Cherry Tomato

Ripe and red the fruit fell from the vine into my hand.

Warm and ripe.

I succumbed to temptation and popped it past my lips.

It exploded as my tongue squished it against the roof of my mouth 

washing seeds and sweetness over my palate.

Oh.  There’s nothing like this delight.

I close my eyes and revel in

Summer’s goodness .

A slender branch of hope

Mother Nature can put on quite a show.  Her latest scene wasn't a summer storm, though.  It was a quiet event, one that would probably been missed if I hadn't taken the dogs out at just the right moment this week.  In my flower garden grow a small group of resurrection lilies.  They're named this because, in the spring, they send out shoots much like an amaryllis does.  Unlike the amaryllis, the shoots turn brown and die leaving the ground bare, as if the greenery was the total show.  Then, later in the summer, long tall stalks break through the ground and pink, trumpet-like blooms grace the tops of them.  It's life after death.

Monday, as I headed out the door with Valium and Prozac (my dogs, not the drugs), I noticed something else at the top of the stalk.  There were two cicadas there.  Wait.  No.  There was only one cicada; the 'second' insect was the shell of its former self. The real cicada was clinging to the stem, gathering strength to go on to its next phase of life.  Again, life after death.

After I walked the dogs and gotten them safely inside the house, I went back to the porch to ponder the scene.  I should have taken a picture.  A better metaphor for faith I don't think I could have concocted.  Behold, one of God's creatures breaking forth into something new, leaving behind that which was a part of itself but no longer able to be carried.  Both the shell and the new self clinging to a slender, flowering stem that had risen from the darkness of the earth. 

To make my way along this path of faith, I may need to shed some things I can no longer afford to carry.  They are the things that keep me from taking wing.  And, when I'm searching for a place to make that transformation, all I need is a slender branch of hope on which to cling. 

No place like home

"Your office is so homey," said a parishioner today.  I smiled.  That's the idea.  Make people feel at home. Of course, some find the place a bit frenetic.  I understand that too.  But, I just can't give the stuff up.  In a few minutes, people know a little more about me: I love the Wizard of Oz, have a 'thing' about cathedrals, collect Jiminy Cricket characters, and am a Chicago Cubs fan.  When they know a little about me, they feel more comfortable sharing their own stories.

I think that hearing others' stories and entering into their lives is the greatest privilege of my vocation. It's important to me to create hospitable space so that people feel comfortable.  The physical space is one thing, spiritual space is another.  Listening requires the ego to set itself aside to make room for the other.  In doing so, we also make room for the divine.  That's a lot more difficult than hanging a painting of Ely Cathedral!

Today, the people who claim to lead our nation find themselves at a standoff.  There is no hospitality.  There is no setting aside of egos.  How can anyone hope to touch the divine energy that is all around them when you refuse to see your colleagues as something less than human.

It makes me want to click my heels and go home.

The fireflies are out. How lovely.

“The fireflies are out.  How lovely.”

The quote is one of the first lines delivered by the character Ethel P. Savage in the play The Curious Savage.  I know because I played Ethel P when I was in high school theater long ago.  She was an eccentric lady with blue hair, a hidden fortune, and a propensity to annoy her children.  Ethel wasn’t the only eccentric lady I was cast as.  Our director also awarded me the role of Veta Louise Simmons in the play Harvey.  (Yeah, the one with the rabbit.)

I loved those characters.  As a teenager who struggled with her emotions, Ethel and Veta provided a way to escape and have fun.  Oh, I played other parts as well, characters who much more closely matched my age at that time, but Ethel and Veta were the most special. 

It was the flash of the fireflies outside my window that made me think of them.  Tonight, I’m much closer in age to those characters than I was when I played them.  Then, I modeled my portrayal from observing my own grandmothers – how they walked, and moved, and told stories.  Now, I’d be able to play them from my own experience.  Ethel’s anger would be more prominent as she’s being abandoned by family who should have loved her; her empathy deeper for those who struggle.  Veta’s exasperation at her fate may be played less for comedy and more for sympathy.  My observances of people in the context of my several callings would inform these characters now.  Art imitates life.  Regardless, the delivery would still make an audience laugh out loud.

Perhaps, some day, I’ll get the chance to play these two again. If not, I’ll reminisce and perhaps someday appear in public with a delightful shade of blue hair. It goes with everything.

© CBPark 2011 All rights reserved.

Learning from wilderness encounters

It lives like a pig. It grunts and runs in a herd. It smells like a skunk dipped in balsamic vinagrette.   No, it’s not your teenager. It’s a javelina.

These critters were escaping the Arizona sun while I was at a continuing education conference in May.  They’d hunkered down beneath the walkway between the sleeping rooms and the building where our worship space had been situated.  I was headed toward my room after lunch to grab my notebook and evidently my stomping up the steps roused them from their siesta.  The herd – Mama, Papa, and all of the baby ‘linas – took off toward the brush that lay just west of the dormitory, stinking and grunting as they ran. 

The last time I’d had such a close encounter with wildlife was in 2001 in Yellowstone National Park.  A bison, obviously having no intention of going anywhere, greeted me one morning as I walked from my cabin to the Old Faithful Inn.  I said “excuse me I believe you live here” and took the long way around.  It’s good to be reminded that human beings aren’t the only creatures on this planet that need space to roam or rest.  But, human beings do need to roam and rest.  That was the point of my education week. 

We need space to explore our past and plan for our future.  We need to take time to rest and reflect in order to be refreshed.  It’s too hard to do these things when we get stuck in our routine or are disturbed by every startling interruption.  So, be intentional about carving a little time out to get away no matter who you are or where you are in your life.  You may not see a javelina or a bison, but you might be surprised at what you do see.

