and ink.

And that part I can recreate anywhere in the world I want to. But here's the part that made the Eastland special. Like First Parish itself, it too is located "in the heart of the city," about halfway actually between the church and my home, and with a magnificent rooftop lounge where rain or shine (or in snow or even on a bright summer day!) I could go in the afternoon when my mind was getting fuzzy and I was tired of working, and sit at a table with a cup of coffee or a diet coke and write in my journal while looking out over the city and the harbor. And that part I WON'T be able to recreate easily on the West Coast. Which is just another thing I'm going to miss when I leave here, and that I'm angry at the cancer for having stolen it from me, and maybe even a little regretful that I didn't work harder to explore options that might have allowed me to remain on here in Portland a little longer.

Not that I think it would have made any difference in the long run. That's another think I'm discovering as I pack this library. I just can't get as much done in a day as I used to. So, it almost goes without saying -- when I go I'm going to miss the people very much, but I'm not going to miss the winter weather one little bit. And my study at the Eastland...well, I'm going to be missing that much more than one might imagine, both for what it was and for what it represented -- a quiet and contemplative place where I could go to center myself, and a high and open space from which I could enjoy not just a 360 degree panoramic view of the city, but also a clear and inspiring vision of my adopted community unobstructed by anything but the limits of my own imagination. Not bad for a shabby old run-down hotel where the service is slow and the food only mediocre, everything feels like it's under constant repair, and not even the wireless internet service can be counted on. Still, I'm going to miss this old lady I've learned to love. And at least they still allow dogs!

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Bucket List

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`
Last night I kinda went back on a promise that I'd made to myself, and watched the movie "The Bucket List." For those of you unfamiliar with the plot and premise of this film, two terminal cancer patents -- one an extravagant over-the-top Billionaire (Jack Nicholson) and the other an automobile mechanic and devoted family man (Morgan Freeman) make a list of things to do before they "kick the bucket," and then set out to do just that in the time that they have left to them.

I'd avoided seeing this movie because it seemed just a little too close to home, and also because I didn't especially like the premise of the whole "bucket list" idea in the first place. But as it turned out, it was just another sentimental buddy movie, where the screen presence of two superstar performers sometimes obscured what was actually a very interesting and closely-crafted script. Rob Reiner's direction may have had something to do with that as well -- the whole film just seemed...well, technically competent, emotionally predictable, and just a little too contrived. But I still enjoyed it, and also think it's a movie that could grow on me in time. It was fun seeing Rob Morrow (who played Joel on the series "Northern Exposure") back playing a Doctor again. That sort of thing. But I didn't mean to turn this into a film review....

What bothered me about the movie was the way it played upon cliches and stereotypes of the cancer experience, without really exploring the heart of what living with (and dying from) cancer is really like. Which admittedly would have been hard to do. But that's kinda what I'd expected, and one of the reasons I'd stayed away from watching this movie up until now. But I also found that the "buddy" aspect of the movie came across very well, even if the actors themselves often seemed to be playing caricatures of themselves (or, more accurately, their previous film persona), rather than the characters scripted by the writer. But enough already. I'm still not convinced I ought to write my OWN bucket list. But maybe if I watch the movie one more time....

“You know, the ancient Egyptians had a beautiful belief about death. When their souls got to the entrance to heaven, the guards asked two questions. Their answers determined whether they were able to enter or not. ‘Have you found joy in your life?’ 'Has your life brought joy to others?’”
--Carter Chambers (played by Morgan Freeman) in "The Bucket List"

โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

2009.0505-Cinco De Mayo

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
~
And a lovely surprise call over the weekend from "Mrs Chris" -- the wife of a good friend of mine from Camano Island, whose family lives here in Maine and owns property at Higgins Beach. "Mr Chris" and I have known each other since childhood; my mom and his aunt were sorority sisters at Washington State University in the '50's, and our beachhouses now are three doors apart on Camano. The Higgins Beach connection has been nice because once I left Nantucket, it has allowed us to get together summers out here instead of back on Juniper Beach as we have every summer since we were kids. That makes us truly "bicoastal beach bums" (which I think was one of the team names we played Trivia under last summer at Bingas, before the fire).

In any case, Mrs Chris and I met up for breakfast at that wonderful Portland landmark Beckys, and had a lovely time catching up on everything that has been going on in our respective families since I last visited with them last summer. And now I'm really looking forward to seeing them all again out west on the Fourth of July.

Meanwhile, today also marked the last of my 16 sessions of radiation therapy to my right lung. Will see my regular oncologist again on Monday, but it will probably be another month before we'll really know how much good this has done me. In the meantime though, I'm starting to think about trying to make this a daily blog again, more in keeping with its original theme of sharing and documenting my experience with this lung cancer. So I guess we'll just have to see how that goes. And my apologies in advance if it all just starts to sound a little mundane...because that's just my life these days.

Thank God.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Everything Must Change

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
~
Finally dragged myself out of bed this AM and was greeted by this horoscope from Yahoo: "You're feeling philosophical today, which means it'll be way too easy to get lost in your own thoughts. Think too much about big issues right now, and you will get overwhelmed by the sheer scope of things. So focus on keeping things simple and straightforward today. Otherwise, you will never get out of bed. Your mind had a tendency to over think, which can be paralyzing. You need to stay in touch with the reality of what needs to be done..."

WHEW!!!

Played hooky from my own congregation yesterday, in order to hear Brian McLaren speak at Immanuel Baptist Church. I'd been looking forward this for almost a year, but was a little disappointed, in part simply because I had just finished reading his most recent book earlier that week, and yesterday's presentation was pretty much just more of the same only not as good, but mostly because of logistical issues at the church itself. Sound system wasn't very good, for example, and created a bit of an echo which made it difficult for me to understand what he was saying. Likewise, when I arrived at the church (at the front door of the sanctuary, no less!) there was no one there to greet me or offer me directions; took me 15 or 20 minutes in the wheelchair just to get myself up the steps (six of them, in three groups of two) and into the building, then back into the parish hall where I was finally able to find someone who could point me to the chapel (more steps, this time down) where Brian was speaking, and already about half-way through his presentation. It was a very vivid contrast to the way we handle newcomer hospitality at First Parish,

Didn't really feel much inspired by the worship service either, where (it being the first Sunday of the month) they were serving communion. I had to leave early anyway because by that point my bladder was about to burst (I know Too Much Information), so I left as discretely as one can wheeling up a wheelchair ramp, and then afterwards stashed myself in the parlor until lunchtime. Did meet a few interesting folk there (even though...or perhaps because...I was eating in the alternative, "handicapped accessible" lunch space), including a retired Baptist Minister from Boston who informed me that Immanuel Baptist has 15 retired and/or community-based ministers as members of the congregation, including John Carmen (a retired professor from Harvard Divinity School). I imagine they must either be a real resource or a regular handful for the called and settled minister there! What do you call a collection of clergy like that? I can remember when there weren't that many ordained UU ministers in the entire state of Washington. Or Oregon. And I STILL don't think there are that many in the state of Idaho!

Meanwhile, back at First Parish I missed the monthly pancake breakfast (which is always a treat to attend), and with it a presentation about our current "budget issues." I guess there was some miscommunication between the finance people and the breakfast people about how that was all supposed to take place, which resulted in some confusion and misunderstanding at the time...it's not really my bailiwick any more, but it still bothers me to see mix-ups like that happen, when they are so easy to avoid. I've also heard (unconfirmed) reports that at least two different groups of newcomers showed up for the breakfast, discovered the budget meeting, and left before services even started. That's kind of an eye opener too, but given MY experience at Immanuel, it makes me just that much more sensitive to how quickly and easily we can loose track of how other people perceive us, and especially about the subtle (and not so subtle) barriers we put up between "insiders" and "outsiders."

And I guess if this were still my bailiwick I would want to remind folks of that, and also encourage them to bring a hopeful and optimistic attitude to this entire process, rather than letting the dismal pessimism which so often accompanies these procedures hold sway. The primary mission of this church (or any church) is NOT to "balance the budget." A budget is merely a sheet of paper with a lot of numbers on it: a spending plan and some revenue projections. It's a moving target. It describes a potential reality; it doesn't create it. That comes later. Mt 6:25-33 "But seek first the Kingdom of God and its righteousness, and all these [other] things will be given to you as well."

WHEW! again. Now, if I can just stay in touch with the reality of what needs to be done....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

More Souter on my Mind

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”


And I suppose one of the reasons I will so miss David Souter on the bench is his down-to-earth attitude. He's a frugal, New Hampshire bachelor who once described his position on the Supreme Court as "the best job in the world in the worst city in the world" -- in other words, just my kinda guy. I can understand why he will be happy to get back home to his farm here in New England, but I also imagine he will miss the intellectual stimulation that his position as an Associate Justice offered to him.



Furthermore, between her serious cancer and his advanced age, I always thought that either Ruth Bader Ginsberg or John Paul Stevens would be the first to step down. But apparently they both plan to keep working a little longer, so the 69-year-old Souter is taking his chance at "early" retirement (at his full salary) and then, like his one-time Court Colleague Sandra Day O'Conner, apparently plans to continue to hear cases at the appellate level as part of a program to help lighten the backlog of of appeals created by the confirmation backlog. But with Arlen Specter coming over from the "Dark Side," and Al Franken FINALLY on the threshold of being awarded HIS seat in the Senate, the Democrats should finally be able to field a filibuster-proof 60-vote majority, and be able to confirm whoever Obama decides to appoint.



Judging from the press reports, New York's "two-fer" Judge Sonia Sotomayor (female and Hispanic) seems to be the front-runner. But I kinda like Stanford's Kathleen Sullivan, with Sotomayor still "on the bench" until the next seat comes open. And even under normal circumstances, Obama may actually get a chance to appoint as many as four new Justices, since there is also some talk that Anthony Kennedy may be thinking of retirement as well.

drawing by Kerry Waghorn

Pity though that (short of a virulent swine flu pandemic) there doesn't seem to be much hope of either Antonin Scalia or Clarence Thomas stepping down any time soon. Scalia at least can be entertaining, if his opinions weren't so outrageous (and didn't potentially have the force of law). And speaking of Clarence Thomas, in my opinion Arlen Specter still has an awful lot to answer for when it comes to THAT confirmation fiasco. I wonder whether Anita Hill will make it on to anyone's short list?



But mostly it's the retirement thing I'm ruminating about. What DOES one do after one has "retired" from the best job in the world? That's the lesson I'm hoping David Souter can help ME learn. And relatively quickly....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

THE ECLECTIC CLERIC - "Mother, May I?"

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

Now that the month of May is fast upon us, I am down to my final two appearances in the pulpit here at First Parish. On May 10th, Mother’s Day, I will be preaching on the topic “Wir Alles sind Gotts Kinder” (“We are all God’s children” -- I’ll explain why the German in the Sermon), and then on Memorial Day weekend (Sunday May 24th) will be my last appearance ever as your settled parish minister, title and topic still to be determined.


These last two sermons will also represent the 653rd and 654th sermons of my career, as well as the 43rd and 44th sermons I have delivered to this congregation, beginning with the very first sermon I preached here as a candidate on Mother’s Day two years ago -- the same day I discovered that my own mother had been hospitalized with a recurrence of her cancer, a cancer that would eventually take her life in a matter of only a few weeks.

The title of that first candidating sermon: “A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City,” has continued to provide the theme for everything else we’ve attempted to do together here these past two years, through both my cancer and an economic meltdown that has touched the lives of just about everyone I know, both neighbor and stranger alike. Likewise, the distance we have traveled together in that time: spiritually, socially, psychologically, emotionally...seems immense.

And yet, in the greater scheme of things it is really only the blink of an eye: about 4% of my current life span (although perhaps 50% of my current life expectancy), less than six-tenths of one per cent of the history of First Parish itself. And I have no way whatsoever of measuring the effect that my ministry may have had on any of your lives personally, but I hope that it has been a meaningful and positive one.

As I have said on several other occasions, the privilege of being someone’s minister is NOT something clergy receive on account of our education or our credentials, or ultimately even as a result of our elective “call” and the subsequent covenantal relationship we enter into structured by the rules and traditions of our ecclesiastical polity. Rather, it is a relationship we earn one individual at a time, each time someone new decides we are worthy of being THEIR minister, and entrusts us with that sacred responsibility.

So thank you so much, all of you who have found me trustworthy in this way these past two years. As I prepare to return home now to the West Coast, to be closer to my family and to give 100% of my attention to fighing this disease, knowing that I carry with me the prayers and good wishes of so many of you makes a huge difference. Thank you so much for the privilege of having been your minister. And thank you again for the many ways that you have ministered to me as well.............twj
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"... with an independent, even quirky streak."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”

Usually I try not to post overtly political content here, reserving it for one of the many other forums I have available to me for expressing those opinions. But today I noticed that Supreme Court Justice David Souter has announced his retirement from the bench, and coming on the heels of Arlene Specter's announcement that he was leaving the Republican party, I just felt the urge to comment.

One of the news articles described Souter as "a typical old-fashioned Yankee Republican — a moderate, with an independent, even quirky streak." This was something I always admired about Souter -- and about New England Republicans like Elliott Richardson, Olympia Snow, even the first President Bush (who appointed Souter in the first place). They were individuals of principle, and even though our opinions might differ, we could still engage in intelligent and mutually illuminating conversation, rather than simply being subjugated to a lot of opinionated hot air (washed down with a lot more "ditto, Rush"). That old Republican party (as many have observed) is now endangered and all but extinct, while the loud-mouthed, short-sighted, half-witted beast that has evolved to take its place literally scares the Bejeezus out of me.

It's hard to say precisely when those old fashioned Republicans lost sway. Some would say it happened with Sarah Palin, while others might look all the way back to Colin Powell's willingness to carry water on the "intelligence" for going to war in Iraq. But personally, I think the Harriet Miers nomination represents some sort of ideological "tipping point of no return." Not only did it reveal how badly the last Administration was out of touch with the rest of the country (and the world!), it suggested how badly they were out of touch with reality itself. Fortunately, the grown-ups showed up, cooler heads prevailed, and the meltdown was averted for the moment.

Everything changed with the election of 2008 -- regardless of which "side" you were on. Karl Rove's "permanent Republican majority" now appears to be mostly a small group of heavily-armed and delusionally-paranoid white males ready to shoot it out with cops (or anyone else who gets in their way) at the smallest provocation. The right-wing talk-radio echo-chamber is filled with blather about "coup, succession, or armed rebellion," not to mention doubts about the President's citizenship and such. Anne Coulter is being Anne Coulter. Who could of dreamed of a Republican party where NEWT GINGRICH was the moderate, responsible voice? It's all just too much to ponder....

And yet ponder it I do. Ponder and pray....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

WARRIORS AND PRIESTS (II)

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
from The Professional Soldier, by Morris Janowitz (1960)

Military officers frequently made reference to linkage between their profession and the ministry. One Army colonel, when asked about the gratifications of military life, said: “It is not too different from priesthood or ministry in serving a cause.” In a letter a retired naval captain wrote to his son, which was widely distributed, the analogy is spelled out in detail:

The naval profession is much like the ministry. You dedicate your life to a purpose. You wear the garb of an organized profession. Your life is governed by rules laid down by the organizations. You renounce your pursuit of wealth. In a large measure you surrender your citizenship; renounce politics; work for the highest good of the organization. In the final analysis, your aims and object are quite as moral as any minister’s because you are not seeking your own good, but the ultimate good of your country. You train the men under you to be good and useful citizens, and, like the minister, what you say must conform to the rules of the organization.

It has not been unusual for a young man to have made a decision as to whether he would enter the ministry or the military. In the United States, and more often in Europe, sons of clergy have frequently taken up a military career. Conversely, officers who resigned from the military have found in the clergy an expression of their desire to “do service and perform in the name of a great cause.”


***

These ancient archetypes: the hunter and the shaman, the warrior and the priest, have been at the heart of human society since before civilization or recorded history. Only motherhood is arguably an older "profession." In an earlier post I suggested that there was potentially a great deal that clergy could learn about their vocation by studying the leadership experiences of commissioned military officers. So it's interesting to discover that this scrutiny has occurred in the other direction as well, and that military commanders are looking to religious and spiritual leaders in order to better understand the challenges facing them when leading soldiers in combat.

And at some point this will probably be worthy of a much longer post. But for now I just observe that Schaller's book is about 25 years old now, and Janowitz's more than 50. A lot of things have changed in both the military and the ministry in that time. Yet with such ancient archetypes, the fundamentals endure, and continue to be illuminating. What do other folks see here? Is this really a worthy line of inquiry leading to profound insight? Or am I just way off base here, without a lot of foundation or support?
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Church Shopping

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
OK, this is all now Old News. But it's also still good news for churches like ours, if we are in a position to take advantage of it. What are the three most important qualities newcomers are looking for when seeking a new church? Believe it or not, it has almost NOTHING to do with theological orientation, political correctness, or denominational affiliation. Rather, the three most important factors seem to be

1) Location: how close is it to my home? how long will it take for me to get there? how easy will it be for me to find a place to park, etc. etc.

2) Leadership: in particular, how much do I like the minister, and do they really seem to practice what they preach? Is the minister open-minded or judgmental? Genuinely interested in me, or only interested in what I can contribute to the church?"

3) Overall Fit and Friendliness: do I really feel at home here, or is something just not right? How welcome do I feel, are people glad to see me, how easy has it been to form "honest to God" friendships?

It almost goes without saying that people who have been members of a particular congregation for a significant period of time tend to forget what their church looks like to someone who is passing through the doors for the first time. That first impression is critical; I've even seen research suggesting that most first-time visitors have made up their minds about whether or not they will return within about 30 seconds of their arrival. The second visit is even more important; if there is just one person there who remembers the newcomer and greets them by name, the odds of that person eventually becoming a formal member of the congregation skyrocket. So make up your mind to meet someone new yourself this next Sunday. Sure, you could make a mistake, and accidently greet someone who has been attending First Parish for 20 years. But that wouldn't be such a bad thing either, would it?
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Monday, Monday

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
My Dad and Debra are heading back home to Sacramento this afternoon, after all too short a visit here. But they have things to attend to in California too, not the least of which is getting things prepared there for my arrival later this summer. As I've said many times, I dread the process of making this move, but I will be so happy to BE MOVED -- to have transported myself and all this well, "stuff," that I have accumulated over the years all to one place, and to settle in for however long God gives me to doing whatever she has planned for me.

I know, it sounds fatalistic. And I had hoped that with good health Portland might have been that place -- a place where I could finish my career with a long-tenured ministry of a decade or more in partnership with a congregation that really seemed to appreciate and thrive with what I had to offer them. And I got my turn, I think I've made my mark...I have no idea how long it will last, but I suspect that the vision of being Portland's Original Faith Community and "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City" will endure for quite some time, since they arose originally out of the congregation itself. I simply heard them, and repeated them out loud until they started to sink in everywhere.

I'm proud of what we were able to accomplish in terms of Worship and Newcomer Hospitality: how we have worked to define that place of "elegant simplicity" which honors the traditional ambiance of the building and still leaves us space to experiment and be human. Of course, this will be the first thing up for grabs both next year and for the the new minister, as well I suppose it should be. But I'm certain the hospitality piece will remain in place; again, it's something that predates my tenure here, and which is now part of the culture itself.

Oddly, the thing I'm MOST proud of is the re-creation of an effective Finance Council. Last spring First Parish was facing a potential crisis: the Treasurer was resigning his post and moving to Belize, and no one could be found to take his place. Carl himself has suggested a "two-headed" treasurer, essentially dividing the job up between a "collector" who handled the revenue side of the ledger, and a "controller" who wrote the checks and managed expenses. But even this was proving difficult to create. I knew what the answer was: bring together all of the key players around the same table for a First Parish "financial summit," and let them work it out among themselves, which is exactly what we did, Wednesday April 30th, 2008 in the main lounge at the Seaside Rehabilitation Hospital and Health Center. My vision, my initiative, my living room...but apart from that they did it all themselves, which is exactly as it should be. Success has a thousand parents, they say, but failure is an orphan. Plenty of credit to go around here, and I honestly believe that a highly-functioning Finance Council may well prove the difference between whether this congregation struggles or thrives over the next five years.

Gosh, don't quite know how I got on to THAT topic! Maybe it was just because yesterday after church there was a brief congregational meeting to review the pledge campaign and elect the Search Committee who will chose my eventual successor. Think the Nominating Committee did an EXCELLENT job regarding the latter, and the news from the former looks fairly promising to me as well, although it could certainly be "spun" pessimistically as well. I haven't been paying too much attention to these numbers, because I don't really feel that it's my place any more; did get an advance report of what was going to be presented at the meeting, but I didn't actually attend the meeting itself since I didn't really feel that it was my place to do so. But either choice would have been awkward. So I chose to go to lunch with my family, rather than attend a meeting about things that will take place after I have left here permanently.

