Susan V and the Labyrinth

It was a gorgeous day here today, made more beautiful by the worship service to celebrate the dedication and naming of the new prayer labyrinth at St. Paul School of Theology in honor of my good friend, Susan Sonnenday Vogel. The picture is of the back of our celebrant Adam Hamilton and those who helped in serving. Jim Simpson who preached profoundly and transcendently is to the right of the altar. Amidst spring time blossoms and the warmth of people who love her, Susan was recognized for her long tenure on the staff of St. Paul and especially for her steadfast and patient work with students in their spiritual formation. The labyrinth itself has been a dream of the Order of St. Luke for a number of years and it was a joy to see so many students whose hearts are gladdened by this mysterious way of seeking God while knowing that they are already found.

















The first labyrinth I walked was in New Harmony, IN---a labyrinth made up of tall bushes and well worn paths. The second, probably the one next to the New Life Center near the campus of SIU in Carbondale. Then the one that now is in the old parking lot of Westport UMC. Over the years I have had a growing love for that walk--and how it places me in the presence of God in a way nothing else can. There are no sharp corners or dead end paths...this is no turning path that turns us away from God, but a constant turning toward him. You have to keep going but God has laid the path. Something happens when you walk the labyrinth as fully open to the Spirit's guidance as you can. It is something that is to be savored and placed down deep inside, and to allow to rise up when life doesn't just become circuitous but becomes chaos. There is order, not a stagnant thing that enslaves our spirits, but a way of walking our lives that brings joy instead of hysteria, wholeness instead of the compartmental, presence instead of mere remembrance.

Thank you St Paul and but mostly thanks Susan, who has been there to listen to me through these last five year when the times when my life has turned to chaos, when I have felt my soul enslaved and who always encourages me to think beyond what is into what could be.

Disappointments And Interviews

Monday and Tuesday of this were the Missouri Conference Board of Ordained Ministry interviews. We had five from our district going before the board this year. Two were told yes this year; one was told "please come back and interview with one team again before Annual Conference"; and two were told to rewrite some of their material and come back next year. I also know well several of the others who interviewed--I was a district committee chair in Heartland Central District for several years, and have been proud of the number of student pastors I have had under appointment here in the last five years. No matter how we try tell persons that being asked to come back next year does not mean that they are a failure, it still feels that way. There were several who did not "make it" as these folks are saying. I am glad that those who are coming back next year are not going to be alone; I am sad that there isn't some other way to help those doing so to understand that feels more like "yes" than "no." Yes, you did well in these two interview teams, and we know you can do better on the other two. Come back next year--you are given another chance to show us your best work; Yes, we love you enough that we want you to give your utmost for His highest--you can learn more about baptism or the sacraments, you can, and we all want you to do that and tell us what you know: Yes, you have many gifts for ministry and we want you to grow into the others this next year that may not be as instinctive or natural to you.

I have been on not just both sides, now, but all three. (interviewed, interviewer, supervisor-ds). In 1977 I came before the Southern Illinois Board of Ministry. In those days, no mentor was assigned,to those coming for the old-style deacons' orders, and I was attending Vanderbilt University Divinity School. There was no one else from my conference attending there. I really did not know I was supposed to write more than a brief paragraph on each of the questions. I waited in a room outside where the entire board were meeting. I was 22. At the time appointed for my interview, the chairman (actually they were all men) came to tell me that they were going to take a few minutes and go over what they had been sent from some general board that told them how to be sensitive to a woman coming for an interview. After about ten minutes, I was asked to come into the meeting. I quickly realized that I was being judged as unprepared and light-weight intellectually because of my short answers. Some of the men in the room had known me a long time--like Jack Adams (he ended up at Salem in LaDue a few years later)..."I remember you when your hair was down to here"--and he poinmted to his derriere. (My hair was very long until I was nine---he had been at Grace UMC in Carbondale when I was a child and even though our family attended out in the country, he knew who were were and obviously knew how long my hair was.) In fact Jack said that thing about my hair to me every time he saw me after I came to Kirkwood as associate--when I was 29 yeas old. Since there were those who knew me, they let me in, but had me redo all my questions the next year.

"Because they knew me" they let me in. And besides I don't think that they wanted to be accused of gender bias, since I was the only woman coming for deacon's orders that year...in fact I was only the third woman to be ordained in Southern Illinois. But I wonder, if I had not had an in" with some of those guys, would I have been told to come back next year? Did I just get in that year because they knew me? Maybe so.

I really would rather have a BOM that doesn't let us get in because they know us. I'd rather have my work and my pastors' work judged on merit and not on good connections. It really is supposed to be our utmost for His highest. I shoulda probably been made to come back the next year; to wait another year. I was young. I was inexperienced. Although I was ordained in 1977, I did come back the next year with sheaths and sheaths of pages of answers to the questions.

This account of my own experience and my reaction to it does not equate and is not the same as each of those who were asked to come back next year this week. Everyone has his or her own stories and their own feelings, I know that. Sometimes boards of ordained ministry may judge wrongly, but not very often. They are gatekeepers, yes, but the Board is also a portal that sometimes points us upward to that higher place. But sometimes the news after the interview feels unfair and incomprehensible.