To everything, there is a season.

Watching my son graduate from college last week differed so much from my experience of his other graduations. Up to now, every step he took toward independence brought tears to my eyes.  Each was a loss - of my baby, of my elementary school kid, of my middle schooler, of my high school honor student.  Leaving the parking garage after helping him drag his valuables up to his dorm room was as painful as his birth 18 years before. 

This graduation squeezed no water from my eyes.  My son is his own person now.  He's still my son, but he's certainly no longer an extension of myself.  The college experience did its work.  Being away from home gave Kevin what he needed to find himself.  I know I'm biased, but he is a truly amazing young man. This was more than a college celebration, it was a commencement of a new life ready to be lived to the fullest.  This 'birth' was all Kevin's.  His work, his tribulations, his triumph.  I watched with pride.

I loved every season of motherhood, even though I was glad when many were over.  And, to be fair, I couldn't have been a mom all by myself.  Dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, and church friends made up the village in which Kevin grew up. However, new season of motherhood has just begun: my son is now my talented, capable, funny, and well-rounded college graduate ready to make his way in the world. I can hardly wait to see what a difference he makes.  I hope this season lasts a good long time.

'Tis the Season

‘Tis the season of graduations.  High School days are ending. College days are ending. Education for Ministry’s year officially finishes this evening with a potluck and our annual game of “Wheel o' Ministry”.  It is the season for endings. 

Of course, T.S. Eliot reminds us that to make an end is to make a beginning.

If we are to be accurate, we should say it is the season of commencements.  This year’s commencement season is particularly fruitful!  There are 19 high school graduates going on to colleges and universities nationwide.  There are college graduates with doctoral, master’s and bachelor’s degrees going on to new opportunities. (If anyone would like to hire a new aerospace engineering graduate, please see me after church.)  There are 10 Education for Ministry graduates wondering just what new things God may be calling them to now that they have a firmer grounding in scripture, history, and theology.  Last, but certainly not least, two children are beginning their new lives in the Christian faith as we baptize them this morning.

I suspect that, as exciting and celebratory as these graduations are, they are accompanied with a modicum of terror.  What if I don’t get along with my roommate?  What if I can’t find a job? What if God calls me to something I’m not ready for or I don’t like?  How on earth can I keep these baptismal promises?  Can’t I just turn the clock back a little bit until I’m ready to move on?

 The disciples find themselves in similar circumstances in today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles.  They continue to hope for the kingdom of Israel as they understand it, not the kingdom of God as Jesus understands it.  When his time with them is over, they are paralyzed.  They don’t know what direction they are to go.  They stand there until the men in white robes tell them to quit looking up and go on about the business of witnessing the good news.

Of course, they really aren’t sure how to go about that.  Within the upper room, the eleven, accompanied by the women who supported Jesus and his mother and brothers, come together in anticipation.  They are in limbo, aching for the familiar past and compelled toward the future and all its unknowns. 

And so they do what we do instinctively: Go to a familiar place to be with familiar people.  There, in a community of love, they pray and eat and begin to discern their next steps.

Today we find ourselves in a similar limbo – especially those of us who are at commencement points in our lives.  And, if we are being honest, who isn’t at a commencement point?  Isn’t everyday a new beginning?  Therefore, we need to do what we do instinctively – do what we are doing right now! Go to a familiar place with familiar people.  Pray together in a community of love.  Share a meal together.  Remind each other of the promises we made to be a witness to the love of God in the world.  Await the power of the Holy Spirit promised to us at Pentecost.

It makes one wonder:  What will God do next?  What should we expect on Pentecost?  More importantly, do we really want the power of the Holy Spirit?  The time of expectation between today and next Sunday is a divine gift.  We have the opportunity to contemplate our readiness to follow God’s call to us.  We have time to prepare our wills to endure the challenges that lie ahead.  We have a chance to open our hearts to receive God’s message of love, forgiveness, and reconciliation.  We have a moment to drink in the loveliness of creation and the blessings of each other’s company.

I believe that the blessing of each other’s company is what Jesus had in mind when he prayed to the Father to protect his followers.  For them to be one as he and the Father were one was to be in community.  Jesus knew that being of one mind on any issue was never going to happen.  There had been enough arguing and backbiting between them for him to believe that they would EVER completely agree on anything.  But, what Jesus hoped – at least, in my mind – was that they would stick together despite their differences.  Having people around to support you during life’s changes and challenges is paramount.  That’s why the church marks important life milestones like baptisms, confirmations, marriages, burials, ordinations, and the everyday needs of food and healing within the context of community.  We are on a journey together.  Life isn’t a solo trek.

In reality, as a faith community in the 21^st century, we live in a nomadic and expectant time.  We have experienced the Holy Spirit and we continue to wait for it anew.  Therefore our lives are not so much in limbo as they are in a dance.  We hold hands with the past until the present cuts in and asks us to learn a new dance.  In later years, we’ll be able to look back to see how those steps helped us when we once again change dance partners with a new present.  I know it’s hard to imagine now, but trust me on this.  There will be a moment when you look back and realize that every new dance, every step, was given to you by God or transformed by God to fulfill God’s purpose for you.   Every teacher (even the dorky ones), every difficult homework assignment, every achievement, every failure, prepared you for something that you will do in the power of the Holy Spirit.  Each time we make ourselves vulnerable to God through the sacraments or through prayer we are empowered to bring the kingdom one step closer to earth. 

On this day of endings and beginnings, remember T.S. Eliot’s words in Little Gidding:

What we call the beginning is often the end

And to make an end is to make a beginning….

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this

Calling

   We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time….

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well.

(c) C. B. Park 2011 all rights reserved