I've enjoyed having my Dad and Debra here these past few weeks, as well as the visit from my brother Erik and his children this weekend. It was a handful, but also delightful, and I will miss seeing them when I move back to the West Coast as well. At lunch, Erik offered a very interesting Trivia Quiz which pretty much stumped us all; posted it over at another of my blogsites, just to give folks something different to click on. Meanwhile, this week it's back to radiation, back to book packing, back to saying farewell to the good people of this parish who have come to mean so much to me. And then it's off to the Faraway Island to preach on June 21st, and then to Seattle on or around the 30th of June. How quickly the time seems to be passing! I just want to slow down and savor every second of it!
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Four Stages of Stewardship

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
A colleague of mine posted these to one of the ministerial internet CHAT-groups I read. I thought it was interesting, so I'm passing it along.


The Consumer pays for services received. The church is a store.

The Co-Op Member pays fair share of expenses. The church is a shared facility -- like a cabin shared by siblings.

The Owner invests more than necessary to create more. The church is a small business enterprise.

The Benefactor invests for the benefit of others with no hope of personal return. The church is a gift to the future.

Of course, my reflections didn't end there either. Because this list also reminded me of the "Golden Ladder of Giving" by the medieval Jewish philosopher Maimonides, which I first learned about from "Building Your Own Theology."

Maimonides' Eight Degrees of Charity (from about.com/judaism)

8. When donations are given grudgingly.

7. When one gives less than he should, but does so cheerfully.

6. When one gives directly to the poor upon being asked.

5. When one gives directly to the poor without being asked.

4. When the recipient is aware of the donor's identity, but the donor does not know the identity of the recipient.

3. When the donor is aware of the recipient's identity, but the recipient is unaware of the source.

2. When the donor and recipient are unknown to each other.

1. The highest form of charity is to help sustain a person before they become impoverished by offering a substantial gift in a dignified manner, or by extending a suitable loan, or by helping them find employment or establish themselves in business so as to make it unnecessary for them to become dependent on others.


In these hard economic times, the mission of the church becomes ever more pressing and essential. But for those of us who have been fortunate enough to still have the ability to be generous, perhaps these words will be an inspiration to become true benefactors, both to neighbors known and unknown.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

And a dreary, blustery Thursday too....

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`

And I'm just kicking myself now for not thinking to take photos with my phone, of the retired Bank President and the retired University President helping me sort out my self-storage locker in advance of my move to Sacramento this summer. Also had a hand from the Stewardship Campaign Chair, as well as the "usual suspects" -- Jackie, my Dad and Debra -- and I'm truly astonished at how much we were able to accomplish in just a couple of hours, removing things from storage that were either trash or suitable for donation, and then consolidating and organizing the rest of the boxes, so that they could be returned to the unit in an orderly manner -- the things that will be going to California in the far back, with the heavy furniture and such (that will either be sold or donated) near the front, and plenty of room for additional items from my study and the apartment I'm living in now.

Lot's of clothes, bedding, and kitchen gear, not to mention all my basketball equipment. It used to be something of an uncomfortably funny joke, how many basketballs, shorts, jerseys, and sneakers I own. Does anybody really NEED that many gym bags? Of course not. It's just a collection, that's all: something that gives me pleasure in an eccentric, but relatively harmless way. What I would give simply to still be able to shoot a jump shot in rhythm now! And yes, I'm keeping them all -- at least for the time being. My father has no business complaining. He should know as well as anyone, that the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.

Most of the rest is books, of course, which will probably be cheaper just to mail...except that means we will have to weigh every box individually and lift it AT LEAST three times, whereas if we simply ship them with freight company the only time we have to touch them at all is when we pack them here and when we unpack them there. I honestly have no idea exactly how many books I own (probably somewhere between four and five thousand volumes), but one of the things I'm hoping to do as we pack them is to catalog them at the same time. It's so easy to type the ISBN into one of these on-line cataloging services, and to watch as the computer does all the work. I'm signed up now with a service called "Library Thing," and we cataloged a dozen or so volumes this afternoon just to see how it works; now the plan is to work for a few hours each afternoon doing the same thing, but packing the books as well as we go. I think my dad finds it a little annoying, but I know my mom would be delighted. The fruit doesn't fall far from that side of the tree either....

In any event, working today alongside Wes and Bill and Alan and all the others just reminded me once again how proud I am to have enjoyed the privilege of being the minister of this church, and to have been called by them out of some thirty-odd other aspirants as the person best suited to lead this congregation into the next era of its nearly 350 year history. And we were off to such a great start together, then along comes cancer...stupid, icky, awful, sucky cancer...and yet, the vision is still there, the dream is still alive, and all the potential and the possibilities and the opportunities are just as viable now as they ever were.

Well, maybe not exactly; in addition to my illness, there is also this little thing called the "economic downturn" to deal with. But if anything, that just makes the mission and effective ministry of this community even more urgently needed, which is why feel so bad about not being able to hold up my own end. Instead, retired Bankers and University Presidents are doing my heavy lifting for me, while I am relegated to pointing with my cane and trying to stay out of the way. 21 months, with an additional 2 yet to go. Then it's off to sunny California, and whatever God has waiting for me there.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Rainy Day Wednesday

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
`




And suddenly just keeping up with all the little things there are to do in life is becoming almost too burdensome to bear. Daily 7:30 AM Radiation appointments probably aren't helping matters much, and by 3 pm both my Dad and I are pretty much shot for the day. We've done a little bit of packing up in my office at church, managed to get my bicycle shipped to my daughter today also, and I'm gradually getting around to making inquiries about changing over my health insurance, finding a new team of doctors on the West Coast, and contracting with a moving company to get everything shipped cross-country when I leave here.

Also working to finish up strong regarding my last few sacerdotal responsibilities: I'll be preaching on Mother's Day and Memorial Day, and will probably have a brief word of farewell to make at the Annual Meeting May 31st; I'm also scheduled to preach on Nantucket for the Summer Solstice, Midsummer's night eve, Sunday June 21st...that's just sixty days from now, which I'm so afraid will just fly by me in a blur.

Meanwhile, my Dad and his wife Debra are scheduled to fly back to Sacramento next Monday, which doesn't really give us that much time left together either. In between moving and medical errands we've also been making the rounds of the many friends my father has made at church in the year or so he's been traveling out here to be with me during my illness. All of it important, and becoming increasingly urgent as time slips away. Perhaps a metaphor of my larger situation in life as well. But at least on that front, everything seems to be going very well indeed. I'm actually beginning to worry that I may outlive my disability benefits, and have to go back to work!

OK, I worry about a LOT of stupid things. Maybe I'll just let that one alone for the time being....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Rumor and Reality

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
~

There's a saying I once heard somewhere to the effect that "a lie can travel half-way 'round the world before truth can get its pants on." Or maybe it was shoes, or boots, and all the way 'round the world (or six times 'round the world) -- I've seen it attributed to Winston Churchill, and to Mark Twain, and even to James Watt (remember him?), but the basic truthfulness of the proverb doesn't really depend much upon who first said it, or how quickly falsehoods travel, or even what Truth is or is not wearing. The rumors start, the gossip flows, and the next thing you know, everyone you meet knows something that just isn't true, and the best one can do is to try to correct it every time we hear it, and to hope that once the Truth is fully dressed it will eventually catch up with the lie and beat the crap out of it.

In the meantime though, I find it best to take everything I hear with at least a small grain of salt, and to try not to repeat gossip EVER, even when I KNOW it's true but also nobody's business. Which is the other issue, of course -- that the lies somehow always seem to be a little more racy, and titillating, and scandalous, than the plain, unadorned truth ever can be. Which is one of the BIG problems with news as entertainment, and the whole market-driven metaphor of the meaning of life, which has us pursuing happiness as quickly as we can commodify it, and package it for retail delivery.

Anyway, if you're waiting now for some big revelation about me, sorry to disappoint you. So far as I know, things are relatively quiet on this front in my life at the moment, although they certainly haven't always been that way. I can't even recall all of the strange things I've heard second-hand have been said about me (supposedly) behind my back over the years -- frankly, don't want to either. They were nothing but lies to begin with, the people who originated them were liars, and those who repeated them were not much better. "Lying, slime-eating, scum-sucking sons-of-bitches" one of my more venerable colleagues would have called them, although I think "Christ-hating" fit somewhere into that description as well.

Meanwhile, honesty, integrity, humility, truthfulness, trustworthiness, compassion, gratitude, generosity, fidelity, service, and so many other "old-fashioned" classical/Christian virtues (including honor, duty, and sacrifice): these are the values that allow Truth to put lies and liars in their place. Which is also why the worst lies of all are those which cynically insult those values in the process of spreading their own falsehood. But now I sense myself in danger of turning this into a full-blown rant. When actually I'm just a little annoyed by the bizarre treatment being given our new "Commander in Leash," and the legitimacy of his credentials as a "rescue" dog. I mean, really people... Really.

According to The Daily Show's Jon Stewart, "Bo" Obama is America's first openly gay First Dog.

But apparently he still likes a good romp through the Halls of Power, just like any other dog would.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Dreamcatcher

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
-


And another small joy I forgot to mention about Easter -- my homeless Navajo friend Walter was in church yesterday, along with another friend of his from the shelter...it had been several weeks since I'd seen him, and I was actually starting to get a little worried about him I'm not really sure if I can accurately describe how or why Walter and I became friends. He pretty much started out like anyone else who might wander in off the street to get warm and have a little free coffee and food on a Sunday morning, or to touch me for twenty bucks for food or a bus ticket or whatever. But for some reason we connected; he started coming to church more and more often, sitting off in the back corner but eventually making a few other friends at church as well.

When I got sick myself I'm told he disappeared for awhile, but he was back again this last autumn, selling these Navajo "Dreamcatchers" to tourists on the street in order to make a little money, and occasionally even putting a little of it in the plate. Then HE got sick, and spent six weeks up at Maine Med -- got himself detoxed, and linked up with a caseworker, and the next thing you know he's been admitted to college to study art and (of course) nervous as hell about it, although he understands what a great opportunity it is for him. Anyway, next task is to take him out shopping for school clothes, which I know will be a big adventure too, since right now pretty much all he wears is all-weather camo, which is what he got used to in the military.

I suspect Walter appreciates me because I befriended him at church (just as I would attempt to any other repeat visitor), and went to visit him at the hospital when he was there, even though (as he knows) I was/am seriously ill myself. I like Walter for a lot of reasons, mostly because of his personality and his attitude: his optimism, his resilience, his ingenuity, patience and tenacity. Qualities maybe he doesn't even see in himself, but which I see and believe in. He reminds me a lot of Steve the Sailor in that way, whose spirit still inspires me now months after his death. I enjoy it when Walter brings me a little gift, or prays for me in the Navajo language, which I find strangely inspiring and invigorating. And I really want this college opportunity to work out for him. Which is my prayer. In plain English.

In any event, a few weeks ago Walter dropped off a couple of dreamcatchers for me at the office. Last night I finally opened one up, and hung it over the head of my bed. And guess what? No bad dreams! So maybe there's something to all this after all....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Easter Sunday

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
"Lo, the day of days is here...Alleluia...." And I actually had very minimal responsibilities in yesterday's service: welcomed everyone to church (as I do every Sunday), supervised the announcements, lit the chalice, introduced the opening hymn, and then led our unison affirmation before inviting the children up to hear a story and wheeling myself down the ramp to the front row. And yet even that little part I couldn't quite handle correctly. First mistake was that I welcomed everyone to our worship service at the First Parish in Portland Oregon...a mistake I've been able to avoid making for almost two years now, but which eventually caught up with me. Big laugh at my expense as i explained that before moving here I'd lived 14 years in the other Portland, and was moving back again that way soon. There was also a special Easter introit that I nearly skipped over completely; thank God (no, G-D! that Charlie (our minister of music) was there to catch my mistake and pick-up quickly as soon as I had finished the Chalice Lighting, but before I had an opportunity to introduce the first hymn.

The most interesting thing though was that i had prepared a little insert for the bulletin on behalf of the Committee on Ministry, talking about these next two months and the plans we are making to celebrate my intense yet all-too-brief two-year ministry here, and to say our goodbyes in ways that will be meaningful to everyone. And I had what I can only describe as a Mark 13:11 moment -- just opened my mouth and the spirit spoke through me, and afterwards...well, it's been a long time since anything like that has happened to me. It's no wonder I nearly skipped the introit.

In any event, the rest of the service was lovely and inspiring, just as it should have been. Children's Story, Candlesharing, a prayer and the offertory, and a very simple and straightforward message from Will (appropriate to the fact that we still had the children with us) about the "Three Questions" - the answers to which are "Whoever is here, Whatever we can, and Now."

Brother Erik left for Connecticut about 3 pm, while my Father and his wife arrived from California about 5. A smooth changing of the guard, as it were. They'll be here for about three weeks, most of which time I'm going to be spending getting radiation treatment. Started out with a so-so Easter dinner at the Eastland -- slow, expensive, and otherwise unremarkable -- and yet once again, I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed that hotel, and how much I'm going to miss it when I'm gone. And now, it's Monday AM and time for me to be facing yet another week as a cancer survivor. This week, I think, should be a good one.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Tempus Fugit

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”

***

How Time Flies. And before too long, Tim will be flying out of here as well. With only a couple of months left in his tenure here at First Parish, the opportunities for saying our personal “fare-wells” are quickly disappearing.

But the Committee on Ministry is planning a variety of occasions to help remedy this situation. For starters, there is always your old fashioned “BLCS” appointment. “Breakfast, Lunch, Coffee, Supper” -- just pick a date (or two, just in case), pick up the phone, call Tim at his local number [(207) 233-7035 - you can also e-mail him at uuclericmindspringcom] and take it from there. Here is a list of some of Tim’s favorite places, most of them right here on the Peninsula: Beckys, Hot Suppa, the Portland Dinner, Dennys, Friendlys, the Top of the East, Norms, Wild Willies, Gilberts, Mesa Verde, the Green Elephant, King of the Roll, Bonobos, and the Beale Street BBQ. Or maybe you have a favorite place of your own that you would like to share with Tim before he goes. And you can always just meet up for a (free) cup of coffee over at 75 State Street. Because it’s not really about the food. It’s about the companionship.

Another option is to host a small party for Tim and a handful of other church members in your own home. Again, this doesn’t have to be elaborate: it can be anything from a traditional church potluck or sit-down dinner party to delivery pizza or some kind of take-out. There are plenty of dates available to do this; Tim is basically free every night except the Saturdays before he preaches (May 9th and May 23rd) or when otherwise committed to attend a church committee meeting. Once again, if you would like to host a party like this, it is best first to confirm a time and date with Tim, and then set out to plan the menu and the guest list.

Finally, the COM is coordinating a handful of events at church for people who prefer to say their good-byes in public. These include after-church get-togethers similar to the “Meet the Minister” sessions for newcomers, as well as an all-church reception and picnic following Tim’s final sermon here Memorial Day weekend, May 24th.

Tim’s time among us has been much too short, but profoundly intense. Please take the time to tell Tim what his ministry has meant to you, and to wish him well in his on-going battle with cancer. In the long run, we think you will be happy that you did.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Good Friday

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
The First Parish Seder


And I'm running a little behind here with my posts, having hoped to keep up pretty much in "real" time. But the nice thing about the internet is that it lets you change the time if you like.

Good Friday was also the date of our annual First Parish seder -- a tradition that's been going on here for over a decade now, and has just been passed down to a new leader, since the woman who originated the service here just moved to Portland Oregon. And this was also, I'm told, the best attended seder we have ever held, with over 50 participants. A fun, joyous, convivial time...but also a time for us all to be reminded of the reality of slavery and oppression still in this world, and the important Passover lessons of hospitality, gratitude, compassion....

I was there with my brother and nephew, who had just celebrated their own Seder a few days earlier. Erik converted to Judaism when he married his current wife in 1999, but neither of them are especially observant, and Erik especially I think might best be described as "Jewnitarian" at best. Have some photos I want to post too, but I haven't quite figured out how to get them from my cell phone to the computer to here.

For me though, this Good Friday/Passover Seder truly was a "Last Supper" with these good folk: a reminder again of how much I love them and how much I am going to miss them, and yet also a reminder that my time here among them is nearly finished, and I have other things awaiting me down the road.

One of oUUr Stalwart Cooks, near the end of a long evening
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Maundy Thursday

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Went in to see the Radiation Oncologist again yesterday for more tattoos -- (c.f. Saturday March 29, 2008 in the left sidebar), since Monday I start another 15 days of radiation treatment, this time on my right lung to see whether they can re-open the airway into that upper lobe and get it re-inflated. April seems to be becoming radiation month for me. Always a helluva way to begin the Spring.

Yesterday was also my exit interview with the District Executive, which was another big step forward in helping me to put everything in context here. If I could still count on living for another 20-25 years, I would have happily invested half of my remaining lifetime here at First Parish. They truly are a remarkable group of people, as well as everything anyone could ever ask for in a faith community, and I felt SO PROUD to have been called to serve as their minister. But knowing that even now, as a year-long cancer survivor, I only have a 25% chance of being alive five years from now, helps me see how maybe two years really was all the time I could afford to spend here. But hey? -- look how much Jesus got done in only three! And yes, there are a lot more things I would have liked to have accomplished here before I go...but I also have a lot of OTHER things I would like to accomplish before I REALLY go, and I think this is what a lot of people have been trying to tell me all along, and that it was really only my own misplaced sense of duty and obligation that was keeping me from seeing that clearly.

As for accomplishments here (one of the interview questions), I don't really know that I've accomplished anything that will last much beyond my departure, but I think the thing I'm most pleased about is what we've done with Sunday morning -- the way we've attempted to embody this notion of Radical Hospitality in everything we do, from the moment we meet people at the front steps to the time they exit the coffee hour. We truly have taken seriously this mission of becoming "A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City," as well as "Portland's Original Faith Community (est. 1674)." I love the way that the Worship Service itself has come together around that vision as well -- especially last year, culminating with Easter Sunday (which I now realize could have easily been my "Swan Song" and a worthy one at that). A service which is easy to follow and welcoming to newcomers, but which still honors and respects the traditional worship space of our historic meeting house, and expresses those core values of Gratitude, Generosity, Humility, Service and Sacrifice (in the sense of "making sacred") Sunday after Sunday. The people here have heard this good news and embraced it, even embodied it -- which is as much as any minister might ask for.

I'm also proud of the way the Finance Council has come together, although I can't really claim any credit for that, other than getting all of the key players together in the same room (the central lounge at the Seaside Rehabilitation Center) on a pleasant summer evening. What a fantastic group of talented, intelligent, devoted, committed and hard-working souls! And what a blessing to know that I DON'T have to be involved in the day-to-day management of any of this, because it is all in much better hands than mine.

Talked a bit too about both the blessings and the trials of our "ministerial team" -- and how it somehow mysteriously morphed from a ministerial "support" team into a de facto ministerial replacement team. And how an abundance of good will helped to counterbalance a pretty significant diversity of vision and opinion, and how we made it all appear to work seamlessly despite of that, because of our respect for one another and our shared commitment to the good of the church.

And finally a lot of detailed information about various boards and committees, our "growing edges," and the like. And the truth is that I AM going to miss this place and these people very much, along with all the "lost possibilities" that leaving here represents. So many things I've had to sacrifice to this cancer now, and will never have a chance to do again. My wonderful West End walk-up apartment. Driving my car (and the independence that driving represents). My adorable little "Boston Terrorist" Parker. Binga's Wingas. Regular access to my study at the Eastland. My dream of spending a summer sailing "down east." The Sea Dogs. Working at the hospitals, the Historical Society, and the local seminary...working with local theological students, and perhaps even a resident intern. Becoming more actively involved in the local political scene, and watching this church grow, a few dozen members at a time, from the one hundred or so households it is today to whatever its full potential turns out to be.

That was the vision which brought me here, and was sustaining me here too -- along with the fantastic press we were getting the Portland Press Herald, about how this congregation had rallied around me to support me in my recovery from this illness and return to work. So many "George Bailey moments" in the past twelve months. And so much for the people who had already written me off for dead! I just wish that I knew I could count on having another decade here, or even another twelve good months. But I can't. I can't count on any of that. All I can do is act on faith, and trust that whatever God still has in mind for me to do, She will also provide me with the resources I need to do it.

Amen.

