Yesterday, Smaug roared. He didn’t just rumble or growl or roll over a bit. He sat up and roared. It made for a bad morning. I didn’t know where to turn or if I would be able to escape. Fortunately, I had an appointment for a med check with my psychiatrist in the afternoon.

My psychiatrist is truly wonderful. He’s not supposed to listen to me as much as he does, but he does. I told him about Smaug’s roar and how I’ve lost my way and I don’t know quite know who I am anymore. We talked for a while. He had a suggestion. Now I have a doctor’s note to quilt more. To define myself by the things I like to do rather than the things that I hate. But I have permission to have fun. Permission. I stole something from Smaug yesterday and he doesn’t realize it yet. I think I’ll get this one out of the cave too.

BlazingEwe and I were all set to go out to dinner.  The LightChildren and FlamingLambs were at the rink with LightHusband.  BlisteringSh33p has a mysterious fever so he was home in bed.  BlazingEwe got a phonecall from a mutual friend, TexasBlueBelle.  Her teenage son had disobeyed his father and had left their house when he’d been told not to.  Both parents were over an hour away and son has been having a troubling year.  Would we go pick him up?  He considers us his other mothers.  So, off we went on a mission of merciful chastisement.

It proved to be an interesting several hours long conversation.  BelleSon was completely and utterly honest with us.  Oh, he spun a few yarns and gave us a few lines that he thought we’d want to hear (and I will revisit those at another time).  But it was another gem I stole from Smaug’s pile to recover and build a relationship with a teenager last night.  I had forgotten how wonderful those interactions with teens are.  We laughed some and gave him some key things to work on.  He said he’d like to keep meeting with us.  A small miracle happened right in front of my eyes.

So I ended the day with 2 pearls in my pocket, two miracles that I do not deserve.  But I will keep these.  Somehow I will get out of the cave with these.

As the rain hides the stars,
as the autumn mist hides the hills,
happenings of my lot
hide the shining of Thy face from me.
Yet, If I may hold Thy hand
in the darkness,
it is enough;
since I know that,
though I may stumble in my going,
Thou dost not fall.
Alistair Maclean

Since I left my church almost 2 months ago, I’ve begun working out regularly. I realized this morning that it’s become a place of worship for me. Is that possible? There is music. There are people. There are encouragers, exhorters, evangelists, prayers (spoken and unspoken). There is no sermon; not directly. A wonderful thing about my place of worship is that it is for women only. Women have voices here and women are heard. My voice is heard here. I do not choose to speak tho. I have nothing to say. I watch and listen and exercise.

On Saturdays when I go to my place of exercise/worship I drive past a set of low office buildings. They are mostly nondescript. I drive past them on weekdays too, but there is nothing noticeable about them on weekdays. I think that there must be a women’s health services clinic in one of the offices, because on Saturdays there is always a small group of people picketing against abortion on the side of the road. It’s almost always all men. I know that abortion is a tangential issue for men. But why don’t more women take up pickets against it? That’s interesting.

Hockey has now consumed our home. LightGirl has 2 sets of goalie gear and 2 of skater gear (in-line and ice) and LightBoy is working on 2 sets of gear. There are bags, sticks, skates and pads everywhere.

Missional is becoming trendy in Christian circles. Brother Maynard even has a cool graphic to show which way the trend is turning. It’s the latest watch word for Christian branders to run after and get while the money is to be made; WWJD for the 2000’s? The only problem is that actually being missional is important. Bro. M. posted his cool graphic because that’s where his heart is at. There are a lot of us following those numbers in a not so idle fashion because we want to see it catch on somewhere deep. We want it to be real … not trendy. Trendy would just break my heart one more time.

So missional means (to me) living a life that more and more comes to resemble that of Jesus. It means treating everyone who’s path I cross as individuals with gifts and needs and a life and a story to tell, even if all I will hear that day is a sentence. It means giving out of my abundance to those with less; not from a pedestal on high, but from a bridge across. For many people missional seems to mean living an urban lifestyle. Their desire is to live in and among the urban poor. I’ve been contemplating whether or not missional can be taken to the mountains successfully. Do rural folks need missionally minded people in their midst? Maybe an artistic quilter or something? I don’t think I’m cut out for many more years of this city living. It’s strangling my soul.