I discovered early on, that with all the steps and structures, with the itinerancy system and appointment making, it is hard to swallow sometimes. Everyone has their own stories to tell. So I decided this---I will trust that the Lord is working in it all, even when what happened to me may be a product of an imperfect system and a d.s. may not really know me very well. I will trust and I will walk the way ahead of me, sometimes grudgingly draggin' my feet, sometimes with a bright smile on my face and a bouncy skip, but I would trust and I would keep people close by who would remind and reprimand me with I was tempted not to trust. Cynicism can be a very ugly thing to look at and uglier still when it makes a home in our soul and lead to skepticism about all that is given as a gift.

That is where I am with it all. My heart goes out to all those who were told to come back next year. It is disappointing. You still will get up Sunday and preach and teach; you will still listen and care; you will study the scripture and pray for yourself and others. I hope that when the disappointment lessens, you will find some way to trust it all to Jesus, to allow him to take your hand and move hopefully into the future.

My Boy Caleb and Hillmont Camp

THIS ENTRY IS CALEB APPROVED!

The last month to six weeks has not been an easy time for my boy Caleb. School is not going well (he is not in school this semester--looking for work-not going well) and he broke up with Rose about three weeks ago--I could give much vitriolic commentary about Rose, but that would just put me in a bad spot and who wants to be in a bad spot? I will say Caleb is an 18 year old young man who feels deeply, has high highs and low lows (guess who his mother is???) and I was not sure what direction to give him. Until last week when I realized how deeply Caleb was feeling about this all. I thought, I will call Sam and Jane (his grandparents). He flew out tonight to Nashville TN where his grandparents Johnson met him with literally open arms. And took him to Shoney's and fed him salad and cottage cheese and fried chicken and shrimp. He ate it all. He just called.

We have not been in much contact with the grandparents Johnson over the last two years. But I called last week, we wept, they were so glad to be asked to be there for Caleb, and Caleb was so excited to go. I dun a good thing. Sam and Jane Johnson were the founders of Hillmont camp over 40 years ago, about 45 miles east of Nashville, in White Bluff Tennessee. The camp has grown tremendously over those years, now affiliated with Christian Camping International. It has many beautiful buildings-- some rustic, some like hotel rooms nearly. And of course there are pool tables, and a pool; archery equipment and a ropes course; and lots more. The Johnsons built their home on seven acres of the camp; an incredibly beautiful house. They are kind of retired now but once camp operators, always camp operators (and they are Baptist too--Free Will Baptists.) Caleb will work while he is down there which is good. And relax some. And get his head cleared. And be loved on and held accountable and maybe even get some driving lessons in.

He will be there at least two weeks The last three days I have seen him happier and healthier than I have in a long time---writing rap lyrics, singing, playing his guitar, drawing, reading, sewing patches on his new hoodie with dental floss. Not things I have heard or seen from him in a while. And lots of smiling. And seeing better with his new glasses.

Okay, I am going on and on. But I sing a song of praise tonight for grandparents who live on a camp and conference center, and who will get to be with their deep thinking and feeling, artsy, musical grandson and they all will be well.

Mason, The Methodist Traveler

Ok,I'll admit it, I've gone blog hog wild. When I start up with this, then I see bloggable material everywhere.

Take today for instance After a busy morning and afternoon, I returned home to find Caleb (on the left) and Mason (on the right) standing in the kitchen (I was bringing groceries home, they are 18 and 19 so you get the picture). Mason and Caleb have known each other, I think, less than 48 hours. Mason is a traveller. Not a fellow traveller, just a traveller. He is from Omaha and is travelling (generally that means hitchhiking, and living off the kindness of strangers) to Florida. I don't know why. He has a very delightful but quiet ambiance about him. And he is United Methodist.

Mason and I talked after I told Caleb I had preached this morning--Mason overheard, and said "You preach?" "Yep" I said. "Not a lot, but sometimes. I'm an administrator in the church and I have 61 United Methodist churches under my administrative and spiritual care." Mason: "I'm United Methodist. I went to that church at 41st and Bell this morning" Me: You mean Epworth Roanoke?" Mason: "Yeah, Caleb told me to ask people if they knew you." (I found out later that Mason and Caleb had spent the night with a friend--Mason was up all night, Caleb slept). Caleb: "My Mom's famous!!" a favorite line of his when he introduces me to yet another frind. Me to Mason: " What's your church in Omaha?" Mason: "St. Andrews--our pastors are Bruce and Nancy Davis and they were from Missouri---Springfield..." And then I told him I knew them. He told me about an Infoshop that that church runs there....I am not quite sure what an Infoshop is, but there is one near us here. And then I took his picture. I made the guys say "John Wesley!" when I took it, and then Caleb started to explain who John Wesley was. Mason: "Dude, I know who John Wesley was!" as they walked away.

A United Methodist traveller? This reminded me of circuit riders, and brush arbor attendees walking for miles to get to a service, and such. This guy Mason must be a real believer if he would search out a nearby church and show up after he had stayed up (read: partied) all night.