And Blessed Be...
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Palm Sunday/Holy Week

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Preached yesterday on "...the things that are God's" to a pretty full house; 22 new members received into fellowship as well, but the bad news is that I didn't actually get up into the pulpit to start preaching until about five minutes of the hour. That just seems to be the way it goes these days: about 12 minutes worth of announcements before the service even started (hey, busy church = lots of announcements), plus a special element of the service to welcome the new members...still, I thought we were pretty much caught up by the time the kids left for their classes. But then the candlesharing just went on and on and on -- lots of candles, and lots of long-winded candles too, and for some reason my colleague (who was still down on the lower chancel and supposedly monitoring these things) just let it go, without any of those little indicators to the speakers (like a discrete touch of the shoulder, etc) to clue them in that they were going too long. And the subsequent prayer might have been a little more succinct as well, especially the "moment of silence." A few months ago I'd issued an Edict that although the strategic use of silence was an important (even essential) component of our worship service, that we should try to avoid saying the word "silence" out loud, since it kind of defeats the purpose. But what can I say? With only a few more months here (including just two remaining sermons, on Mother's Day and Memorial Day weekend) I've pretty much given up the authority to make those kind of Edicts stick. And so the service ended up going an extra 20-25 minutes longer than it should have. Bad news for our Sunday School teachers, and for anyone (especially newcomers) who were counting on a "hard stop" right at the hour. But for the most part I think the congregation was pretty well engaged, and happy to sacrifice that extra half-hour for the full experience of the service. I know it's naive and idealistic, but I still like to believe that somehow when those inner doors to the sanctuary swing closed that we have entered "sacred space," where time and the demands of the rest of the world stand still while we take care of our sacred business within those four walls. Naive. Idealistic. But, thank God, more often than not still true.

Meanwhile, back in the real world it's starting to look like I'm going to be receiving a 15 day course of radiation therapy to try to alleviate some of this problem in the upper lobe of my right lung. This is where my primary tumor originally got started, and with the exception of the one distant bone metastasis to my L-3 vertebra (which has cause ALL of these mobility problems) the entire cancer is still localized there, and in a few spots lower down but also in my right lung. The nice thing about the radiation is that it's not very likely to do me any harm, and there's about a 50/50 chance that it will give me some relief. It's going to destroy some lung tissue, but it will also destroy a certain portion of the tumor, and with any luck will open up those airways again and give that lobe a chance to re-inflate. If not, I guess I'm going to still be short of breath...but this probably isn't going to affect my life span one way or another anyway. It's just an opportunity to breath a little easier.

Even if the problem isn't being caused by cancer at all, but is simply the result of a mucus plug. Now doesn't THAT sound appetizing? If you could see the bloody things I've been blowing out of my nose these past several weeks, you would know EXACTLY what I'm talking about. And yes. It's disgusting.... (Hummm... maybe we should all just now observe a "moment of silence....")
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"...the things that are God's."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Palm Sunday, April 5th, 2009

When I was a child, growing up in a Unitarian family, and attending a Unitarian Universalist Sunday School, I don’t recall the Bible being a very big part of my day to day experience. I know I knew something about Noah and the Ark, because I can remember building a big Ark out of my wooden blocks, and then lining up all the plastic animals I could find, two by two if possible, but there were also some unusual combinations (just to make certain everyone got paired up): jungle animals, farm animals, dinosaurs and domestic house pets alike, all together in one big jumble. And I also must have known a little about the Christmas nativity story for much the same reason: my mother liked to collect Crèches, and there was one in particular that I liked to play with in season (although my mom wouldn’t let me put those animals on my Ark).

And I also recall that whenever we went to see the pediatrician, there was one of those big, illustrated Children’s Bibles in the waiting room; and I always enjoyed glancing at that to distract myself from whatever scheduled injections awaited me inside. I remember in particular there was an illustration of 2 Samuel 18:9, David’s rebellious son Absalom caught fast by his hair under the thick branches of a great oak, “hanging between heaven and earth.” I don’t know why that picture made such a strong impression on me, but it did, even though I didn’t actually read the story itself until I was a Divinity Student at Harvard.

I didn’t actually get a Bible of my own though until I was a sophomore in High School, on a Debate Trip to a tournament in Bellingham Washington, where we were staying at the Leopold Hotel. And I decided to keep the red Gideon Bible that I found there in the drawer of my bedside table, and take it home with me. The King James version, of course. My ambitious plan was to read the whole thing cover to cover, so that I could have some ammunition when debating with the Born-Again Christians who accosted me every day in the High School lunchroom. Or maybe I was the one accosting them....

At least I had the good sense to begin with the New Testament. The Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel According to Matthew blew me away: three whole chapters, and every word highlighted in green. And John’s Gospel was in some ways even more amazing, with all its mystical teachings about the Holy Spirit, even though the events John describes rarely match up with those recorded in the other three. Luke (and its companion book, the Acts of the Apostles) eventually became my favorite for a variety of reasons, but it was actually Mark’s gospel which initially made the strongest impression.

For starters, it’s the shortest of the four canonical Gospels, and scholars also believe it was the earliest, written only about 40 years after the events which it describes. Matthew and Luke both appear to have used Mark as a primary source for their own gospels (that’s right, they copied him), along with a collection of the Sayings of Jesus now lost to history, and known to scholars by the initial “Q.” And Jesus doesn’t really say a lot in Mark’s gospel either; instead the story begins with Jesus’s baptism in the River Jordon, his temptation in the Wilderness, the calling of his initial disciples, and the proclamation of his original message: “The time is fulfilled, the Kingdom of God is at hand, Repent and Believe the Good News.” And then it is pretty much one miracle after another (with an occasional parable thrown in) until Jesus and his followers finally reach Jerusalem for the beginning of Passover and what Christians will eventually come to know as “Holy Week.”

The miracles themselves (as I was later taught in seminary) basically come in four flavors: healings, exorcisms, feedings, and control of the weather. And like all good Unitarians I quickly learned to give them rational, plausible, “naturalistic” explanations. The healings were easy: it says right there in the text, they were all caused by faith. If you had enough you were healed, and if you didn’t you weren’t. I don’t really care much for the theology, frankly; but at least it moved healings from the category of supernaturally miraculous to something along the lines of “The Power of Positive Thinking.”

The exorcisms were even easier: if you didn’t believe that demons were real in the first place, why should you have any problem with Jesus casting them out? Clearly there was something psychological going on there, but after so many centuries it’s hard to say exactly what.

The feedings were and remain my favorite, simply because they can be explained on so many levels, both literally and metaphorically. In each instance, a large crowd of people has assembled to listen to Jesus teach. And when the time comes around for them to eat, the disciples want to send them away to obtain food elsewhere. But instead, Jesus asks how much food the disciples have with them (in both cases, just a few loaves of bread and a handful of fish), and in language evocative of the Last Supper, Jesus takes the bread and blesses it, and then after giving thanks, breaks the bread and distributes it to the Disciples, who in turn distribute it to the crowd. And then when they send around the baskets to pick up the leftovers, more food comes back than was sent out to begin with.

Well it’s pretty obvious to me what’s going on here. What kind of idiot (other than maybe a disciple) would go out into the desert to listen to a holy man speak without bringing along a little something to sustain themselves on the journey?

What Jesus DOES create is the kind of trusting community atmosphere where it is safe to share with others. And since there was always enough food to go around, nobody has to go hungry. Because “the Kingdom of Heaven is like unto leaven which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened.” [Mt 13:33].

And as for the weather miracles, well, it was never really clear to me from reading whether Jesus actually calmed the storm, or simply calmed the nervous sailors until the storm blew over on its own. I’ve been with nervous sailors before; I’ve even been one myself. The waves always look a lot more threatening than they are.

But the thing I liked most about Mark was the drama and suspense of Holy Week, which takes up approximately half of the pages in Mark’s gospel. It’s so dramatic that a few scholars have even suggested that Mark’s gospel was originally written to be performed as a play. And contributing to the dramatic suspense is a uniquely Markian theme known as “the Messianic Secret.” Because you see, unlike just about every other Christian before or since, Mark never actually comes out and tells you who he thinks Jesus is. Rather, he has Jesus ask “Who do men SAY that I am?” only to rebuke Peter for offering the suggestion that Jesus is actually the long-awaited Messiah. As readers we are certainly led in that direction, although for most twenty-first century readers the subtle first century distinctions between Messiah, Son of God, Son of Man, Son of David, or even Prophet, Teacher and Rabbi are so nuanced as to be lost on us.

Likewise, there are no Resurrection appearances in Mark. The last we see of Jesus is when Joseph of Arimathea has the body removed from the cross and wrapped in linen, then placed in a rock-hewn tomb with a heavy stone rolled in front of the entrance. Then nothing happens until a few days later, when the women go to anoint the body with oil, and discover that the stone has been rolled away and the tomb is empty.

They speak with an angel (well, a young man in a white robe) who tells them to look for Jesus in Galilee, but the women flee from the tomb “trembling and bewildered,” and “said nothing to anyone, because they were afraid.” [Mk 16:8] Which may simply be Mark’s way of explaining why no one had heard the story of the empty tomb until Mark finally wrote it down 40 years later.

But the most dramatic part of the story (especially for a 16-year-old boy reading this material for the first time) comes in-between. On Palm Sunday Jesus and his disciples arrive in Jerusalem for the Passover, with Jesus making a triumphal riding on a colt (or in Matthew’s version, a colt AND a donkey) while his disciples cut palm fronds as a sign of honor (and to keep down the dust on the roadway), and the assembled crowd sings “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the Highest Heaven.” When the people of the city ask the crowd what is going on, the crowd replies “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee” [Mt 21:11]

There probably weren’t nearly as many people watching this demonstration as later Christians would like to believe. But there is an almost cynical irony to the act itself, since it seems intended to mimic (or maybe even parody) the Roman Governor Pontius Pilate’s earlier entry into Jerusalem at the head of a column of mercenary cavalry and marching Roman legionaires, who had come to reinforce the local garrison at what was always one of the most turbulent and potentially volatile times of the year. It doesn’t take much to turn a crowd into a mob. So already the dramatic contrast between the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of Caesar is being spelled out in public view.

The next day, Jesus and his followers go up to the Temple Mount itself, where Jesus does something that to my mind is the most amazing thing in his entire ministry. Using a knotted cord as a whip, he overturns the tables of the moneychangers, and basically brings the business of the temple to a complete halt. “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations,’ ” he says. “But you have made it a den of brigands.” [leston] For the next few days he teaches openly in the Court of the Gentiles, protected by the crowd from the grasp of the temple authorities, who would like nothing more than to kill him then and there.

This is the part of the story that appealed to me most when I first read the story 40 years ago, the back and forth debate between Jesus and his antagonists, who try again and again to trick Jesus into saying something that will either turn the crowd against him, or draw the attention of the Romans. But he always seems to have just the right response.

And so the Chief Priests and the Scribes and the Pharisees turn to bribery and treachery instead. They somehow manage to find and convince one of the disciples, Judas Iscariot, to betray his teacher by guiding the authorities to a place where he can be easily captured, away from the protective eyes of the crowd.

So as Jesus and his loyal disciples celebrate the Passover meal, their “Last Supper” together, Judas leaves to make arrangements for the temple guards to arrest Jesus later that night in the Garden of Gethsemane, outside the city walls. Judas identifies Jesus with a kiss; the guards swoop in from the shadows to make their arrest, and after a brief scuffle the disciples all disappear disorganized and confused into the night.

Only Peter and an unnamed young man wearing nothing but a linen cloth attempt to follow, but the guards catch hold of the latter, and he flees naked into the night, leaving the linen cloth behind. [Mk 14:51] Peter has a little better luck; he gets all the way to the courtyard of the house where Jesus is being interrogated before he is recognized as one of the disciples. Denying that he even knows Jesus, Peter also betrays his teacher, then weeps for the shame of it as the cock crows the coming dawn, and he realizes what he has done.

Jesus, meanwhile, eventually ends up later that night in the hands of the Romans, who interrogate him further, beat him up a little (just because they can), and eventually take him up to Golgatha -- the Hill of Skulls -- where he is crucified alongside two other brigands/robbers/revolutionary insurgents [lestas] who just so happened to be on the morning execution list. Roman Imperial Power has just put down another threat to its hegemony; the Pax Romana (eventually with Christian assistance) is still destined to bring “peace” and order to the Mediterranean world for another few centuries at least.

But let’s go back to the original question about taxes to Rome, and these competing ideas of the Kingdom of Caesar and the Kingdom of God (or Heaven) which were so important to first century Christianity.

Taxation was everywhere in the ancient world; it was the way that the wealthy and powerful few used their power to increase their wealth at the expense of the vast, impoverished peasantry...who were basically left with barely enough to keep body and soul together, thanks to an oppressive system which combined land foreclosures, debt peonage, and exploitive taxation to keep the masses firmly under the control of their Lords and Masters.

The Romans actually outsourced their taxation to local contractors; the highest bidder won the right to collect the tax, and anything they could get over and above that was theirs to keep (which explains why tax collectors are so especially vilified in the Bible).

Even the temple was in on the racket. First, by insisting that all sacrifices of a certain kind could ONLY take place at the temple in Jerusalem, they forced people who wanted to offer those sacrifices often to travel a great distance and at great hardship just to get there.

And once the people had arrived, they still needed to purchase the animal they wished to sacrifice locally in Jerusalem, using a special temple coinage free from any “graven images” (such as a portrait of the Emperor, just to give one example).

So when Jesus overturned the tables of the moneychangers, it’s not just the practice of temple sacrifice he was condemning, but the entire partnership of the temple priesthood with the local Roman-led “domination system” which kept the majority of the population in great poverty.

Likewise, when Jesus asked the Pharisees to show him a denarius, he’d already tricked them into revealing to the crowd whose payroll THEY were on. Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. God does business in an entirely different currency altogether.

As I’ve mentioned from this pulpit on several other occasions, the word “sacrifice” means literally “to make sacred,” and the size of the sacrifice -- how much you actually give up (especially in proportion to your wealth) -- is only one of the considerations. In the ancient world ideas about sacrifice originated in ideas about hospitality itself. If you want to make friends with a stranger (even someone as strange as God) there are basically two ways to go about it. First, you can offer them a gift. And second, you can share with them a meal.

In first century Palestine, ideas of sacrifice still embodied both of these notions. Some of the sacrificial animal was destroyed completely, as a so-called “burnt offering.” That was the “gift” portion of the sacrifice.

But more important was the meal you shared with your neighbors: an expression of gratitude for the ways that God has blessed you made manifest in an act of generosity toward others. From gratitude to service: this is how we make our lives sacred, by sacrificing a portion of our own comfort and affluence in order that others might have an easier time of it as well.

“The time is fulfilled, the Kingdom is at hand, Repent and Believe the Good News.” Repent: metanoeite = “transform your mind;” Believe: pisteuete = “trust/be confident.” The Kingdom is right here, all around us, and all we need to do to become citizens of God’s Empire (rather than subjects of Rome) is to follow God’s leadership rather than Caesars’s.

This part of the story is told in Mark 12: 28-34 right after the passage about taxes to Caesar, but before the story of the Widow’s Mite. A scribe has been listening carefully to this entire exchange, and comes near to Jesus to ask him a familiar question: “What is the Greatest Commandment of All?” And Jesus answers as so many others have both before and since:

“Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength...[and] you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

And the scribe responds “to love one’s neighbor as oneself, - this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” To which Jesus, seeing that the scribe has answered wisely, adds the final word: “you are not far from the Kingdom of God.” And after that, the Scripture tells us, no one dared to ask him any more questions.

“Repent and Believe” Change your attitude, and Trust the folks around you. And the funny thing is, you don’t even have to believe in God in order to feel confident about the trustworthiness of the Good News, and to benefit from this wisdom about how best to live our lives. All you really need to do is BEHAVE like a good person, a “Godly” person, an authentic person of Faith.

Humble.

Grateful.

Generous.

Compassionate....

NOT Selfish.

.NOT Arrogant.

NOT Small-minded.

NOT a Jerk.

`Is that really so much for any of us to ask or to expect? That we should at least behave as well as we would desire to be treated ourselves, with honesty, integrity, honor and respect? These are the things that belong to God, and to every other person of devoted Good Will who walks upon this planet, regardless of their beliefs.

It’s no great sacrifice to practice them every day.

And at the end of the day, this is really all that God (and our neighbors) expects of any of us anyway....

***
READING: Luke 20: 19-26 (Clarence Jordan, The Cotton Patch Gospel)

Now the seminary professors and denominational executives tried to lay hands on him right then and there, but were afraid of their constituency. For they knew full well that he had aimed this Comparison at them. So they played it cool by hiring some detectives to pose as Christians and collect evidence from his preaching, so he could be arrested and turned over to the House Subversive Activities Committee. These detectives asked him, “Doctor, we know when you speak and teach you shoot straight, regardless of who’s listening. We know too that without any doubt you are teaching God’s Way. Now, is it right to pay Federal taxes or not?”

Catching on to their trick, he said, “Show me a dollar. Whose picture and insignia are on it?”

They said, “The President’s.”

He replied, “All right, then, give government things to the government, and God’s things to God.”

So they were not successful in trapping him in anything he said in public, and his answer so astonished them that they shut up.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

LYLE SCHALLER ON "CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS" (I)

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

The words below are some twenty-five years old now; they were first published in 1984, the year I completed my internship at University Unitarian Church in Seattle and was called to my first settled ministry in Midland, Texas. The book itself had its moment of attention mostly because of Schaller's early discussion of the ways in which congregational size helps dictate congregational culture and thus effective ministerial strategies. Schaller called them "Cats, Collies, Gardens and Ranches" to differentiate between what we would now call the Family, Pastoral, Program and Corporate-sized churches. And it was all the rage in the circles I ran with, in much the same way that Alice Mann is now.

But for some reason, it was these other words of Schaller's tht really struck a lasting chord with me, and although now I am much more curious about the DIFFERENCES between these two vocations, the haunting similarities (especially around issues like the mission comes first, leading by example, the connection between discipline and discipleship, and the distinctive "cultures" of both professions) have stuck with me, and return to mind often in the on-going discussion in our denomination about ministerial recruitment, formation, education and settlement. And the challenge of "careerism" continues to plague us as well, especially with the loss of real ecclesiastical knowledge by the laity, and the surge of second-career individuals into the profession.

That being said, I have a great deal of admiration and respect for the many talents of my colleagues, who come from such different backgrounds and yet all bring significant gifts to share in ministry to our people and our theological movement. In the meantime, I now find myself reflecting upon my quarter-century evolution from naive and idealistic young mystic to curmudgeonly old fart. And I find myself wondering what the next quarter-century may bring, disappointed in the knowledge that I probably won't be around to see it with my own eyes....


For those ministerial readers who are affronted by the suggestion that the churches can learn from research about military organizations, it may be useful to reflect on a few of the parallels between the ordained clergy and the commissioned officer corps. Historically, both have occupied what the rest of society perceived as a distinctive office, both have a custom of wearing special garb, both place a great emphasis on titles and rank and the garb often reflects title and rank. Both have relied on their own special training schools to prepare candidates for that vocation and in both cases entrance into the profession has been controlled by the graduates, not by the general public. Until recently compulsory chapel was a part of the daily routine in these training schools. Both draw most of their administrators and teachers from those within that vocation. Both have a tradition of a special commissioning or ordination ceremony following graduations that includes the taking of an oath or vow by the candidate. Both are seen as “set apart” vocations and the families of the practitioners are very conscious of this. Historically, both have assumed that induction into that vocation was for a lifetime, or at least until retirement. (In both vocations the current generation of new entrants places less weight on that tradition than did previous generations. Increasingly both are becoming entry points into the secular labor force.) In both, the tradition has been that the needs of the cause, rather than the preferences of the individual, determined placement. In both vocations the practitioner, at an early age, had many firsthand encounters with death. In both vocations the handicap of a comparatively low salary was offset by perquisites of office, womb-like care from entrance to death, the mutual support of the brotherhood, the feeling that one was responding to a calling rather than simply “making a living,” a sense of service to the public and a pension following retirement. (In both cases those now responsible for paying pensions are beginning to show signs of rebellion.)

In both professions the wife was expected to be the husband’s helpmate, but celibacy was encouraged. Both have a long tradition of employer-owned housing, transfers at the convenience of the institution, special tax advantages, and an expectation that many practitioners will serve in foreign lands. Both vocations have a distinctive jargon, a tradition of in-house jokes, a code of ethics, a professional association, an assumption of peer group rather than outside evaluation, and special orders for the elite within the profession. Both place a great weight on graduate degrees and credentials in placement. Civilians have been expected to accord special deference to those in these vocations, ut both have experienced a substantial erosion of these deference patterns in recent years. Both have a long history of an elite office cadre who are presumed to possess certain mystical qualities. There are distinctive titles (bishop, general, admiral) for those at the top of the deference and command pyramid. The tradition that “rank has its privileges” is part of the reward system for those at the top of the hierarchy. In both vocations there is a long tradition of the oldest son following in the father’s footsteps. Both have long traditions of naming buildings after distinguished members of that vocation. What is sometimes referred to as the “ecclesiastical escalator” has its counterpart in the military. Both have a long tradition that subordinates have an obligation of loyalty to senior officials that often must override personal inclinations. Both have been experiencing an erosion of the belief that if they are loyal to the system, the system will take care of them when they are too old to be contributing members.