Not so long ago, or so it seems, LightHusband and I had the privilege of being introduced to a man who was the new youth pastor at our now CLB. He had just arrived in town with his wife and (then) baby daughter. His daughter is now 16. We’ve had the privilege of knowing him for all of our children’s lives. We also had the unmitigated privilege of serving under him for many years while he was youth pastor at our old church. He continues to be a spiritual mentor in my life and he works with LightHusband in the job that keeps his body and soul together. He does a lot of other things too for fun and profit.

He started blogging not terribly long ago. His blog is well worth adding to your feed reader and taking a regular gander at. I call him Peregrine Man, it has nothing to do with the falcon and everything to do with the journey. His blog is called Peregrinatio in honor of the travels that the Celts undertook in search of God’s heart.

I found his post yesterday fascinating and endearing. I came in the house to read it after a long heart-to-heart with LightGirl about sex. It had come up innocently enough in the ways of a 13 year old. She asked a question about STD’s and AIDS, “What are they, Mom?” I learned a long time ago to answer those sorts of questions straight up and just the questions, without adding in anything that they have not asked. Let the child control the conversation and see where it goes. So she asked a few more questions and we did end up in the realm of what to do about sex outside of marriage. I left her with some open ended things to think about and told her some truths about my own life that really surprised her. We ended the conversation with a deeper relationship than when we began.

Now, here’s why I loved his post. I’ve had these kinds of conversations with so many other girls in other situations that I felt more prepared than I anticipated when the moment occurred with my own daughter. She asked the question, I centered myself and began. At one and the same moment, it was easy and more important than ever. And, it was ever so much more beautiful.

If you live in Virginia, you are connected to the tragedy. It is inevitable. You have connections to VATech. A dear friend’s daughter is a senior who is a teaching assistant in the engineering department. I’ve met the daughter, had lunch with her. She just lost her favorite professor and 10 students that she has assisted this year. Another friend is a teacher at the high school from which the shooter came, and from which two victims graduated. Still others graduated from VATech or went there for different parts of their education. Others have friends.

This arrived in my in-box this morning from CoachWonderWoman, who is also a HokieParent (her son goes to VaTech) … as she wrote, “It captures the support the students and extended community has received this week.”:

This hasn’t simply dominated the news here, in Virginia, it has penetrated our very bones.

Psalm 34

6 This poor people called, and the LORD heard us;
he saved them out of all their troubles.

7 The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.

8 Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed are those who take refuge in him.

18 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

So I was, at first taken with the idea of OneDayBlogSilence, which sprang up so quickly in the wake of the tragedy (and please note, dear reader, that I refer to it as a tragedy, not a massacre … there is a deep magic in the meaning of words and we must choose them carefully for the good or ill of the future.) Until I began to see the headlines of other tragedies from around the world that same day. 30 were killed in a bomb blast in Baghdad. How many were killed in Darfur? In Afghanistan? How many women were raped? How many other random senseless acts of violence stopped the bright shining lives of young people around the world on April 16, 2007. Young people with grieving mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, aunts, uncles, friends, cousins, teachers, professors, pastors, mentors. Old people who had dynamically effected and affected the world around them in ripples that flow out uncounted. So …. on April 30, this blog will also stand with others, silent and dark in memory of victims of violence everywhere.

Yes, weep and grieve until the Spirit is poured
down on us from above
And the badlands desert grows crops
and the fertile fields become forests.
Justice will move into the badlands desert.
Right will build a home in the fertile field.
And where there’s Right, there’ll be Peace
and the progeny of Right: quiet lives and endless trust.
My people will live in a peaceful neighborhood—
in safe houses, in quiet gardens.
The forest of your pride will be clear-cut,
the city showing off your power leveled.
But you will enjoy a blessed life,
planting well-watered fields and gardens,
with your farm animals grazing freely.
(Isaiah 32:15-20 (The Message))

Some time ago I discovered a blogger friend. His name is John. John is sort of an outgoing guy and pretty soon we were friend-friends. He told me about some very hurtful things that had happened to him in the recent past. I told him about some things that were happening to me in the present. We held each other up in prayer. We supported each other and told each other some very bad puns to make the other laugh.

Some of the hurtful things that have happened to John include him being separated very suddenly and without warning from his job as pastor of a newly planted church in California. This separation also included a separation from his source of income.

If you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any fellowship with the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and purpose. Philippians 2:1-2

Now, Rick Meigs (Blind Beggar), is a bigger and better thinker than just about all of us. He got the great idea to start a Paypal account for John.