What's not to love?

Traveling we UMers are. Travelling toward perfection; travelling to deeper holiness; travelling to a deeper, deeper relationship with God. Travelling always from here to there--called sometimes to Bethlehem, sometimes to Nazareth, sometimes down misty roads. Having heard the call of God, that voice can sometimes grows silence for a while and we come to a unexpected bends in the road. But we believe that we are going somewhere--on the way to eternity, and on our way home to God.

A piece of my heart will go with Mason when he leaves KC---heck, who knows, he may stay around for a while. That's one thing about travellers, they take their sweet time about everything. I would guess $20 of my money will go with him when he leaves too. I don't want to talk him out of going or warn him of dangers on the way. I imagine his parents got that all in before he left Omaha. I want him to go, to live a little wildly, to learn who he really is, to risk a little or a lot. But I do want him to pass this way again...I guess I am talking about my Caleb, too.

The Poem I wrote a Few Weeks ago...Such as It is

(Not my best, I admit...but I always will remember when I was a child and I went with my parents to a nearby church for a gospel sing, and a woman got up and said "I am going to try to sing His Eye is on the Sparrow) my mother leaned over to me and said. "Never say you are going to try to sing a song, Susan...just sing it no matter how it sounds." And so is the poem I wrote during Christmastide

Sometimes the Call's to Bethlehem

Sometimes the call's to Bethlehem

"Why now?" sighs Mary, round.

The shepherds' praise; the Baby's cry

These answers sing Love's sound.

Sometimes the call's to Egypt-land

Far from the "used to" place

There learn God's many languages

See with new eyes God's face

Sometime the call's to Nazareth

To home and hearth and rest

There strengthened through Love's exercise

There live as True Love's guest

Sometimes the call's "Take up thy cross!"

We do, but such a cost!

To follow through shadows, dim

We fear to be led lost

Although a false call so very wrongd

Sings in our weakened ears,

Hear now another sound

Old Luther's rhyme still rings clear

Wonder, love and grace

The Word made flesh

Fells Evil, erases fear

(There may be more, and revision to make this more profound...but another couple personals verses tonight...)

My rhyme is faltering

Sometime it's feels so wrong

Impossible to make my complex life

Fit in lines eight syllables long

No matter cerebral nauseousness

Or bad head- or real heart- ache

A joy so crazy fills my soul

It makes "just happy" fake

A joy that pushes boundaries

Of "who" and "what" is worthy

A joy that makes my whole self beam

God's love so wild and wonderful makes sorrow just a dream

A joy that sings from grief and grave

Of loved ones gone too soon

A joy that eventually trumps the tears

Gives hope and future room

And that is true and can be trusted...the joy part, I mean.

About 12 or 13 years ago while I was serving at Community UMC in Columbia MO, I heard Samuel Barber's Violin Concerto in concert---Robert McDuffie was the virtuoso violinist. It was unbelievable. I was stunned. Hearing it was a transcendent moment for me---a thin spot between here and There. The next day I went to Streetside Records and purchased a CD of him playing it, and I have had it downloaded on Itunes as long as I have had Itunes.

While I was in Columbia, I developed the habit of going to Lakota Coffeehouse downtown to write the manuscript of my sermon. I would bring my Walkman CD player with me and listen to the same three or four cds each week---one of those was this recording.

Tonight, Susan Vogel and I went to the Kansas City Symphony and heard this same concerto played by the orchestra and Gil Shaham. Again absolutely breath-taking, even though I know the notes very well now since I have listened to it played so many times over these last few years. We were only ten rows back in Lyric Theater. The moment the music began, I could smell the coffee beans and remember what it was like to actually feel as if I was being inspired by God to create the sermon I was working on. I saw the table where I usually sat at Lakota, I even thought of a sermon or two that I had come up with the Spirit's guiding. As God would have it, the people sitting right next to us were Michael Costanzo and his mother who was visiting from out of town. Mike is the associate pastor at Christ UMC in Independence. He "came through" for candidacy in the Heartland Central District when I was the chair of the district committee on ordained ministry. The way that he has handles some serious health challenges over the past few years is a lesson in grace. Anyway, at the intermission, I told Mike about my listening to the Barber concerto while I worked on sermons. He said to me, "Funny, I was just thinking that I would like to preach like that" and I go it. Preach dynamically, and with pathos and with joy, and "all-out" with joy and craziness of faith and love.

Thank you God, for Barber, for Shaham, and for preaching and for music. Not always in that order. Period.

Blogged Kitties!

A poem got written this afternoon ...could be a hymn text...title is Sometimes the Call's to Bethlehem. I think I will work on it a couple of more days before I spring it on the world.

Instead, I bring you the New Year's Week Picture of the Kitties--Danger, the green eyed and purry large tabby, and Mel, my sweet sweet loving needy tuxedo. The picture here is not the last scene of a kitty production of Romeo and Juliet, but is simply a common pose of adopted brothers sleeping on my bed. I have had time to watch them romp and pseudo-fight this last week and they really are so much fun.