Finally, both are vulnerable to the blight of “careerism,” of placing the future career and well being of the individual ahead of the cause.


Lyle E. Schaller, Looking in the Mirror: Self-Appraisal in the Local Church, (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1984), pp. 56-8.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

THE ECLECTIC CLERIC - "Spring is sprung...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

the grass is riz, I wonder where the flowers is?” This brief bit of doggrel verse is one of my many memories from childhood, something that I learned from my father, and he no doubt from his father before that...passed down perhaps through so many generations that its actual origins are lost in obscurity.

There are lots of things in our lives like this, and the accuracy of their transmission is no guarantee of the quality of their content. Communications theorists sometimes call them “memes” -- tiny snippets of information which combine together as bits of code in order to form larger patterns of meaning, in much the same way that our “genes” combine together to create a genetic code that both defines who we are in a biological sense, and is passed down to subsequent generations as well.

As I prepare to leave First Parish, I find myself wondering what my “memetic” legacy to this congregation will be in years to come. I hope, for example, that the value of Radical Hospitality, and the vision of being “A Warm & Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City,” will both continue to thrive and grow here. These are ideas that I both brought with me, and that I also learned from you in an authentic and “honest to God” process of memetic cross-pollination. “Open all the windows and the doors, and receive whomsoever is sent.” It’s a worthwhile goal worthy of our faithful devotion. Yet it also requires a commitment to being “accessible to otherness,” and greeting neighbors and strangers alike with loving hearts, open minds, and helping hands.

I also hope that the support, encouragement, and gracious generosity that you have shown to me as I have wrestled with my illness will continue to be part of the personality of this congregation. Generosity breeds Gratitude and Gratitude in return breeds Generosity -- it is a classic “positive feedback loop” that has the potential to save the world from itself. So embrace these values in your own lives, teach them to your children and to their children, and know that with each good deed you do you plant the seed for another somewhere down the line.

Finally, I hope that this congregation will remember as fondly as I will the robust Spirit that filled the Meetinghouse the week I originally candidated here in May 2007, and again at my Installation the following Spring, and especially at last year’s Easter Sunday service, which might well have turned out to have been the last sermon I preached in my ministerial career. As it did turn out, thanks to your support I was able to return to the pulpit this past fall -- perhaps not as good as I ever was, but I hope good enough to serve!

Now I’m off in a few months the West Coast (and ultimately to the San Francisco Bay Area) to rest, recuperate and recover as best I can at my Father’s place in Fair Oaks. No one can say with any certainty what the future may bring, but I know my prayers are for ongoing vitality and prosperity here at First Parish, and for a long and happy life for myself. And may we all feel blessed by the too-short-of-time we shared together, and grieve the lose of “what might have been.”
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Medical Update 3/30/2009

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And it's really a day of mixed news, unfortunately. The good news is abundant: no sign of any additional metastatic cancer anywhere in my body, my appetite is good, my weight remains steady, I have effective pain control and am becoming more and more mobile all the time. I walk now with great ease and balance; only my stamina is in need of dramatic improvement. And that's the start of the other side of the coin. One of the reasons, apparently, that I'm so short of breath is that my primary tumor has started to expand, while the rest of the upper lobe is collapsing around it, and obstructing the easy flow of air in and out of my afflicted right lung. So now it looks like another round of consultations with my pulmonologist and my radiation oncologist to see what kind of treatments they may have available to help relieve those symptoms, and get me back on the right track again.

And I don't want the good news to get lost in this disappointment. The tumor appears to have expanded, but it's not really clear whether it's actually growing or has just changed shape. The blockage could also be being caused by something else, including accumulated mucus in my lung which is trapped there by the tumor and contributing to the problem. And if THAT'S the case, it's probably no more coffee ice cream for me! The more important news by far is that the cancer is staying where it belongs, in my right lung, and not running rampant through the rest of my body. With the exception of the one distant bone metastasis in my L-3 vertebra, this would basically still be a stage two cancer, at least the way I read the diagnostic criteria. But what do I know? I'm a Doctor of Philosophy, not a Doctor of Medicine.

What I DO know is that I'm feeling better all the time, notwithstanding the shortness of breath, the dry mouth, the occasional hoarseness and difficulty swallowing, and routine "fuzziness" and fatigue that follow me around much of the day. These are (not to put too fine a point on it) all things I can live with without (too much) complaining. The day I learn (and I hope it never comes) that the cancer has metastasized to my brain will be the day I may let my discouragement out of box for an hour or two. How did they put it? If you see Kay this cancer. Hell, ALL Cancer.

Anyway, more consultations, probably followed by more treatments, and another round of calendar shuffling to try to fit in everything I want (and need) to do before moving back to the West Coast in July. And who knows? This may actually turn out to be a two-part move, with a quick July visit to the Pacific Northwest and then a return trip back here in August to finish up any unfinished business before moving the rest of my life to California. The really tricky part -- which is also the most important part -- is the hand-off of both medical insurance carriers and my medical treatment team from here in Maine to the folks in California. Retired at 52. How many people dream of that? I just need to learn to embrace the opportunity that's been offered to me, rather than lamenting the lose of "what might have been."
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Spilling the Beans

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
This morning was the kick-off of our annual Stewardship Campaign: four homilies from the four members of our ministerial "team" -- myself, the Minister of Music, and the two part-time ministers who were brought in to support me after I was diagnosed with cancer. That may sound like an awful lot of preaching, but it actually worked out magnificently...and without much advanced coordination between us either. Of course, today's service was really merely the mid-point of what has already been about six weeks worth of warm-up: planning, testimonials, the recruitment and training of visiting stewards, the preparation and mailing of our written materials, and (of course) the all-church fellowship event on Saturday night: an old-fashioned Bean Supper complete with corny entertainment and home-made pie. And now we can still look forward to another three to four weeks of home visits and face to face conversations, after which we should know how close we are to reaching our goal in these challenging economic circumstances.

As now both a part-timer and a short-termer myself, I haven't really paid that much attention to the finer details of the campaign this year. I don't even know what our canvass goal is, much less how likely we are to reach it based on our historical pledge numbers. I do know that the value of our endowment is down by about 30%, and have spoken personally with four different people who have either lost or left their jobs in the past few weeks. But I've also been told that we potentially have as many as sixty new pledgers this year, and this alone could easily make all the difference between success and disappointment. It's hard to say. There has been so much energy and good feeling around the church, really since the moment I arrived here two years ago, notwithstanding my eventual illness and diagnosis six months into this ministry. The way the members of this congregation rallied around me (and one another) was an authentic "George Bailey moment," and has both inspired and empowered a lot of people to get involved in ways they hadn't been involved with the church before. Attendance has been strong, with lots of first-time visitors every Sunday. So all those signs are very good.

But at the same time, the economic downturn has really put a damper on a lot of the things we dreamed of doing here. When I was candidating here two years ago, the air was filled with big plans for real estate expansion and partnerships with local arts, educational, and social justice organizations, and a much more visible footprint here at the head of Temple Street. Now it feels as if everyone is just hunkering down, and waiting to see how dark it's going to get before the dawn. And that, of course, has nothing to do with MY illness; it's just the sad and shameful legacy of eight years of plundering by the Bushies and their cronies. Meanwhile, now that my decision not to return here in the fall is public news, I'm starting to hear from all of the people for whom my ministry has made a big difference in their lives, who are sorry to see me going, who wish that I could stay, who tell me in just so many words what a huge inspiration I've been for them personally, and how much I have done for the church in such a short time. And naturally, it's hard for me to hear all that without beginning to second-guess myself, and falling into that trap of thinking that I'm indispensable, that no one can possibly do this job as well as I can, that by leaving now and denying this church the benefit of my vision, my experience, my enthusiasm, devotion and general excellence, I am in some way "leaving them in the lurch."

And whenever I start to feel this way, I just need to remind myself that we all THINK we're indispensable, but none of us really are, and that the fact that my departure may very well be setting them back a decade or more (as someone recently suggested to me) really means very little to a congregation which measures its lifespan in centuries. I'm proud of whatever I've been able to accomplish in my all-too-brief time here; I wish it could have been longer (as I think everyone does), but God-Providence-Destiny-the Universe had a different plan both for me and for them, and that's just the way it's got to be. And that's my mantra. None of us would have wished for this, and we can all mourn the loss of "what might have been." And I will miss them too once I'm gone. But let's take THIS time to say goodbye, and celebrate the time we had together, rather than squandering it with regret.

And if I ever find myself feeling TOO nostalgic, I just need to remind myself of these abominable Maine winters....

Meanwhile, if you are interested in what a minister in my situation might have to say to their congregation at Stewardship time, here are links to both my Stewardship Packet letter and my Sunday Morning kick-off homily. Enjoy!

Stewardship Letter
Stewardship Homily
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Widow's Might

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
A homily delivered by the Rev Dr Tim W Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday March 29th, 2009 (Stewardship Sunday)

It’s a familiar enough story, one I’m certain almost all of us have heard at some point or another in our lives (although far fewer of us, I suspect, have really given it the thought it deserves). It’s the Tuesday before Passover, and Jesus is teaching openly in the Courtyard of the Gentiles outside the Temple in Jerusalem, protected from arrest by the large crowd of people who have thronged around him to listen to him debate with the Scribes and the Pharisees, the Lawyers and the Scholars who represent the interests of the wealthy temple elites. And he’s just said one of the single most-memorable things attributed to him in the Gospels, responding to a question about whether or not it is lawful for a faithful Jew to pay taxes to Rome by asking to see a Roman coin and then asking whose image was on it. “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesars, and to God the things that are God’s.” And then while his adversaries looked on in speechless amazement,

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people put in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins worth only a fraction of a penny. Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. For they all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything, all she had to live on.” [Mark 12: 41-44; cf Luke 21: 1-4]

I’ve never been quite certain how best to interpret this passage. The fact that Jesus is talking only with his disciples makes me think that this is primarily a private object lesson in the virtues of generosity, sacrifice, and commitment: a foreshadowing, perhaps, of the ultimate sacrifice Jesus is about to make himself. But I also can’t help but think that it is also an implicit criticism of the wealthy givers, who may contribute much more in absolute terms, but are still contributing out of their abundance, as well as a condemnation of the entire temple system itself, which demanded such donations even from the most vulnerable members of society. The wealthy still have plenty left over after they have made their contribution. But the widow holds back nothing. Two copper lepta, two “mites” in the King James Version, and she throws them both in, not even holding back one for herself. Her faith, her trust, her confidence that somehow this day she will be given her daily bread (and perhaps even forgiven her debts), is without reservation. Her own love of God and love of neighbor inspire that confidence, and that trust, and guides her away from the kinds of temptation that ultimately lead to evil.

In the letter I wrote to be sent out with the other Stewardship materials, I mentioned that in times of financial uncertainty such as these, none of us can really feel secure in our position, but that the need people have for the church itself is at the same time greater than ever. And those of us who are still fortunate enough to be able to give out of our abundance have a special responsibility to our neighbors, because even though none of us are unaffected by the downturn, we still have the ability to make a difference in meeting this greater need. And in doing so, not only do we make it possible for our less-fortunate neighbors to benefit from our generosity, we also find fulfillment personally. We are empowered to act as agents of compassion and generosity and creativity and gratitude; we become messengers (angeloi = angels) -- of God’s Good News.

But what about those of us on the other side of the coin? Those of us who have lost our jobs, or are living on fixed (or even declining) incomes, and who are personally feeling the effects of the downturn as a week-to-week struggle just to keep body and soul together? How are we supposed to respond? And I’d like to suggest that our response is no different than anyone else’s; and that with trust and compassion and generosity and creativity and gratitude, we too can become empowered and fulfilled, despite our precarious financial situations.

Throughout this Stewardship campaign, and really over the entire course of my brief tenure here, I’ve spoken about the “three T’s” of Time, Talent, and Treasure as the foundation upon which a healthy church community must be built. Time is perhaps the easiest, and the most important of the three. For better or worse, when you become unemployed Time is suddenly something you have a lot more of in your life. And you need to use it wisely; but one very excellent use of Time is to spend it in church on Sunday mornings. Just showing up makes a huge difference in the quality of EVERYONE’S experience here -- it increases the energy, it increases the intensity, it increases the vitality of the entire Act and activity of Worship. And it costs you next to nothing; a couple of hours out of your day, and a little gasoline for your car, unless you live close enough to walk, or can arrange (like I do) to catch a ride with a neighbor. So even when times are tough economically, the gift of YOUR time can have a huge impact, and makes a big difference in the quality of our collective lives.

And the same is true of your Talent. You may not be working full time for a paycheck, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t still be productive, or contribute to the prosperity of our community in other ways. And I’m not just talking now about the church community either. The larger Portland community can also no doubt benefit from your talents, while getting out of the house and out among the people begins that all-important process of networking and connection-building that generally leads both to finding another job, and also to making new friends who perhaps share many of your same interests and values, and might even make fine additions to THIS community.

And then finally there is the Treasure. This year in particular it is important that EVERYONE make some sort of pledge to the church, simply so we can use that information in the budgeting process, rather than simply relying on historical guesstimates based on past performance and future expectations, as we have in years past.

But the most important pledge you make is the one you make to yourself. When you sit down and think about your priorities, and what you honestly feel you can afford to do, what does that add up to, and are you willing to PROMISE YOURSELF that you will make that contribution happen?

Suppose, for example, you were to commit to yourself to attending EVERY Sunday Service next year, and that every Sunday morning you will drop a twenty dollar bill in the collection plate. Your annual contribution would add up to over a thousand dollars, which is approximately the same amount as our current average pledge.

But suppose twenty dollars is too much. Suppose you can only commit to ten, or to five. These are still pretty significant
contributions, when you start to add them up over dozens and dozens of contributors.

Even in the best of times, approximately two-thirds of the money contributed to First Parish comes from fewer than one-third of the contributors. And when times become tough that ratio becomes even more pronounced. But whether you are a major donor or simply a small contributor, it requires everyone’s participation in order for us to fulfill our mission as Portland’s Original Faith Community, providing a Warm & Welcoming Place here in the Heart of the City.

Again, as I said in my letter, for over three centuries now, through Wars and Fires and Panics and Recessions and a Great Depression, the People of First Parish have come together to sustain that vision, and to fulfill that mission. Rich or poor, working or looking for work, retired or just setting out on a career, we ALL need to set a good example for one another, and for the larger Portland community, by generously contributing what we can. The responsibility is now in OUR hands. And frankly, I can’t think of anyone I would trust with it more.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Minister's Spring 2009 Stewardship Letter

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

I have some good news and some bad news about next year’s church operating budget.

The good news is that we already have all the money we need.

The bad news is that it is still in your pockets.

These days the state of the economy is unavoidably on everybody’s mind. Mortgage forclosures and the banking crisis, job lay-offs and the sad state of the stock market are all front page news; and none of us can really feel confident that our own situation is truly secure, no matter how secure we may feel at the moment.

Yet is is also at times like these that people need the church more than ever. Need a feeling of safety and sanctuary, and a place to renew their sense of connectedness to one another and to All-That-Is. Need a time and a place to seek inspiration and encouragement, and to express their devotion to and gratitude for the Spirit that gives us life and give life meaning. And yes, need a place to live out the values of compassion and generosity, just as others come here needing to benefit from benevolence of their neighbors.

Over and over again in my 30-some years of parish ministry, I have observed that even the healthiest of churches never seem to have enough money to do everything they dream of doing, but almost always seem to be able to come up with enough to do the things they feel they absolutely need to do.

For generation after generation, through wars and fires, panics, recessions and a great depression, the people of First Parish have come together to fulfill their mission and sustain their vision of BEING Portland’s Original Faith Community. Here at the head of Temple Street, we still have the ability to throw open our windows and our doors, and receive whomsoever is sent. We can still make people feel welcome and help them stay warm, even with the cost of heating oil being what it is.

This is the Good News: it is in our hands now.

We just need to each reach into our pockets....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Monkey Mindfulness

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
[Over at Monkey Mind, Providence Rhode Island minister James Ishmael Ford is writing about the role Joseph Campbell played in the renewal of the "spiritual" aspects of our Unitarian Universalist faith tradition. Here's a copy of the comment I posted there, which I'm posting here as well simply because it's such an easy thing to do.]

In 1978 I wrote my Senior Honors thesis at the University of Washington on Joseph Campbell's The Masks of God (a document now thankfully forever lost to posterity). The following year at HDS I continued to pursue those interests through coursework in Buddhism and the Buddhist/Christian dialogue, The Interpretation of Religious Experience, and James Fowler's theories of Faith Development.

My point is that even then -- a decade before the Moyers interviews -- some of us had already picked up on the idea of Unitarian Universalism as a "reasonable mysticism" -- a faith tradition which had grounded itself in science, "natural theology" and the other intellectual tools of the Enlightenment, but was still open to non-rational (as opposed to irrational) ways of knowing, and had a rich heritage of intuitive, "mystical" knowledge as well, "peak experiences" (in Maslow's terms) which could be described phenomenologically, and even recreated with some reliability through the use of certain kinds of time-tested techniques and practices.

Perry Miller's famous essay "From Jonathan Edwards to Emerson" makes almost this exact same point about Unitarianism's Enlightened Puritans and their Transcendentalist offspring, who looked back to their grandparents in order to re-embrace the emotional and spiritual intensity of that spirit-filled world. Finally, the work of (UU - although I didn't know it at the time) Frederick Streng on "Emptiness," along with the theories of German Sociologist of Religion Ernst Troeslsch (a major influence on James Luther Adams) about "Church," "Sect" and "Mysticism" as the three building blocks of Christian communities, helped me to pull a lot of these pieces together, at least in my own mind.

Our UU churches are places set apart (like a sect) from the rest of the world, where we can come to safely explore more deeply within ourselves (mysticism), and then return to the world with a redemptive, sacramental gift of grace (the Church) which has the power to transform the world....a cycle which (not coincidentally) exactly parallels Campbell's Heroic Journey. Anyway, that's how I learned it at Harvard, 30 years ago. Do you think I ought to ask for my tuition back?
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

A life lived out of order (part one)...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Another great thing about meeting up with Gary and Bruce this past week is that we had a chance Monday night to stay up late like young seminarians and talk about "big ideas" -- or rather, to reminisce about the days when we WERE young and could sit up late and talk about big ideas.... well, you get the picture. Neither of them had actually realized just how young I was when I started at Harvard...right out of college and still 21; they are both a few years older than me, although not so much that you'd really notice. Still, I've always looked up to both of them. Gary is one of the smartest people I've ever met, and I've often said that I've only had three good ideas in my life...and two of them started as Gary's! (since then I've had a few more good ideas, and some of those were Gary's too). Bruce has a depth of intellectual curiosity that far surpasses mine, especially when it comes to things theological. He reads books by European authors with strange-sounding names whose titles make me shudder with fear. I'm more of a Marcus Borg/Sallie McFague kinda guy, who likes those big ideas spelled out in bite-sized words.

But to get back to my current idea -- one of the things about my life that both of them have noticed too is that I haven't really lived it in the "usual order." Started seminary as a youngster, but then after my graduation and ordination (at age 24) spent another two years in graduate school and a third year as an intern assistant minister before finally being called to my first church (in Midland Texas) at the age of 29. Was married that same year to a woman with two half-grown children (10 and 7 years old), and became instantly middle-aged: a mortgage, two car payments a dog, orthodontics, and all the rest...both Bruce and Gary (along with Steve Kendrick) were present for THAT event as well, and apparently quite amazed that I would take on so much so young. But then, a decade later, both kids are out of the house and I'm back in school again myself during my late 30's and mid-40's. Divorced and single again (after an 18 year marriage) at the age of 46, at 50 I finally felt like I'd caught up with myself, here serving this church in Portland -- a magnificent congregation in a marvelous community, both of which I came to love very quickly, and where I sincerely believed I would continue to work and live until I retired.

Which I have. At age 52, in order to battle a life-threatening disease . And yet I still kind of feel that this isn't quite the end; that I still have at least one more chapter to write in this book of life. But what could it be?

Gary had the answer. "What about meeting your soulmate and falling head-over-heels in love?"

There you have it. Another great idea that started with Gary. God bless you Brother Kowalski (and you too, Brother Johnson). More on this in a subsequent post...
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Raible Rules

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Just got home from a three-day ministers' retreat at Crawford's Notch, New Hampshire. The "business" of the meeting was to finalize the consolidation of the Maine Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association chapter with the chapter in New Hampshire and Vermont, in order to reflect the consolidation of the two denominational districts comprised of the churches our two UUMA chapters serve. So basically a lot of bureaucratic legalese and mumbo-jumbo as folks dotted all the "i's" and crossed all the "t's," but in the meantime I had a great opportunity to catch up with two of my Harvard classmates, Bruce Johnson and Gary Kowalski, and also to say goodbye to all of the other ministers in the two chapters, many of whom I was just getting to know when I got sick last February. It's a good group though, especially our little "cluster" here in Southern Maine...although it would be natural of me to say that since I know them the best. Still, it's not like the Pacific Northwest District, where I had known many of the ministers there for decades. Or even Mass Bay, which was likewise heavily populated with friends and classmates returning home (like salmon?) to "the Neighborhood of Boston.

One thing this retreat reminded me of is something I've come to think of as the "Raible Rules" -- not for Peter Raible (although he was the one who popularized them in the Pacific Northwest), but rather Robert "Daddy Bob" Raible, who was for many, many years the minister of our church in Dallas Texas, and who introduced these rules among the (then) Unitarian ministers of the Southwest Unitarian Conference. The go something like this:

1) the only acceptable excuse for missing one of our ministers' meetings is a funeral: your own.

2) when a fellow minister asks you to do something, the only acceptable response is "yes."

These standards of collegiality (attend every meeting -- ordinations, installations, business meetings and retreats -- and never say "no" to a request) were deeply ingrained in me during my internship and first settlement in Midland, Texas; and then reinforced by my long sojourn back in the PNWD. But I was also a little surprised (and delighted) to see how they have migrated all the way back to Maine, no doubt carried here by other clergy like myself who spent time in those two districts.

Anyway, seeing these colleagues again and spending three days with them eating, working, worshipping, and simply BEING together has reminded me once again how much I cherish this profession that God oddly chose me for three decades ago. In so many ways, I was and still am such an unlikely clergyman. Pastor. Cleric. Minister of the Gospel. Preacher I can live with, I think: in some ways I have always been a preacher. A prophet too, I suppose -- in that I was generally quite willing to say what others could not or would not say. pro phetes -- to speak for another. To speak for God? Maybe I'm not that much of a prophet after all.

And these three days were also another reminder of how much I will miss what I had started here in Portland, and how ambivalent I still feel about giving it all up and going into "retirement." Yet another thing that this cancer has taken from me. I am so SICK of sacrificing things to this cancer!
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

An Open Letter to the Leaders and Congregation of the First Parish in Portland

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
[On Sunday March 22nd after church, an informational meeting was held for the entire congregation in order to answer questions about my departure and the events which lead up to my decision not to return to the pulpit here next September. I did not attend that meeting, for reasons I explain below, but I did write this letter to the leadership team, to be read aloud in whole or in part as my contribution to the discussion]

Dear Ones:

This is how I would wish to handle these explanations, based on my own understanding and experience of the process.

1) Nobody had to "ask" me to resign. Strictly speaking, I had already resigned as of July, 2008 when I filed my long term disability application and it was accepted by our insurer. Therefore, at least in that regard, this was not really a decision that ANYONE made; it was simply an acknowledgment of the reality of my situation, which was anticipated by the standard language of our UUMA-vetted contract. Thus for the past 9 months I have essentially been working (1/4 time) with both the encouragement and at the indulgence of the Governing Board, and it would have required some sort of pro-active decision (even if something so simple as a line item in the 2009-10 budget) for me have continued beyond June 30th anyway.

2) Ordinarily, in this or any similar situation, my "default" setting would have been to continue working: not because this is what I wanted (I have always seen my own wishes as secondary to what is best for the congregation anyway), but as the natural expression of my deep gratitude and devotion to the people of this church, who have done so much for me in the past twelve months. I would have gladly "died in this ministry" if that is really what would have made me most of service here, but I honestly don't think that's what anyone expected of me, so naturally I had already starting thinking myself about transition plans, as were many of the other central leaders of this congregation. The process by which we shared these thoughts with one another, and later communicated them to other members of the congregation, was hardly perfect; no process is, especially when it has to deal with such emotionally charged issues and so many diverse perspectives. But all of us shared in addition a common commitment to the on-going health and vitality of First Parish, as well as a great deal of affection and respect for one another personally. And that should not be overlooked, no matter how awkward the process itself may have appeared.

3) When all is said and done, I think the decision that we made is the best one that could have been made under the circumstances. For my own part, there were two critical factors which convinced me that moving on at this time was the right thing to do. The first was the realization of just how much stress and emotional pressure my illness was putting on the other leaders of the congregation. As I said in my original letter, First Parish deserves a full time minister who is capable of taking care of the people here, not one who needs such extensive caregiving himself. And the second factor was the realization that I was no longer capable of giving 100% of myself to this ministry, simply because it was no longer there to give. Mentally, emotionally, intellectually and even spiritually, the powerful narcotics that I take to control my pain and the chemotherapy agents which are used to combat the course of my disease have profoundly diminished my ability to be the kind of minister I have always aspired to be. It's more than just a matter of a little fatigue. If I am no long capable of performing my job at the level of excellence I have set for myself, I honestly feel that I really have no business hanging on beyond my time either.

4) Finally, I think people should know that my own ultimate response to all of this has been one of great relief. And it's not that I won't miss you all (because I will, very much), or that I don't also mourn the loss of "what might have been." But I also have other aspirations for what is left of my life that being released from the demanding obligations even of part-time parish ministry will greatly assist me in achieving. I'm looking forward a great deal to living closer to my family on the West Coast, and (I'm only a little embarrassed to say) I will certainly not miss Maine winters one little bit. I sincerely hope that in the next few months people will take advantage of the many opportunities for us to say goodbye that the Committee on Ministry is working with me to create, which we hope will include small group settings and social engagements both at the church and in members homes, as well as ample opportunities for one-on-one breakfast, lunch or coffee meet-ups, and at least one large all-church event toward the end of May or in early June.

I recognize that this may all sound a little cold, analytical, and emotionally aloof. But this is exactly how I feel, as well as (at least from my perspective) a completely truthful narrative of events as they took place and I experienced them. I would be happy to allow the relevant portions of this to be printed out and read at the informational meeting, and will even be willing to read them myself, although I think I might find the kind of back-and-forth Q & A this meeting is certain to create a little too emotionally demanding, given the way that my painkillers bring my emotions so close to the surface (as so many of you have witnessed lately). Feel free to respond with comments if you like.

Tim
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Holy Hall

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Feel bad for not having blogged here lately. This spotty internet access is driving me crazy, and even now with a new wireless router across the hall, getting on-line is touch and go at best. I'm guessing it must be the amount of steel and concrete between the two of us that keeps the signal from being stronger. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself. My neighbor across the hall is also an ordained minister, with credentials in both the United Methodist Church and the United Church of Christ. She's 80 years old, so one of the "pioneers" in that regard, and she's arrived here feeling a little overwhelmed by all the tasks of getting settled in. And so I've tried to help her out a little, and we've gotten to be friends -- and she's even taken to calling our little segment of the floor "Holy Hall" (we're looking now for a retired Rabbi to rent the third apartment across from hers and next-door to mine). In any event, she's signed-up for the Cable/Telephone/Internet combination service from Time Warner, and agreed to let me plug a wireless router into her cable modem so that I can piggyback off of her signal. But the PROBLEM is that even though she's just across the hall... well, that's where I started, right?

At least now I can go out into the hall itself and get a perfectly good signal...which saves me the bother of dragging my laptop all the way across to the other building, where I rarely go anymore except to check my mail. But the other complication is that the battery in my six year old iBook is now completely shot, which means I also need to drag the power cord with me...another stupid hassle, easily fixed though by the purchase of a new one. A battery, not a computer. Although maybe it's time for a new computer too....

Anyway, how I'm rambling now. Gave away the last of Parker's dog food today, as well as what were left of her treats, and didn't even shed a tear...although now that I write it in black and white I can hardly see the screen. 'effin narcotics. So much this stupid disease has taken from me, but I just keep choking back the tears and plodding along. What else am I going to do? Finished my last round of chemo (for this protocol in any event) the Monday before last, and next Monday is my next CT scan, just before I head off for a three day minister's retreat in Crawford's Notch New Hampshire (near Breton Wood). My Dad arrives the Wednesday I get back; my next appointment with my oncologist is the Monday after that (the day after MFW's birthday and the kick-off of this year's stewardship campaign). I'm not too anxious (yet) about what the results of the tests will show; I'm optimistic that the will continue the trend indicated by the mid-protocol CT, that the tumors are dormant or slightly smaller, and that there are no additional metastases anywhere else in my body.

If that's NOT what they show, then a lot of my plans could be changing in a hurry. But for now I'm looking forward to an emotional Spring of saying good bye to my many friends here in New England (including and especially the members of this congregation, who have done so much for me in my brief two years here, and to whom I will NEVER be able to adequately express my devotion, gratitude, and love), and hopefully my former parishioners in Carlisle and on Nantucket as well, along with my many, many collegial friends (who are still thick as thieves in the Neighborhood of Boston). Then back to the West Coast before Bastille Day, to be with my daughter (and former wife) for the arrival of grandchild numero uno. A little beach time on Camano Island with Brother Kurt and his family at the end of the summer, and finally down to sunny California for the winter, and a chance to read and write outdoors in my shirtsleeves in January.

But until then it's Holy Hall. Two hot meals and a hospital bed, plus free transportation to my medical appointments, and weekly housekeeping. It's a place that's served me very well since I moved here last June after being released from the hospital and rehab. I will certainly miss the people here as well.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

MR JEFFERSON'S LEGACY

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday March 15th, 2009

OPENING WORDS: “Question with boldness even the existence of God, because, if there is one, he must more approve the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear....” -- Thomas Jefferson
***

How many of you saw in the news last week, that Northern New England has now officially surpassed the Pacific Northwest as the “least churched” region of the country? Having grown up in the Pacific Northwest myself (as well as serving the majority of my ministerial career there), I was immediately struck by two closely-related thoughts. The first was a memory of something that was said about me during a celebratory farewell “roast” at the conclusion of my first settled ministry in Midland, Texas, where the new search committee had already started to survey the church membership regarding their prevailing theological views, and had discovered that after four years of my preaching there, I had managed to DOUBLE the number of atheists in the congregation!

My second thought was that even though I have now served here in New England for twice the time I was in West Texas (two years on Nantucket, four years in Carlisle Massachusetts, and now two years here in Portland), I can hardly claim to take credit for this current change of affairs. But I do feel a little like that proverbial gentleman who moved from Texas to New England, and lowered the average IQ in both regions. And the real irony, of course, is that for most of American history: certainly through the colonial period, and continuing on through the early national period and into the Irish and Italian immigrations, New England has been one of the most heavily-churched regions of the nation, and the underlying reasons for these changes are at heart of the topic I have chosen for today.

As most of you MUST know by now, this past winter I’ve been preaching a series of sermons on a topic I’ve been calling “UU-DNA” -- those things about our faith tradition that are so basic and fundamental about who we are and how we got to be this way that they might as well be part of our institutional genetic code. So far I’ve spoken about the importance of Congregational Polity and Local Control, the essential role of personal experience in determining what we believe, and the always-troublesome Problem of Evil: why do bad things happen to good people? And finally this month I’m finishing up with a two-parter on “Mr Jefferson’s Prophecy” and “Mr Jefferson’s Legacy” -- our third President’s erroneous 1823 prediction that “there is not a young many alive today who will not die a Unitarian,” and what we actually got instead: a “Wall of Separation” between church and state which delineated a radically new religious landscape for a new, young nation here in the new world, as well as creating the circumstances for the evolution of the dramatically different religious environment in which we live today.

Frankly, I’m not sure that ANYONE living at the end of the 18th century could have accurately predicted the kind of religious environment we now live in at the beginning of the 21st. Those two hundred and more years -- beginning with the Declaration of Independence, the Virginia Statute of Religious Freedom, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights (and covering a lot more history than I suspect anyone wants to hear this morning) -- have resulted in the creation of an explicitly secular civil society that is also, without a doubt among the most fervently-devoted religious cultures in the world. And how this happened is to a large degree the direct result of a bitter political confrontation between two Unitarian Presidents two centuries ago, and the very different roles which they saw religion playing both in their own lives and in society as a whole.

America’s first President, George Washington, was a soldier and a farmer, a Deist and a Freemason -- first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen -- but hardly a great intellectual or philosopher when it came to matters of religion. He was, however, extremely sensitive to the role that precedent and public ritual would play in the formation of this new nation’s identity, and absolutely opposed to linking that identity too closely to any particular faith or sectarian denomination.

So instead it was Washington’s two Unitarian successors -- John Adams and Thomas Jefferson -- who actually framed the terms of the subsequent public debate. The personal relationship between Adams and Jefferson was a complicated one, as well as something that has fascinated me since I was just a child. In 1776 they worked closely together to draft the Declaration of Independence and shepherd it through the Continental Congress, thus setting the 13 colonies out together on the road to revolution. A quarter of a century later they were bitter political rivals, whose conflicting values in both religion and politics provide the background for the story I want to tell today. And then, after nearly another quarter-century of retirement from public life, during which they attempted to explain themselves to one another though a long and in many ways intimate correspondence, their lives and names became locked together for eternity in the annuls of American History by the shared date of their respective deaths: July 4th, 1826 -- the 50th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration.

But it’s the election of 1800 -- an election that in many ways was even MORE pivotal than the election last fall -- that provides the background and the context for the subsequent tale. The issue of the separation of church and state was hardly new in 1800, and even dates back to well before the 1st Amendment and the creation of a national Constitution which enshrined it as a principle of Federal law. And yet even now it is easy to overlook that the question actually has two parts in addition to two sides, which we can see very clearly in the language of the amendment itself: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

It’s the so-called “Establishment Clause” with its intent of keeping the Church out of the business of government, that we generally think of today when we think of the purpose of the amendment nowadays. But in many ways the “Free Exercise” clause has been even more important. This is the part of Federal law, which prohibits the state from getting involved in the business of the church, that has for most church leaders (historically, at least) been a much greater concern than whether or not they may someday get a chance to dictate the policies of government. The Free Exercise clause not only assures that individual churches will be left free to attend to matters of faith as they see fit, it also guarantees that every individual will be free to pick and choose their own church (including NO church) as suits their own conscience and temperament. In other words (as I’m sure you’ve heard it said before), freedom OF religion also includes freedom FROM religion, or at least after you’ve reached the age when your parents can no longer compel you to attend.

None of this debate, by the way, either then or now, has ever assumed a separation of Religion and Politics. If Politics is basically the practice of living together in civil society (and is sometimes defined as the “art of the possible”), while Religion reflects our best and highest values, morals, and principles (as well as an occasional belief in miracles), they NEED one another in order bring out the best of the “body politic,” and help us to understand that we are all one people in the same boat together. James Madison once famously observed that “If men were angels, no government would be necessary,” and the same could easily be said of churches. And yet, to be reminded from time to time that there are indeed angels out there, and that we need to be attentive to their messages, can often do a great deal to bring people together, even though it sometimes also runs the risk of driving them apart also runs the risk of driving them apart.

It was just this sort of impasse that brought Adams and Jefferson (and their respective supporters) to such bitter loggerheads in 1800. Jefferson was in private a deeply religious man, but he was also a deeply private man, who liked to keep his religious views to himself, and shared them only with his closest and most trusted friends. His Unitarian beliefs that God is One, a Providential Spirit who set all things in motion at the creation of the Universe, and who likewise endowed all human beings with certain “natural” and “inalienable” rights; together with his deeply-held conviction that Jesus was a man and a great moral teacher whose teachings can be summed up by the Golden Rule, were in essence identical to those of his political rival. But unlike Jefferson (who tended to believe that the solution to everything was “more liberty”), Adams also believed that MOST human beings NEEDED some sort of moral instruction (as well as some form of consistent, external social constraint) if they were to be kept on the “straight and narrow.”

Had the stakes seemed smaller, these two once and future friends might have reconciled their differences through honest and open dialogue, which of course is exactly what they attempted to do in retirement. But at the time, it seemed instead that the election of 1800 represented a critical watershed in the brief history of the young American republic. Would its future be found in a return to the “tyrannical” aristocratic practices of Great Britain, and its established Anglican church? Or would it follow the slippery slope of the French Revolution, which had guillotined both priests and princes in its brutal “Reign of Terror?” Jefferson and his followers of course most feared the former, while the supporters of Adams (the New England Standing Order clergy chief among them) attempted to portray Jefferson as a potential “Infidel in Chief,” who wanted nothing more that to confiscate every Bible in the land, and bring an end to religion altogether.

Jefferson won that bitterly-contested election, and of course neither side’s worst fears were realized. Instead, the next quarter-century of small-”d” small “r” “democratic-republican government subsequently became known as “the Era of Good Feelings,” at least when it came to politics. On the religious front, Jefferson’s election was accompanied by something neither he nor Adams could have really predicted: the beginning of the so-called “Second Great Awakening,” a period of frontier revivals and camp meetings, which would sometimes go on for weeks at a time. What was true in American politics also became true for American religion; each and every individual soul now enjoyed the liberty to decide for themselves what their faith would be, although that faith often bore very little resemblance to the more sophisticated beliefs of someone like Jefferson, whose ultimate faith in liberty had helped make freedom of belief a reality.

This same period in our history also saw the beginning of the disestablishment of the tax-supported Standing Order here in New England. Maine put an end to tax-supported religion in 1820, right here on this spot, with the drafting of its original state constitution. Stubborn Massachusetts (still dominated by Unitarians, but not for much longer) was the last to give in, in the mid-1830’s, opting instead for universal, tax-supported public education as a means for inculturating the immigrant classes with American values (while at the same time leaving them to worship in their own churches on Sunday mornings, and to complain about the burden of double taxation, just as the Baptists had, when they set out to create their own system of parochial schools).

And of course the greatest irony of all is that once freed from their obligation to be all things to all people, churches instead became free to seek out their own natural constituencies, and to shape their message in precisely the terms they needed to in order to appeal most strongly to their target audience. For Catholic churches this generally took place in ethnic terms, with an emphasis on holding on to their own. But for Protestant churches, ethnicity (at least among immigrant populations) was simply one element of ever-shrinking significance, when compared to factors like education and social class, theological doctrine, worship style, even geographic proximity and the personality (or reputation) of the minister. Over the course of the past 200 years, the American church has become an enterprise, which has in that time marketed itself more or less aggressively depending upon the tenor of the times and its own level of institutional energy.

Denominations like ours, with a long history of seeing ourselves as a “public” church attempting to live up to Jefferson’s Prophecy, have often been slow to adopt this “entrepreneurial” approach to religion. And in many cases we’ve been able to afford not to; our deep roots and broad social networks have allowed us to preserve our self-image as “America’s Real Religion,” along with the elusive goal of winning everyone over to our way of thinking. But thanks to Mr. Jefferson’s legacy, I can comfortably predict that this is never going to happen. We may someday become slightly more numerous than one in a thousand, but even to achieve that we need to look very carefully at who we are and where we come from, and the essence of our mission to the communities we choose to serve. We need to be honest, forthright, and unashamed about our beliefs, our values, our goals, our principles, and our practices...and we need to lift them up high, so that all may see and that those who agree can easily find us here. We need to invite our friends, and support this church with our time, and our talent, and yes our treasure...even when times are tough, and we are nervous ourselves about whether or not we will even have a job a year from now. And above all, we must all hang together, because if we fail to do so (to paraphrase Mr Franklin at the signing of the Declaration) we will all most certainly be left to hang separately, and alone -- from a metaphorical , if not a literal, noose of our own making.

READING:

To Messrs. Nehemiah Dodge and Others A Committee of the Danbury Baptist Association in the State of Connecticut

January 1, 1802

Gentlemen,

The affectionate sentiments of esteem and approbation which you are so good as to express towards me, on behalf of the Danbury Baptist Association, give me the highest satisfaction. My duties dictate a faithful and zealous pursuit of the interests of my constituents, and in proportion as they are persuaded of my fidelity to those duties, the discharge of them becomes more and more pleasing.

Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between church and State. Adhering to this expression of the supreme will of the nation in behalf of the rights of conscience, I shall see with sincere satisfaction the progress of those sentiments which tend to restore to man all his natural rights, convinced he has no natural right in opposition to his social duties.

I reciprocate your kind prayers for the protection and blessing of the common Father and Creator of man, and tender you for yourselves and your religious association, assurances of my high respect and esteem.

Thomas Jefferson, President of the United States
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Other Shoe

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
For those of you around the country who have been waiting for the other shoe to drop after my February 18th posting “Died in the Ministry,” last week I sent the following letter to every member and friend of the First Parish in Portland:


Wednesday March 4th, 2009

Dear Members and Friends of the First Parish in Portland

After a great deal of reflection and no little soul searching, I have decided not to return in September to the pulpit at First Parish in the role of your settled parish minister.

I realize this announcement will come as a relief to some and as a disappointment to others. But I have known for some time now that I simply incapable of doing 100% of my job 100% of the time, and that I require considerable assistance simply to do the 20% of the job I felt was still delivering 80% of the benefit.

What I have only recently come to appreciate is that I am also no longer capable of giving 100% of my self to this ministry, not because of lack of desire, but because it is simply no longer there. Because of my illness, I am no longer the kind of minister I have always aspired to be, and the emotional burden this has placed on many of the critical lay leaders of this congregation has been considerable.

Your kindness, generosity and support for me these past twelve months have been overwhelming. My gratitude and affection for all of you are equally immense. First Parish deserves a minister who is capable of caring for all of its members, and not one who needs to be cared for himself.

The first week in March may seem like an unusual time to make this kind of announcement, but it was felt that in the interest of transparency this news should be known before the start of our annual Stewardship campaign, so that individual church members might have the opportunity to talk about their feelings with their visiting Stewards. At the very least, it should give us ample opportunity to say our “farewells.” And may we all be blessed in whatever lies ahead.

Faithfully Yours,

The Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen,
Parish Minister



As you might imagine, this was a very difficult letter to write. The people of this congregation have been incredibly generous and supportive of me over the past twelve months, and I honestly felt that I owed them everything I had in my effort to recover my health and come back as the “first-string, starting minister” of this team. So when I learned that so many of my most important lay leaders (including both the current and the incoming Governing Board Presidents) felt just the opposite, and that it was time for me to move on so that they could begin to move forward again, it initially came as quite a surprise.

But as I’ve sat with this question over the past few weeks, and meditated in my own heart about what is best both for the church and for me, I’ve come to see the wisdom of this choice. I WISH that I didn’t have to write this letter, and that I was capable of coming back and doing my job the way I have always aspired to do it; I wish that I didn’t have cancer in the first place, and could still estimate my life span in decades rather than a few years more or less. But I am RESIGNED to the fact that this is all just wishful thinking, and that there is a very real danger (if it hasn’t happened already) of my becoming a burden to this congregation, rather than an active and creative leader and contributor.

And when all is said and done, it really is all about what is best for the church. Like all UU ministers, I serve at the pleasure of my people, who enjoy the privilege of calling (and dismissing) whoever they choose as one of the fundamental cornerstones of our congregational polity. The tricky part is discerning what is truly “best.” I’m still not absolutely certain about the best answer to that question myself, and probably never will be. But absolute certainty is another one of those elusive luxuries few of us truly enjoy in this lifetime anyway.

What I do know is that no matter what I personally decide to do next, I will be fine (or as fine as one can be with a terminal cancer diagnosis). What I worry about most is the fate of those sixty-some people who have, will, or were in the process of joining this church during my tenure here, and whose primary “connection” is still with me, and not necessarily with the congregation as a whole. It would be a terrible tragedy for everyone concerned: them, myself, and the congregation at First Parish, if these newcomers were to simply “drift away,” without enjoying all of the benefits that belonging to a faith community like this one can bring. Fortunately, we have an excellent Membership Coordinator at First Parish who truly understands the notion of “radical hospitality,’ and who will do everything in her power to help keep these “lost lambs” in the flock.

For my own part, I haven’t exactly decided yet what to do next, although my basic trajectory is pretty clear. Depending on my medical condition I may stay on here in on here in Portland for a little while, but cancer is expensive, and I really can’t afford to stay here over the long term (at least not “in the manner to which I have grown accustomed”) without the nominal stipend (and generous benefits package!) the church was providing for me. So I fully expect that well before the first winter snowfall I will be back on the West Coast: either with my father in Sacramento, or near my daughter (and new grandchild!) in Portland OR, or (although this is probably just more wishful thinking) by myself back at our family cottage on Camano Island, where my mother and her mother before her spent the last years of their lives surrounded by family and family friends whose friendships go back for generations.

And the truth is that I will probably try out all of these places -- spending the early part of this summer visiting my brother and friends here on the East Coast (and especially my many friends on Nantucket!), who I will no doubt see a lot less of once I move out West again. But by the middle of July I plan to be back in Portland, OR to be present for the birth of my first grandchild, while also spending some time in August (September, October...) at Juniper Beach. And then down to Sacramento for the winter, and more permanent, long-term accommodations.

But again, this all remains to be seen. The first step is simply to bring “healthy closure” to my ministry here, and to say farewell to all these fine people I have grown to love so much these past two years, and who have done so much to support me as I have battled with my illness.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

To the Members and Friends of First Parish...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Wednesday March 4th, 2009

Dear Members and Friends of the First Parish in Portland

After a great deal of reflection and no little soul searching, I have decided not to return in September to the pulpit at First Parish in the role of your settled parish minister.

I realize this announcement will come as a relief to some and as a disappointment to others. But I have known for some time now that I simply can not do 100% of my job 100% of the time, and that I require considerable assistance simply to do the 20% of the job I felt was still delivering 80% of the benefit.

What I have only recently come to appreciate is that I am also no longer capable of giving 100% of my self to this ministry, not because of lack of desire, but because it simply is no longer there. Because of my illness, I am no longer the kind of minister I have always aspired to be, and the emotional burden this has placed on many of the critical lay leaders of this congregation has been considerable.

Your kindness, generosity and support for me these past twelve months have been overwhelming. My gratitude and affection for all of you are equally immense. First Parish deserves a minister who is capable of caring for all of its members, and not one who needs to be cared for himself.

The first week in March may seem like an unusual time to make this kind of announcement, but it was felt that in the interest of transparency this news should be known before the start of our annual Stewardship campaign, so that individual church members might have the opportunity to talk about their feelings with their visiting Stewards. At the very least, it should give us ample opportunity to say our “farewells.” And may we all be blessed in whatever lies ahead.

Faithfully Yours,

The Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen, Parish Minister
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Nose to Toes

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
Preached last Sunday the first half of the concluding two-part message of the five-sermon series on "UU-DNA" that I've been preaching all winter, and if that sounds unnecessarily complicated, it's probably because it is. In any event, here is the link to "Mr Jefferson's Prophecy" which I will complete in a couple of weeks with a sermon on "Mr Jefferson's Legacy." Which reminds me -- if you're starting to feel like I'm not posting often enough here, you might also try checking out some of the other blogs I write, all of which can be found by surfing the links on my "Profile" page.

Feels like my calendar is just jammed with medical appointments these days: saw my new PCP last week, who examined me from "nose to toes" -- first trying to help me out with my daily nosebleeds, and then working his way down to the skin on my back and legs, my spine, hips and knees, and ultimately my feet and toes. Ordered oxygen for me to use overnight (which should help my sleep apnea also), as well as a couple of ointments/lotions for my back and legs. Today I saw the podiatrist, tomorrow my new oral surgeon, Thursday is more Physical Therapy, plus a bone scan in the afternoon. Monday more chemo (my last session of this round) and then I'm clear for awhile, at least until the next CT Scan which will tell me how well the chemo worked.

That's the huge irony of this illness. The cancer itself is always a little abstract, like it lives at arm's length. I know I have it, I know it's serious, I know it can be "treated" but that it will never be "cured" -- a diagnostic reality which, by SSI regulation, automatically defines me as "permanently and totally disabled." Yet I also know that by surviving this first year my odds of surviving another five years have increased from less than one in twenty-five to about one in four (and intuitively I feel like they are probably a lot better than that!). But mostly it's a pretty simple reality: I know I have cancer, but it's not going to kill me today, and I'm pretty certain that it's not going to kill me tomorrow (or for that matter, next week). And that's good enough for me. I don't really need to live that much more out in front of myself anyway.

On the other hand, the physical infirmity that has been brought on by this disease, and by the side effects of my medications, really are something that I have to live with every day. And I'm starting to get tired of it! I want to walk again, and better yet, drive again; I want to be able to sail, and climb stairs...Lord, maybe even play a little basketball; I want back the INDEPENDENCE and the simple COMPETENCE I enjoyed before I got sick. Is that so much to ask? Hell, who do I ask anyway? -- it's just something that I have to take back for myself.

Around here I see these old guys in their 80's and 90's, limping around with their canes and their walkers and wincing with every step, and yet they are walking (and in many cases -- gulp -- still driving), but notwithstanding their questionable judgement, their persistence makes them an inspiration to me. And that's really all it takes. Desire. Willfulness. Persistence. Good old-fashions Mule-Headed Stubbornness. I WILL get to where I want to be. Walking, and under my own power.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

MR JEFFERSON'S PROPHECY

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***
a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday March 1st, 2009

OPENING WORDS: “Reason and free inquiry are the only effectual agents against error.... Give a loose to them, they will support the true religion by bringing every false one to their tribunal.” --Thomas Jefferson, Notes on the State of Virginia.

***

“ I rejoice that in this blessed country of free inquiry and belief, which has surrendered its creed and conscience to neither kings nor priests, the genuine doctrine of one only God is reviving, and I trust that there is not a young man now living in the United States who will not die an Unitarian....”

These words may be new to you, but we are coming up now on the 187th anniversary of their composition, and I personally have been living with their haunting irony for most of my adult lifetime. They stand before me like a taunting challenge from a heckler in the back of the room: if you’re so smart, why ain’t your rich? If you’re so famous, why haven’t I heard of you? And if your religion is so great, why aren’t there a lot more of Unitarian Universalists?

There are a little over 300 million Americans alive today, approximately half of whom are, have been, or will be young men. On the other hand, there are only about 250 thousand Unitarian Universalists living in the United States, and only 39% of those are male. Of course, I’m talking about certified members now. If you look instead at census and polling data, those numbers improve a litte; according to Gallop and the Pew Charitable Trust, approximately three to six-tenths of one per cent of Americans consider themselves to be Unitarians, Universalists, or some combination thereof. Even so, the basic reality is that to be a Unitarian Universalist is to be one in a thousand. Or to put it another way, if you were going to mingle in a random group of people [obviously not here, but maybe at the mall], your chances of running into another Unitarian there would be approximately 250 times WORSE than my chances of surviving cancer for the next five years!

This Winter I’ve been preaching a series of sermons on something I call “UU DNA” -- the things about “our liberal movement in theology” which are so distinct and ubiquitous that they might be thought of as part of our “genetic make-up.” So far I’ve spoken about the “promiscuous” nature of our unique version of Congregational Polity, about the importance of Personal Religious Experience as the principal source of religious authority, and also about Unitarian Universalist responses to the Problem of Evil: “why bad things happen to good people.” And those sermons can now all be found on our church website; [I believe you can get to them by clicking on my face at the firstparishportland.org homepage}. And now today and again in a couple of weeks we come to the conclusion of this series, by examining this lingering and sometimes haunting sense of challenge and expectation -- as well as missed opportunity and squandered potential -- that still sometimes colors our image of ourselves two centuries after Jefferson made his prediction. If we’re so great, why aren’t there more of us? In fact, why have so many people never even heard of us at all?

But before we tackle those questions, I’d first like to look a little more closely at Jefferson’s own Unitarian credentials. Denominational historians generally consider Jefferson to be one of five Unitarian or Universalist presidents. But unlike the other four: John and John Quincy Adams, Millard Fillmore, and William Howard Taft -- all of whom have tangible records of church membership and denominational involvement -- Jefferson considered himself “content to be a Unitarian by myself,” and was never formally affiliated with any Unitarian church or organization.

Part of this is simply a matter of geography and historical timing. Jefferson was born in 1743, and died at his home at Montecello in Virginia on July 4th, 1826 [the same day John Adams died at his home in Massachussets]. For approximately two/thirds of his life, Liberal Christianity (at least in America) would have been known simply as that; it was not until after 1805 (and the election of Henry Ware Sr. as the Hollis Professor of Divinity at Harvard, at the beginning of Jefferson’s second term as President) that the term “Unitarian” began to come into use to describe the liberals, and it was really not until a decade later, at William Ellery Channing’s 1819 sermon at the ordination of Jared Sparks in Baltimore (Unitarianism’s southernmost congregation at that time) that the label “Unitarian Christianity” was publicly used by the liberals themselves, to describe the doctrines they felt defined their faith.

By that time there were already one hundred or more congregations who were Unitarian in all be name [including this one here in Portland], but they were mostly here in New England; only Joseph Priestly’s church in Philadelphia, an offshoot of British Unitarianism, was an exception to this rule. It was not until 1825 -- a mere 13 months (actually, a year, a month, a week and a day) before Jefferson and Adams’s deaths, that the American Unitarian Association was formally organized in Boston.

Jefferson was a great admirer and supporter of Priestly, and probably even attended services at Priestly’s church in Philadelphia while living and serving in the Government there; he was certainly familiar with Priestly’s writings, which were an inspiration for his own infamous “Jefferson Bible.” But as a public figure whose religious opinions were already controversial, Jefferson was reluctant to have his name invoked in theological disputes, and therefore tended to keep his personal faith a private matter, to be discussed only among close friends and those who shared his views. Yet despite having been born too soon to enjoy what some have called “the Golden Age of Unitariansim, “ there is certainly no doubt in my own mind, as a historian, that when Jefferson died as an old man of 83, he died a Unitarian.

But just exactly what did being a Unitarian mean in Jefferson’s day? A good portion of Jefferson’s creed we heard in this morning’s reading: that God is One, and that Jesus was a great spiritual teacher, who taught that our highest duty in life is to Love God with all our hearts, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Beyond that though, Jefferson’s personal faith embodied three additional features typical of Unitarianism then and now. The Unitarian historian Earl Morse Wilbur has described these qualities as “Freedom, Reason, and Tolerance,” and in many ways they still characterize the continuity in liberal religion from Jefferson’s day until our own.

By Freedom is meant the very idea of religious liberty or “liberalism” itself: the Freedom of Conscience which entitles (and obligates!) the seeker to believe whatever their Reason and their Experience tell them to be true. Reason, in turn, places its trust in what was then sometimes called “Natural Theology” rather than revelation-- a belief in “Nature and Nature’s God” whose eternal truths are self-evident, and best discerned and understood through scientific observation and logical inquiry, rather than through some sort of supernatural revelation. Jefferson’s co-revolutionary Benjamin Franklin once quipped that “so convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable Creature, since it enables one to find or make a Reason for every thing one has a mind to do.” But in more serious moments, the distinction between “rationality” and “rationalization” is easily discerned by “reasonable” human beings.

It’s the question of Tolerance that more frequently causes stumbling. The value of Freedom dictates a broad latitude of belief and opinion, since each is free to follow their own conscience. The value of Reason, on the other hand, is constantly asking that nagging question: “How far can we open our minds before our brains fall out?” Jefferson’s notion of a “marketplace” of religious ideas, where each religion is brought before the tribunal of Reason and Free Inquiry, proved itself somewhat naive and ineffective in the context of a complete separation of Church and State, where mere “toleration” gave way to an environment of diversity and pluralism where the mere idea of a dominant “true religion” seems absurd.

In his book Revolutionary Spirits: The Enlightened Faith of America’s Founding Fathers, my friend and Divinity School classmate Gary Kowalski describes what happened next:

**By defining the individual as a spiritual free agent within an unregulated religious marketplace, the founders opened the field to revivalists vying to save souls by whatever means possible -- promises of heaven or threats of hell packaged in terms the roughest pioneers could comprehend.

**A changing theology propelled America’s conversion. An earlier generation held that only God could deliver sinners into a state of grace. There was little human beings could do to hasten or prevent a dynamic of redemption that was entirely in the hands of the Almighty. But evangelists in the nineteenth century agreed that a more popular, extemporaneous preaching style might help ready the reprobate to receive the divine influx. Droning sermons gave way to more dramatic altar calls. Showmanship entered the pulpit. The two former presidents [Adams and Jefferson], with their high-minded, philosophic discourse were at a persuasive disadvantage. [p 190]**


Unlike Jefferson, John Adams believed that there was a place for an established church in the new United States, and had his views prevailed that church would have no doubt resembled some form of Unitarianism. But with the First Amendment and Jefferson’s “wall of separation,” future generations faced a very different landscape than the one their ancestors had known. [But this is territory we will explore next time, when we examine “Mr Jefferson’s Legacy.” ]

***

READING: letter from Thomas Jefferson to Benjamin Waterhouse, June 26, 1822


To Dr. Benjamin Waterhouse

Monticello, June 26, 1822

Dear Sir, -- I have received and read with thankfulness and pleasure your denunciation of the abuses of tobacco and wine. Yet, however sound in its principles, I expect it will be but a sermon to the wind. You will find it as difficult to inculcate these sanative precepts on the sensualities of the present day, as to convince an Athanasian that there is but one God. I wish success to both attempts, and am happy to learn from you that the latter, at least, is making progress, and the more rapidly in proportion as our Platonizing Christians make more stir and noise about it. The doctrines of Jesus are simple, and tend all to the happiness of man.

1. That there is one only God, and he all perfect.
2. That there is a future state of rewards and punishments.
3. That to love God with all thy heart and thy neighbor as thyself; is the sum of religion.

These are the great points on which he endeavored to reform the religion of the Jews. But compare with these the demoralizing dogmas of Calvin.
1. That there are three Gods.
2. That good works, or the love of our neighbor, are nothing.
3. That faith is every thing, and the more incomprehensible the proposition, the more merit in its faith.
4. That reason in religion is of unlawful use.
5. That God, from the beginning, elected certain individuals to be saved, and certain others to be damned; and that no crimes of the former can damn them; no virtues of the latter save.

Now, which of these is the true and charitable Christian? He who believes and acts on the simple doctrines of Jesus? Or the impious dogmatists as Athanasius and Calvin? Verily I say these are the false shepherds foretold as to enter not by the door into the sheepfold, but to climb up some other way. They are mere usurpers of the Christian name, teaching a counter-religion made up of the deliria of crazy imaginations, as foreign from Christianity as is that of Mahomet. Their blasphemies have driven thinking men into infidelity, who have too hastily rejected the supposed author himself, with the horrors so falsely imputed to him. Had the doctrines of Jesus been preached always as pure as they came from his lips, the whole civilized world would now have been Christian. I rejoice that in this blessed country of free inquiry and belief, which has surrendered its creed and conscience to neither kings nor priests, the genuine doctrine of one only God is reviving, and I trust that there is not a young man now living in the United States who will not die an Unitarian.

But much I fear, that when this great truth shall be re-established, its votaries will fall into the fatal error of fabricating formulas of creed and confessions of faith, the engines which so soon destroyed the religion of Jesus, and made of Christendom a mere Aceldama; that they will give up morals for mysteries, and Jesus for Plato. How much wiser are the Quakers, who, agreeing in the fundamental doctrines of the gospel, schismatize about no mysteries, and, keeping within the pale of common sense, suffer no speculative differences of opinion, any more than of feature, to impair the love of their brethren. Be this the wisdom of Unitarians, this the holy mantle which shall cover within its charitable circumference all who believe in one God, and who love their neighbor! I conclude my sermon with sincere assurances of my friendly esteem and respect.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

The Chaos of Transition

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
I'm still unpacking in my new apartment, which is overrun with books, boxes, laundry, kitchen gear, and just about everything else you might imagine -- I'm making SLOW progress, but the emphasis really is upon the slow. Worst part is that I can't get a clear WiFi signal there, despite having specifically checked that out before deciding to move! So once again I'm back to unplugging the laptop and taking it with me for the afternoon to the other tower, and setting up camp in one of the public lounges where I can still get a signal. Eventually all these problems will be resolved. But it still takes a very long time, and has pretty much been life-consuming. Did manage to hire a new Director of Religious Education in the process though, who will be introduced to the congregation here next Sunday. And my medical news still seems to be stable as well -- no changes, good indications, and most of my day to day incidentals under control. I am awfully tired a lot of the time, and my emotions are still very close to the surface...but my appetite is good, my pain control is good, and my mobility gets better and better almost by the day. My Physical Therapist still kicks my ass every time we go Wii bowling, (the Wii is a video game which simulates normal athletic activities, like bowling, baseball, golf or tennis), but I'm walking and climbing stairs better than ever. One more chemo session in another couple of weeks, and then another big MRI to see how we're doing. That test represents my next big milestone. So pray and light candles for stable or shrinking tumors.

Had a nice visit with my new Primary Care Physician today as well, who checked me out "from nose to toes" and confirmed some of the things I'd been thinking about this one year milestone -- basically that my five year survival statistics shoot up dramatically, especially given the relatively good state of my health beforehand. And he also prescribed some anti-fungal cremes for me to put on my skin and feet, which happen to be the SAME over-the-counter cremes women use to treat yeast infections. So if you see some strange tubes in my medicine cabinet next time you visit, don't be too shocked! It's all for a good purpose. Of course, hopefully the medicines will do their job and I will be rid of them before too long. My medicine cabinet is already pretty crowded as it is.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

THE ECLECTIC CLERIC - "Tough Times Never Last..."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And I never dreamed that I would find myself quoting Robert Schuler in a newsletter column, but these are indeed extraordinary times. Between the Bailout and the Stimulus, the constant talk in the media of unemployment, foreclosures, collapsing consumer confidence and the possibilities stock market crash, and the technical distinctions between “recession” and “depression,” we need few reminders that these are indeed difficult times. But the truly pressing question is how should we respond? What, if anything, can we do to make things LESS difficult, both for ourselves and for those who have come to church seeking support and inspiration in these challenging days?

This is the great paradox of life in a faith community. On the one hand, there are few among us whose lives have not been touched by this economic downturn. We’ve seen the value of our homes and our investments drop, felt the pressure in the workplace, some of us have even lost our jobs and are looking for new ones in a tight employment market. And what happens to each of us individually carries over into the life of the church as well, where we have also felt the impact of the declining value of our invested endowment funds, as well as the pressure to live within our means even when our resources fall short of our needs.

Yet at the same time, this is also a moment where people are seeking out the church, not only for inspiration and emotional encouragement, but for tangible assistance and support in their efforts to get back on their feet again. The church is not a social service agency, and never will be. Yet we can play a very significant and influential role in the lives of individuals who need a helping hand as well as an encouraging word, and for whom a small amount of assistance goes a very long way.

I’m not talking now about the folks who haunt every church community, dropping by asking to speak with the Pastor in hope of a handout. I’m talking about people who may have originally dropped in just to get warm and get a bite to eat, but who now for all intents and purposes are active members of our congregation. They worship with us every week, listen to the sermon and light candles during the candlesharing, perhaps even put a little something in the collection when they have it. Some of them you may know by name, others merely recognize by appearance; many offer little evidence of how hard their lives really are right now. Yet they need the church in ways that are difficult to define, yet of inestimable importance to their very survival.

How we choose to respond to this dilemma says a great deal about who we are as a church. Do we choose to hunker down, cutting back and withdrawing into ourselves until these tough times have passed? Or do we continue to open all the window and the doors, to embrace our ministry of radical hospitality, and continue to serve as “A Warm and Welcoming Place in the Heart of the City?” I know the answer that works for me. And if each of us will just do what we can, I’m confident we will be equal to the challenge. “Tough times never last, but tough people do.” It’s that essential “toughness” that has enabled First Parish to survive for as long as it has, and will insure our continued survival here far into the future........twj
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

"Died in this Ministry...."

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
It's all public now, at least the part that needs to be, so I guess it's OK to write a little more about my "weird weekend" the week before last. As I approach the first anniversary of my life as a cancer "survivor," I've also started thinking a little harder about my future plans -- how much longer I intend to keep serving in this ministry, and what I plan to do with myself afterwards. So much of this past year has been consumed by the challenges of getting my disease under control, and recovering enough of my strength and mobility that I could return to work and contribute in a meaningful way...and the progress I've made in both of those areas has really been remarkable. But I'm also acutely aware of how tenuous this all is, and how easily my health could turn bad again in a relatively short time.

And apparently I'm not the only one whose been thinking about these questions. Still, it came as something of a surprise to me when the outgoing President of our Governing Board phoned to ask whether she cold stop by my apartment the Friday before last (thankfully NOT the 13th!) to tell me that she that she'd been reflecting about the future direction of First Parish, and thought that because of the uncertain nature of my health it would be best for the congregation if I announced my intention to resign from my ministry here at the end of this program year.

I say surprise because even though I'm also intimately aware that nothing involving cancer is ever certain (and even been thinking that we need to begin searching for someone to succeed me sooner rather than later), my thoughts were more along the lines of the model used so successfully by First Parish for much of the 18th and 19th centuries, of settling a "colleague" minister who would at first work alongside me before eventually taking over completely once I had "died in this ministry" (or at least determined that I still had a few more things left on my "bucket list" that I wanted to get to too). Not only did I write a doctoral dissertation in which this type of transition in ministerial tenure plays a prominent role, but I am also reminded of it every Sunday, when I wheel into the Meetinghouse and see the memorials which frame both sides of the High Pulpit, and recall how the Reverends Thomas Smith, Samuel Deane, and Ichabod Nichols faithfully served this congregation in sequence from 1724 to 1859, each first serving as a colleague to his predecessor before eventually taking over entirely following their deaths.

As it turned out, after that conversation (and a few other exchanges of phone calls and e-maisl) we ended up sending a joint letter to the entire congregation, signed by myself, the out-going President of the Governing Board, the in-coming President of the Governing Board, and both the Chair and the Treasurer of the Board of Trustees, informing them that we were beginning deliberations about the future course of my ministry here at First Parish, and wanted to hear their thoughts and feelings before making any decisions. And now that I've had a chance to sit with the idea for a little bit, I can begin to see some of the benefits of ending on a high note, BEFORE my declining health eventually forces me to leave. And this alone puts me in complete agreement with those who believe we need to begin searching for the next minister NOW, with the expectation of having them called and settled by autumn, 2010.

Like all UU ministers, I serve at the pleasure of the congregation, who are always free to call and settle whoever pleases them, and to dismiss their clergy as well whenever they cease to please. Furthermore (although I was not aware of this at the time), according to my Letter of Agreement, the moment my Long Term Disability claim was accepted I ceased to be the settled minister at First Parish! So in effect I continue to work here now on a handshake deal, and it will require some sort of pro-active decision on the part of the Congregation (even if it is something so simple as approving a line item in the budget for my continued compensation, benefits and expenses) for me to remain here beyond the end of this fiscal year.

So the real question still resides with the congregation. What kind of on-going relationship (if any) does First Parish desire to maintain with me after June 30, 2009? What does that look like, and how does it influence the kind of search we conduct in order to bring in another new minister in 2010?

For my own part, I am simply trying to stay calm, and keep my own stress levels to a minimum, while I savor every moment of ministry life still gives me, and adjust my own attitude so that I can see all the advantages of each of the alternatives. Knowing that this is no longer really MY decision, but rather God speaking to me through the whirlwind of congregational polity, I am listening carefully for that still, small voice that will explain to me why the decision that eventually emerges will indeed be the right path for us to follow.

It's also important to lift up the points on which we all agree:

• Everyone involved in this process wants what is best for the Church. We may not always see exactly eye-to-eye about what that might look like, but the more we talk with and listen to one another in an honest, safe and trusting manner, the more likely we are to see and appreciate perspectives other than our own.

• We also all agree that we would like to begin searching for my eventual successor sooner rather than later, with a goal of having someone in town and settling in by August, 2010.

• It's flattering for me to read about all of the good things people associate with my ministry here, and humbling to recognize how hard so many people have worked in order to support me in my efforts to return to the pulpit at First Parish. Their great generosity inspires in me a deep sense of gratitude, as well as the desire to reciprocate in whatever way I can, whether that ultimately entails either remaining here or moving on.

No doubt I will have a lot more to say about all this in the days and weeks ahead, as I continue to contemplate what is best for the congregation, and how that fits with my own desires for the future. I have many good options available to me regardless of which path I choose -- a choice that will ultimately be informed by what the congregation tells me is best for them, and my own limitations as a person living with a terminal cancer diagnosis. Having survived now for an entire year, my five year survival prognosis leaps from a scary 3-5% to a whopping 13-33% (depending on whose numbers you use), and there are lots of other things about my demographic profile that make me believe that my own odds are even better than these. Ever since I was a child, I've pretty much been in the 90th percentile in everything I've undertaken; I don't see any reason why cancer should be any different. Then again, I never expected to contract cancer in the first place, despite the approximately quarter of a million cigarettes I foolishly smoked when I was younger (but still old enough to know better!). 250,000 smokes, and not one of them tasted as good as simply a good breath of fresh ocean air first thing in the morning. And still, so much of our lives are in God's hands. And the sooner we realize that, the easier it becomes to live and live well with whatever life may bring us.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

A letter to the Members and Friends of the First Parish in Portland Maine

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
[please click on the images to expand the to full size]




โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

A week and a day....

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And this past week has been one of the strangest of my lifetime, although unfortunately I don't really feel like I can go into all of the details at this time. But it has left me flabbergasted, as well as with a whole new perspective on ministry, the church, and my own future in it. But I'll get back to that some other time. Meanwhile, for those of you who are wondering what ELSE I've been up to this past week, preached another strong sermon Sunday about the authority of religious experience, "Mystics, Skeptics, and Dyspeptics," then attended a "Pageant summit" with members of the Worship Committee and the Pageant Committee to discuss the possibility of updating the words of some of the Carols in order to reflect contemporary Unitarian Universalist Beliefs. Finally, I interviewed a prospective candidate for our open Director of Religious Education position, and eventually caught a ride home from church at about 2 pm. Even more exciting news from my daughter later that night, who informed me that I can expect to become a grandfather this August! Here's the link to HER new baby-blog, Little Sullivan-Bowen along with a photo of the little "Mexican Jumping Bean" at 11 weeks.



Anyway, Monday and Tuesday were pretty much taken up dealing with the on-going weirdness I mentioned earlier, but Wednesday was really remarkable. Left the wheelchair at home, and equipped only with my trusty "Rollater" (a fancy walker with a seat and wheels) rode with my colleague Kitsy Winthrop to the Minister's meeting in Saco -- only the third time I've been able to attend one of these meetings in the past 12 months. It felt very liberating to be out of the chair for such a long time (basically, the entire day), and also reassuring to see so many other colleagues, and to reconnect with them for mutual support and encouragement. These are hard times in a lot of churches -- budgets are tight at precisely the moment that people seem to need the church most, and are flocking to them in ever greater numbers. I just hope we are up to meeting the challenge both here in the short term, and over the long run as well.

After the meeting Kitsy and I decided to have lunch out. My first thought was the vegetarian restaurant on Congress Street, but Kitsy was concerned about that parking...so we actually ended up going somewhere very different: Wild Willy's Burgers, a western-themed hamburger place where Kitsy had the Bison Burger, and I enjoyed the original "Wild Willy" -- basically your standard high-quality bacon cheeseburger with lettuce, tomatoes, red onions and such. Hand-cut fries, batter-dipped rings, Raspberry Lime Rickeys, a real grease-feast...so out of character for Kitsy, and these days more and more a rarity for me as well.

And then after THAT, since we were already out, we stopped by the hospital to visit one of our parishioners who has been there now for two weeks, and is expected to be there for at least three more. A full-blooded Navajo Indian and US Army vet, he had been living on the street (or actually, in people's gardens) in a tent and sleeping bag, but has also attended church fairly regularly (when he's in town) for over a year. Last year he broke his leg after being hit by a car, and after they removed the metal rod last October his leg gradually became infected until he was no longer able to walk, which is what precipitated this hospitalization. In any event, it was good to be able to see him face to face; he's clearly feeling restless being confined like this, but he also appreciates that he needs to heal, and is working with a caseworker about better housing and the like when he is finally discharged. So I'm hoping for a happy ending, but I'm still not sure what that would really look like.

Tomorrow is Lincoln's 200th birthday, as well as the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin...pretty amazing, when you stop to think about it. And a week from that, Thursday February 19th, will be both the one-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, and also "moving day" for me, when I will leaving this small suite of rooms I've been living in since last summer, and moving into a similar-sized apartment where I will no longer have a balcony, but will enjoy both a full kitchen and in-unit laundry. So I'm pretty excited about that. I'm not certain how much surviving a year improves my own statistical long-term survival rate, but I imagine it's pretty significant. Not that I really care -- I've always assumed that I'm going to be in the 90th percentile anyway, and am hoping to live another 15-20 years. Why not? Somebody has to live that long....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

MYSTICS, SKEPTICS AND DYSPEPTICS

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
***

a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday February 8th, 2009


OPENING WORDS: The eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary picture is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world. St. Augustine described the nature of God as a circle whose centre was everywhere and its circumference nowhere. We are all our lifetime reading the copious sense of this first of forms. One moral we have already deduced in considering the circular or compensatory character of every human action. Another analogy we shall now trace, that every action admits of being outdone. Our life is an apprenticeship to the truth that around every circle another can be drawn; that there is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning; that there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.... --Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Circles”

***

A Unitarian from California went up to a hot dog vender in New York’s Central Park and said “Gimmie a Zen Dog.”

“A Zen Dog?” said the New Yorker. “Never heard of it.”

“You know,” said the Californian. “Make me one with everything....”


Today's Sermon is the third in a series of five sermons I’m preaching between now and Easter entitled “UU-DNA,” because they deal with topics which are so basic and ubiquitous about who we are that they can almost be thought of as part of our genome, or genetic make-up. Today’s topic in particular resides right at the heart of our identity as people of faith, and is even listed in the hymnbook at the First Source of our shared “Living Tradition:” “Direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces that create and uphold life.” These particular words were drafted by a committee over the course of a four-year period between 1981 and 1985, when they were formally adopted by the General Assembly , along with the rest of the statement to which they belong, as part of the preamble to the by-laws of the Unitarian Universalist Association.

On the other hand, the title that I’ve chosen for my sermon today, “Mystics, Skeptics, and Dyspeptics,” has a somewhat different history. This particular phrase belongs to the Rev. John Gorham Palfrey, who served as the Dean of the Harvard Divinity School from 1831-1840, and who used these words to describe the students who attended that institution during what was doubtlessly one of the most tumultuous decades in its history, since it corresponded with both the publication of “Nature” and Emerson’s “Divinity School Address,” Theodore Parker’s famous “South Boston” sermon, and the “explosion” of Transcendentalism as both a literary and a religious movement in New England.

“Mystics, Skeptics, and Dyspeptics.” I don’t think it was intended as a compliment. And yet, in many ways, Palfrey had (and still has) it exactly right. The mystical part is easy. We don’t typically think of Unitarian Universalism as a “mystical” faith -- we are much more likely to describe it as a “Rational” Religion, a religion based on Freedom, Reason, and Tolerance; even a “scientific” faith which has for centuries placed it’s trust in “natural theology” (which is to say, observation of the physical universe) rather than revelation, and where science trumps scripture practically every time...at least on points of material “Fact.”

But “truth” is often something more than just the facts. The REAL source of religious authority in Unitarian Universalism is neither science or revelation, but rather personal experience, which leads us to several interesting insights about who we are. To begin with, Unitarian Universalists are NOT people who are free to believe whatever we wish. We are people who are COMPELLED to believe what our Reason and our Experience tell us to be true. Second, because we are only human, none of us are ever going to know the truth perfectly -- we are always developing in our understanding, as our experience grows and our wisdom and understanding grow along with it. And finally (at least for now) what is true for us as individuals is true for us as a society and as a species as well. It’s not that “truth” itself is relative; the TRUTH (in bold, capital letters), is what it is, and is going to be true whether we choose to believe it or not. But again, our UNDERSTANDING of the Truth grows and evolves over time as we ourselves grow and evolve, and it will continue to do so until that as yet unimaginable day when we too, like the God of Christian Theology, are Omniscient/All-Knowing. That is, assuming our minds are even equal to the task. It’s certainly not something I see happening any time soon.

But not all of our knowledge is rational and analytical. Some of it is emotional, some of it intuitive, and a great deal of it (especially when it comes to matters of spirituality) comes in the form of what Scientists often label as “Peak Experiences” -- well-documented episodes of mystical insight in which individuals typically feel in a very profound and visceral way that we are very, very small creatures in a vastly large Universe, whole within ourselves, yet intimately connected to ALL THAT IS, to everyone and everything that ever was, or is, or ever will be. It’s the kind of powerful insight that we associate with great truths like “God is One” (yet more mysterious than we will ever fully understand), and that all human beings are both children of the Creator, and brothers and sisters to one another.

Peak Experiences (at least in our culture) are often associated with nature (like Emerson’s transformation into Transparent Eyeball), yet they are also often associated with other spiritual disciplines like meditation or fasting, and sometimes even happen spontaneously and without much warning. We see examples in things like Jesus’s baptism in the River Jordon and subsequent 40 day fast in the wilderness, or in the Buddha’s prolonged, pre-enlightenment meditation beneath the Bo Tree. And yes, they can also sometimes seem a little silly or even ridiculous to the outsider. Transcendentalist Margaret Fuller is said to have once proclaimed in a moment of mystical insight “I Accept the Universe,” to which the poet Thomas Carlyle responded when he heard “Gad, She’d better.” And Transcendentalist bookseller Elizabeth Peabody was briefly the laughing stock of Boston when, while walking across the Boston Common deep in contemplation, she walked head-first into a tree. “Didn’t you see it?” one of her companions asked? “I saw it,” Peabody replied, “but I did not realize it” -- in other words, the mental act of noticing the tree had not quite made its way all the way into her conscious awareness.

The insights of mystics can often seem silly or obvious in this way. But they also provide the foundation for some of the most profoundly important eternal truths which exist at the heart of every authentic religious tradition. The logic of doing unto others as we would have others do unto us, and loving our neighbors as ourselves, may seem obvious enough in the abstract, despite the constant temptation to ignore the other guy and look out first for number one. But things like the Golden Rule take on a far more compelling importance when you have actually FELT that experience of common humanity and universal connectedness in a way so powerful that you can’t quite put it into words.

And yet, it is this same compelling power of the Peak Experience that also brings us to the “Skeptical” part of our formula. I mean, let’s face facts: we can’t always believe everything God tells us. That little voice one might sometimes hear whispering in their ear, telling them to shave their head, tattoo their body from head to toe, and to move to Borneo to enlighten the few surviving headhunters there about the dangers of global warming and the benefits of a Vegan diet may well belong to one of God’s angels, but before you go on-line to start shopping for cheap airfares it probably couldn’t hurt to go through a fairly rigorous period of critical discernment. Even our most cherished beliefs must be able to stand the test of this kind of scrutiny, to be spread out in all their detail under the cold, harsh light of Skeptical examination., and still hold enough water to at least quench our thirst afterwards.

Covenant Groups, like the ones we’re gearing up to launch again in the next month or so, are the perfect kind of forum for this sort of dialog to happen. A Covenant Group is such a simple program it hardly needs explaining, but let me go ahead and describe one anyway. Optimally consisting of between 8 to 12 people, Covenant Groups meet either once or twice a month, typically in somebody’s home, for a minimum of an hour and a half. There are no refreshments served, or anything like that...although sometimes the host will have available a little something to nosh on AFTER the group is over. But the focus is on being together intentionally, WITHOUT the distractions of a typical social gathering.

The meeting begins with the participants sitting in a circle, facing one another around a chalice (which is why they are sometimes called “Chalice Circles”). There’s an opening reading, and somebody lights the chalice, ushering the group into sacred space. The next thing that happens is the “Check-in” -- not the relatively brief and perfunctory check-ins we sometimes experience at the beginning of our board and committee meetings, but a “deep Check-in” of perhaps five to ten minutes per person, during which each participant has the opportunity to share in a profound and authentic way what is happening in their lives. Of course, it takes time to build up the level of trust in which that depth of sharing can truly happen. But this is also part of the on-going Covenant Group experience, of meeting together with the same group of people over a period of months or even years.

Following the Check-in comes the topical discussion, which usually consists of a series of open-ended questions and perhaps another reading or two. Ideally, the discussion is lead by a trained group facilitator, who is both familiar with the process and the content of the session, and who understands how to draw the group out and help them engage in the discussion. In groups that only meet once a month, these topics are often selected by the team of facilitators in advance, so that every Covenant Group in the church has the opportunity to discuss the same topic, not only among themselves but informally with the members of other groups; in fact, they may even hear a sermon on the topic as well. Groups that meet twice a month will typically choose the second topic themselves, either out of the literally thousands of prepared sessions that are now available, or else one or two people writing up the session themselves. Finally, the group ends with a brief “Check-out” of likes and wishes -- one sentence each about what you thought went well, and what you would have like to have seen go differently, regarding the session just completed. A few closing words to extinguish the Chalice, and the session is over...at least until the next time.

And that is a Covenant Group: simplicity itself. But where does the Covenant part come in? First, in the commitment to regular attendance. The entire group depends upon the participation of each of its members in order for the group to function. We all have times when we can’t make it to an obligation. But don’t sign up for a Covenant Group unless its at a time when you know you can attend, and you fully intend to attend each and every session offered.

The second commitment is obviously one of confidentiality. It’s OK to talk about the topic outside of the group; in fact, it’s encouraged. But don’t gossip about the confidential things that people share during Check-in, or even about individual opinions (other than your own) regarding the topic of the group discussion. Like I said earlier, it takes time to build up a level of trust that will allow the group to function at it’s optimal level, and that trust can quickly be destroyed by just a few careless remarks. So Confidentiality is a second element of the covenant, perhaps even a more important one than the Commitment to Attend.

And then finally, in many churches there is typically an annual service component, as a group, both within the congregation and beyond it. This is important simply as a reminder that each group is indeed connected to the larger church community, and to the community beyond that which we serve as well.

So, Mysticism, Skepticism, and now the one you’ve all been waiting for: Dyspepsia. This may seem a little tongue in cheek, but lets face it: there are just some things most Unitarian Universalists simply can’t swallow. We don’t like things being force-fed to us (much less being shoved down our throats); and there are lots of things as well that leave a bad taste in our mouths, or maybe even leave us feeling a little sick to our stomachs. And if this makes us “Dyspeptics,” why is that such a bad thing? The fact that we are sometimes willing to trust our gut feelings, both in terms of what we like and what we don’t like, is a powerful compliment both to our occasionally TOO rigorous intellectual skepticism, and the kind of deep and profound mystical wonder that resides at the heart of our faith tradition, no matter how well we may try to hide it.

Humility, Awe, Gratitude, Compassion, Fascination, Curiosity, Devotion, Love... Unitarian Universalists certainly don’t have a monopoly on these qualities; in fact, just the opposite; it is our willing recognition that these are Universal qualities that Transcend the boundaries of culture and tradition, that make us almost unique among the major faith traditions of the world. We are proud of our Living Tradition, because it is a Growing Tradition, which allows us to look beyond it for additional sources of Hope, Encouragement, and Inspiration, without ever diminishing the power of its original insights or underlying principles.

“Praise the source of faith and learning, that has sparked and stoked the mind, with a passion for discerning how the world has been designed. Let the sense of wonder flowing from the wonders we survey, keep our faith forever growing, and renew our need to pray....”

Our closing hymn is number 158 - “Praise the Source of Faith and Learning....”


READING: from Nature by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1836) [adapted]

To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only the eye of the [adult], but shines into the eye and the heart of the child. The lover of nature is [one] whose inward and outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of [adulthood]. [Their] intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of [their] daily food. In the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through [them], in spite of real sorrows.... Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink of fear. In the woods too, [one] casts off [their] years, as the snake [its skin], and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how [they] should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life, -- no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground, -- my head bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space, -- all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances, -- master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon, [one] beholds somewhat as beautiful as [their] own nature.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Thank God for Prescription Drug Benefits

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
And for the third month in a row now, my Pharmacy has screwed up my scripts. This time fortunately it's not nearly so complicated as it was the previous times, and I should be able to get it cleared up with a phone call -- gave me the wrong amount of one of my meds, and then filled a script which my oncologist phoned in but that I didn't need to have filled because I already had the same pills available from a previous chemo treatment. But what the hell -- now I'll have them for next month, and won't need to worry about it then. Still, it concerns me -- I'm not sure whether it's miscommunication between my Doc and the Pharmacy, or if the Pharmacy is doing this all on there own, but I'm starting to feel like I'm going to have to start counting every pill now, rather than just counting on them to get it right and catching only their most egregious mistakes.

Admittedly, I take a lot of pills -- nine different drugs routinely, plus some over-the-counter laxatives and vitamins, and a few extra anti-nauseals at chemo-time. 21 pills a day, not counting any breakthrough painkillers or my nausea meds. Price tag for these drugs every month? Approximately $1765, of which I pay only 228.63 in co-pays (not counting the OTCs, which are really inconsequential in the greater scheme of things). And let me tell you, I sure am happy not to have to spend that extra $1550 every month. Now I just wish I actually had that money in my pocket!

Meanwhile, I feel more than a little uncomfortable basking in my own good fortune when I think about the situations of so many others within my little church "community." Like any urban church, we have people in the congregation every Sunday who are homeless, or maybe just one paycheck (or welfare check or disability check) away from being homeless, who also have serious other needs, some of them medical... And I/we (because I think most of the congregation feels the same way) want to help them as best we can -- and not just with a warm welcoming place on a Sunday morning where they can come in out of the weather and worship with us, then get a bite to eat and some hot coffee afterwards before heading back out into the winter; or even with the twenty or fifty or perhaps sometimes even a few hundred dollars I can come up with out of my discretionary fund in order to help out with a pressing bill or two, or to get them in to see a medical provider for some long-overdue treatment. Something both substantial and empowering, which leaves them in control of their own life but makes a small but significant difference in their own spiritual journey from where there are now to where God wants them to be.

Is that naive? Presumptive and patronizing? It's a little different situation from those folks who just go around from church to church hitting up the soft touches like me for a hand out. The policy now in those situations is simply to give them a $20 gift card to our local supermarket (which has already been designated to exclude alcohol and tobacco), and to have just enough red tape in place to discourage abuse -- ID if they have it, plus they have to sign for the card and perhaps even be photographed for our digital database (an extra step that was still under discussion when we decided on the rest). But I'm not in the office often enough these days to know whether this policy has even been implemented yet, much less evaluate whether it is working.

But these other folks are different. For all intents and purposes, they are members of the congregation just like the rest of us: they attended services regularly, sing the hymns and listen to the sermon, participate appropriately in the candlesharing, and sometimes even contribute to the collection. And that's part of what makes our Meetinghouse Sacred Space -- that fact that ANYONE can show up and for that hour at least put all of the differences of race and class, income, educational background, what-have-you in the background, and just BE together. Sure, it's an illusion and it doesn't last. But with a little gentle practice, maybe it will find a toehold OUTSIDE the Meetinghouse as well. And if we dare dream it, it might even usher in the Kingdom of Heaven....

Oh boy, it's getting well past my bedtime. Sweet Dreams!
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

So how many years do I need to eat Vegan...

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
in order to make up for the veal? Stop smirking; this is serious. I want to be an ethical eater, and the demands of my new 'cancer diet' create all sorts of fresh opportunities for me to integrate more healthy eating practices into my daily meals. But there are limitations too. So long as I'm living where I live, for example, I'm pretty much stuck eating whatever it is that the nutritionist has decided is healthy, and the chef has decided to prepare. There are choices, of course, but I don't know that "vegan" is really among them). Kosher, maybe. Diabetic almost certainly.

If I had my own kitchen, that would change a little, although probably not a whole lot right from the start. There's a place like that available here now, for only a few hundred dollars a month more than I'm paying right now, and I would still be able to eat one meal a day in the common dining area. Of course, it adds in all of the additional complications of grocery shopping, and meal planning, and the like...but there is also a built-in dishwasher and in-unit laundry which I suspect will make a huge difference in my sense of independence and quality of life. Nice walk-in shower with a built-in shower seat...it really is beautiful. But as they also say here in Maine, "Two hundred dollahs' is two hundred dollahs..."

Speaking of meals, strange STRANGE encounter in the elevator today after supper...was waiting patiently to get on the car, the car arrived, the door opened, the woman in front of me got in, and then REFUSED to slide over in order to make enough room for me to get on too. I was flabbergasted! Wheeled my chair halfway into the car, and was basically going to refuse to let the elevator go until she made room for me to get on...then my grown-up brain took over and I just let her have her way. Like I said, flabbergasted, especially considering how courteous we typically are in the elevator on my usual side of the building. But I'm also feeling a little like the young monk at the riverbank, still upset that his old companion carried the woman across the river. Need to learn how to set it all down again and let it go. Just let it go....
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

AFFLICTIVE DISPENSATIONS OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the First Parish Church in Portland, Maine
Sunday February 1st, 2009

OPENING WORDS: from "Of Justice and Conscience” by Theodore Parker

I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice.


***
It’s nice to be back in the pulpit again though, especially after having to ask Will to fill in for me last Sunday, but cause I’d been afflicted earlier in the week with a particularly nasty case of the, the type of which one immediately begins to suppress ones memory of all of the symptoms in hopes of never having to experience them again. And even though I was feeling a lot better by the time Sunday finally rolled around, it still felt reassuring to know that I could call on Will, and still have the opportunity to worship along with everyone else as a member of the congregation, and to hear his thoughts on a topic that has also been of interest to me for a long, long time.

It was particularly interesting to me because of the way Will chose to introduce it. In 1978, shortly after arriving on the East Coast to begin my theological studies at the Harvard Divinity School, I got a part-time job as a Field Education Student Intern at the First and Second Church in Boston’s Back Bay. There were actually several of us student interns at First and Second, not only from Harvard but from other Divinity Schools in the Boston area, and it wasn’t long before we were looking around for a nice, quiet place there in the neighborhood where we might stop and get a drink before catching the subway back to Cambridge, or to Newton Centre or wherever else we might happen to be going. And we eventually settled on a place called “the Bull and Finch,” right there on Beacon Street at the foot of Beacon Hill, and for the next three years that was pretty much our regular hangout whenever we wanted a cold bear at the end of a long day (or maybe a hot Irish Coffee at the end of a very COLD day)....

So imagine my astonishment in 1982, having moved back to Seattle only a year after my graduation and ordination, to discover that my sleepy little neighborhood bar was suddenly the setting of the most popular television program in America! And it only gets stranger. Because ten years later “Cheers” spun-off another series about one of its regular characters, Dr. Frazier Crane, who moves from Boston back to his hometown of Seattle in order to begin a new career as a radio talk-show personality. Frazier and his brother Niles like to meet up at a place called the Cafe Nervosa, a place which looks suspiciously like the basement espresso bar at the Elliott Bay bookstore in Pioneer square, which is one of my favorite SEATTLE hangouts!

Thankfully, they’ve done a little bit better job at avoiding the temptation to try to cash in than the Bull and Finch people did. Still, it’s a little eerie to feel like you’re being stalked cross-country by a Hollywood location scout, especially given the coincidence that one of the OTHER most popular television programs in America that season, “Northern Exposure,” was also being filmed in the Pacific Northwest, in the small town of Roslyn Washington, home of the “Brick” -- Washington State’s oldest continuously operating saloon (they’ve been pouring beer there since 1889), which features a very unique footrail and flowing water spittoon that is actually listed as a tributary of the Cle Elum river.

So even though the program supposedly took place in Alaska, those of us who actually knew Roslyn and the Brick knew better; while my personal experience of watching the program was further complicated by the fact that one of the regular characters on the show (General Store owner and operator Ruth-Anne Miller) was played by actress Peg Phillips, who was the mother of Unitarian Universalist minister Elizabeth Greene.

But here’s the point I want to make. The Bull and Finch, the Elliott Bay Bookstore Cafe, and even (or perhaps I should say especially) the Brick are all real places; while “Cheers” and the “Cafe Nervosa” and the quirky little town of Cicely Alaska are not. We know all of THEIR names: Sam, Diane, Frazier, Fleischman -- even though they’re not really real people -- while our own experience of being part of that anonymous, mass-culture audience is essentially one of gathering around the water cooler at work (when the programs are first broadcast) to talk about what we each watched alone in our homes the night before; and then (if we are so inclined) slipping into a subculture of fandom which continues to watch these programs in syndication or on DVD, while collecting ever greater amounts of trivial minutia regarding our chosen virtual communities.

There are in fact REAL Great, Good Places all around us, “Third places” other than home or work where we can enjoy the benefits of an informal public life confident in the knowledge that even if everyone DOESN’T know our names, a few folks might at least recognize our faces. And it makes me feel good that churches, and this church in particular, can sometimes place that role on people’s lives, and connect us to one another in significant, meaningful ways.

But in order to fulfill our FULL potential as authentic communities of faith, churches must also aspire to do much, much more. Local churches are embodiments of the Church Universal, small manifestations of the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth, participants in the Divine Commonwealth, expressions of “the Beloved Community.” Churches are “communities of memory and hope,” which “revere the past but trust the dawning future more,” and where often generations of faithful souls have congregated publicly to pray to God and to worship together, to take care of one another, and to grow deeper in faith over time....

Today’s message is the second in a series of sermons I plan to preach between now on Easter about “UU DNA” -- those things that are so basic and essential to who we are that they might be thought of as part of our genetic make-up. And today's topic in particular -- Why do Bad Things Happen to Good People? -- is often considered one of the most perplexing problems in Western theology, not only for Christianity, but for Judaism and Islam as well. If God is Good, and All-Powerful and All-Knowing, how can he possibly allow the innocent to suffer? Is suffering somehow punishment of our bad behavior -- perhaps bad behavior were weren’t even fully aware of? -- or are we instead somehow pawns in struggle between the powers of good and the powers of evil, and our suffering less “punishment” for some evil act than merely “collateral damage” in a contest that is ultimately beyond our means to know or understand?

These questions pose challenges for all fundamentally monotheistic faiths, but in many ways they are especially problematic for a faith like ours, which takes its name explicitly from the doctrines that God is One and that All Souls are destined for heaven, and where we sometimes tend to spell “God” with two “O’s” and “devil” without a “D,” (think about that one for a second) and where evil itself is often dismissed as merely an absence of good, rather than a real force in its own right. Hence, “Afflictive Dispensations of Divine Providence” -- it’s not that the dispensations themselves were bad, it’s just that we experienced them in an afflictive way.

And I suppose it almost goes without saying that if you DON’T believe in a Good, All-Knowing, All-Powerful God in the first place, this problem is a lot less perplexing than if you do. Who’s to say that life is fair, or that the Universe is fundamentally benevolent in its make-up. Suppose the Universe is actually neutral, or even basically hostile and malevolent: what does that say about the problem of evil then? Buddhism tells us that human suffering is the result of our “thirst” for the things of this world that “come into being and pass away,” our attachment to things that are impermanent in nature, and therefore not ours to keep. The only way to escape this attachment is to recognize that it is the source of all our suffering, and to follow the Nobel Eight-Fold path, basically a combination of Right Knowledge, Right Behavior, and Right Mindfulness which allows practitioners to overcome their thirst and thus relieve their suffering, but living an enlightened lifestyle that is “in the world, but not of it.”

And yet, it seems to me, there’s at least one more piece to this puzzle that needs to be looked at. Because even if the Universe isn’t fair, we WANT it to be...or at least somehow expect that it really ought to be fairer than it seems. And this may say as much about us as it does about the Universe itself. Some of it may reflect lessons we’ve learned as members of this society: do unto others as you would have others do unto you, love the Lord your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself. It may be even simpler than that -- basic childhood lessons about sharing our toys and taking turns, so that everyone gets a chance and no one is left out.

Or suppose that the scientists like Carl Sagan are correct: that we ARE the part of of the Universe that is becoming conscious of itself, and that the ethical standards we create for ourselves do indeed reflect the long “moral arc of the universe,” bending every so slightly toward justice as we, in our growing self-awareness, bend it that way. We may not always get the result we want every time. But by working for justice, we slowly yet consistently make our society a little more fair, even if it doesn’t always live up to the standards we would set for it ourselves.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, not quite a year ago now, i could have spent an awful lot of time asking myself “Why Me?” And there are all sorts of reasons I could have pointed to, including stupid decisions I made about smoking when I was younger, and a general failure to keep up with good, healthy habits as I grew older and more susceptible to illness. But even thought I could come up with all sorts of good reasons for why I HAD cancer, I couldn’t really explain why I’d “gotten” it -- what (if anything) I had done to “deserve” this disease at this particular moment in my lifetime. And seeing this, I decided not to waste a lot of time worrying about it either. Cancer is something that happened to me, and since I can’t go back and fix that or change it, I’m just going to have to go forward and live with it as best I can, thankfully with a lot of help and support from caring people I have met along the way.

And likewise now, as I look out over this congregation and listen to your joys and concerns, see so many people who are also struggling with issues in your own lives -- perhaps health issues, or financial problems brought about by the current economy, and I just have to hope that you will find here in this community the things you are looking for: the knowledge that it isn’t fair and it’s not your fault, that you shouldn’t take the blame for things that are out of your control, that there are others here to help you, and that you too can still be a help to others even when you’re feeling beaten down yourself. Because you and I are the eyes, and ears, and hands of God, doing God’s good work here in this world as best we can, for as long as we can. And it doesn’t really matter whether anybody knows our name or not....


READING: “Job” from Wishful Thinking: a Seeker’s ABC by Frederick Buechner.

Job is a good man and knows it, as does everybody else, including God. Then one day his cattle are stolen, his servants are killed, and the wind blows down the house where his children happen to be whooping it up at the time, and not one of them lives to tell what it was they thought they had to whoop it up about. But being a good man he says only, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” Even when he comes down with a bad case of boils and his wife advises him t curse God and die, he manages to bite his tongue and say nothing. It’s his friends who finally break the camel’s back. They come to offer their condolences and hang around a full week. When Job finds them still there at the start of the second week, he curses the day he was born. He never quite takes his wife’s advice and curses God, but he comes very close to it. He asks some unpleasant questions:

If God is all he’s cracked up to be, how come houses blow down on innocent people? Why does a good woman die of cancer in her prime while an old man who can’t remember his name or hold his water goes on in a nursing home forever? Why are there so many crooks riding around in Cadillacs and so many children going to bed hungry at night? Jobs friends offer an assortment of theological explanations, but God doesn’t offer one.

God doesn’t explain. He explodes. He asks Job who he thinks he is anyway. He says that to try to explain the kinds of things Job wants explained would be like trying to explain Einstein to a little-neck clam. He also, incidentally, gets off some of the greatest poetry in the Old Testament. “Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades? Hast thou given the horse strength and clothed his neck with thunder?”

Maybe the reason God doesn’t explain to Job why terrible things happen is that he knows what Job needs isn’t an explanation. Suppose that God did explain. Suppose that God were to say to Job that the reason the cattle were stolen, the crops ruined, and the children killed was thus and so, spelling everything out right down to and including the case of boils Job would have his explanation.

And then what?

Understanding in terms of the divine economy why his children had to die, Job would still have to face their empty chairs at breakfast every morning. Carrying in his pocket straight from the horse’s mouth a complete theological justification of his boils, he would still have to scratch and burn.

God doesn’t reveal his grand design. He reveals himself. He doesn’t show why things are as they are. He shows his face. And Job says, “I had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now my eyes see thee.” Even covered with sores and ashes, he looks oddly like a man who has asked for a crust and been given the whole loaf.

At least for the moment.
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

THE ECLECTIC CLERIC - "All of Them"

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”
There’s a “trick” trivia question which basically goes something like this: “How many months have 28 days?” The answer, of course, is “all of them” -- it’s just that most months have a few more as well. You can blame it all on the arrogance of Julius and Augusts Caesar, who in renaming lovely summer months after themselves, felt that those months also deserved an extra day as well, and “borrowed” them from an obscure month in the middle of winter where no one would likely miss them anyway.

But whatever else February may mean to you, this February 19th will mark for me the one-year anniversary of my life as a cancer survivor. This first year, I’m told, is an important milestone -- not only to a lot of the statistics improve dramatically for a one-year survivor when compared to the odds for someone newly-diagnosed, but a lot of the most dramatic changes have also taken place as well, which means that whatever subsequent adjustments need to be made will probably be a lot LESS dramatic. Statistically, at least. Because one thing I’ve discovered in the past 12 months is that Cancer really does seem to love drama...

But think about it. This past 12 months I have lost both my ability to walk and my ability to drive, which have obviously compromised both my mobility and my independence...dramatically.... These abilities may still improve (and in fact, I’m counting on it), but in the meantime I live with by disabilities now every day. I’ve had to give up my apartment, and all the things I associated with that: the freedom to come and go as I pleased, or strolling around the West End and here on the peninsula in general; playing basketball, riding my bicycle, shopping and cooking for myself (or taking myself out for pizza or wings!), even my little dog has died. So much has changed for me, it’s hard to keep track of it all.

And yet I’ve also learned so much as well -- especially about the relationship between dependence, independence, and interdependence, and the essential connection between generosity and gratitude, and the importance of learning to live life one day at a time. These are lessons I’ve known about in my “head” for a long time, but to actually have lived with them for a year now gives them a very special poignancy, and provides me with the kind of insight that can’t be ascertained by thinking alone.

And then there is my ministry. Again, I feel very fortunate that good disability planning and the hard work and cooperation of so many generous and well-intended souls have made it possible for us to hire our talented Ministerial Support Team, and for me to continue to serve in whatever capacity I feel most called and able. As a result, First Parish has both grown and deepened as a Faith Community in the face of an unexpected crisis which might have easily torn it apart. It hasn't’ always been easy, but we are stronger and better people for it. In a word, we are survivors...and perhaps that one word alone says it all.........twj
โ˜ โ˜† โœ‡ WWUUD?

Oh Deer! Winter is Here!

By: The Eclectic Cleric โ€”


whew... And this is how it has felt here in Portland this past week. I feel lucky that I've been able to stay inside the past three days, but still I feel the burden of it. The weight of winter. All that snow, piled everywhere. It's overwhelming. Makes me grateful to have a roof over my head and to be surrounded by four warm walls, one of which has a westerly-facing window, which allows me to nap in the afternoon sunlight like a cat or some sort of lizard.

Meanwhile, I am slowly catching up with my church-work. Wrote a seminary recommendation for my former Director of Religious Education, and now I'm returning to my sermon for this coming Sunday, which I would have preached last Sunday if I'd been feeling up to it. The problem is now that I have too MUCH material, and need to figure out what to leave out. Which shouldn't be too much of a problem. Since nothing is ever TRULY lost...I can always use it again next week.

But maybe I really should try that nap first....
โŒ