Here’s the great thing about John. He did not let any of this stuff get him down. He is starting a great little missional church with, like, NO budget. This is a euphemism for no money.

So please visit Rick’s site and John’s site (SmuloSpace and Missional Apologetics) to find out more about how you can support him and his family during this time of need. He has a heart and vision as big as all California. I’m privileged to call him friend and be united in Christ with him.

The Church is two things. It is at one and the same time a human institution founded by humans, run by humans and failed by humans. It is also an institution ordained by God to be His Body incarnate here on earth, His Bride in waiting, the Kingdom peeking out in the here giving us glimpses of the not yet.

A couple of weeks ago Bill Kinnon wrote an excellent post entitled PFK as the Congregation (if you haven’t yet read it, go do so now. I’ll wait). At almost the same time and with much, much less thought I wrote Leaving Oz, which, we agreed, was on the same wave length. Last week Emerging Grace wrote The Underlying Issues as a follow-up to PFKC where she outlined Bill’s main points. She hit the ball out of the park, once again.

Grace began her post with a bit of a sally against those who seem to think that we who criticize the church are bitter and angry. Some might be. Some might be working through those issues and still retain valid criticisms of the Church.

I’m going to mix up politics and faith here for a little bit. I hope you won’t mind, but I find it necessary to make my point.

When our Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence and wrote the Constitution, one of the most prominent freedoms for them was freedom of thought or speech. It was very important to them that they be allowed to think and say what they wanted to. As well as being allowed to worship in the manner in which they chose. Hence we have clauses in the Declaration of Independence that read like:

That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.

and the First Amendment to the Constitution which states:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

But how many of us really take those to heart? Really. How often do we speak up and say what’s on our minds, or think outside the box, or differently from the rest of the crowd? It’s extremely rare. We are a culture in which it is the norm to want to do like everyone else. Those who march to their own beat are ostracized and excluded, by the whole pack. It’s not just the leaders who are responsible, but all of us.

I’ve been seeing this my whole life. LightHusband and I have a very good friend from our youth. I’ll call him BestMan (since he was our best man when we got married). When LightHusband and I were dating, we hung out with BestMan a lot and carried on conversations about life, culture and anything else that crossed our minds. Literally … anything! One of the things that used to amaze us was how like cows people are. Since we all grew up in Vermont, this analogy was apt. People get in a herd and follow along without thinking, they just do what the butt in front of them is doing. I realize that sounds awfully harsh … but remember we were youthful and harsh at the time. We are not taught or encouraged to think about what might exist outside the herd. Get in your car, sit in traffic, sit in your cubicle, get ahead, sit in your car, sit in your cube house, go to sleep … do it all again.

Now let’s go back to the Church. How is the Church going to be any different in this atmosphere? I think that Bill and Grace have extremely valid criticisms and concerns about how the Church has been lead in the last several decades or so. But I don’t think that all of the responsibility can be heaped on the leadership. I think that we the PFKC have to take some of the blame too. After all … for the longest time, we’ve liked it this way. We’ve enjoyed our emerald spectacles, and our comfortable happy lives that our wizards, oops, I mean pastors have given us.

Remember, when the wizard left Oz, the people didn’t fling off their spectacles and cry out, “We are free! We are free!” No, they mourned his loss and wondered how on earth they were going to get along without him.

“Good-bye!” shouted everyone, and all eyes were turned upward to where the Wizard was riding in the basket, rising every moment farther and farther into the sky.

And that was the last any of them ever saw of Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, though he may have reached Omaha safely, and be there now, for all we know. But the people remembered him lovingly, and said to one another:

“Oz was always our friend. When he was here he built for us this beautiful Emerald City, and now he is gone he has left the Wise Scarecrow to rule over us.”

Still, for many days they grieved over the loss of the Wonderful Wizard, and would not be comforted.

My theory is that the Church for many people (even in fundamental/evangelical/charismatic churches) is a social contract with social functions. By social contract, I am referring to the contract first discussed by John Locke in Two Treatises of Government. I don’t mean to belittle or demean in any way the faith or relationship that most people have with God or Jesus. I have to assume that they must have a vibrant faith. It’s just different and their view of church is different than mine. They are in small churches, medium churches, and mega-churches. But regardless of size they are in a place where they like wearing colored spectacles, and being told where to go and what to do by a leader who has built a beautiful city for them to live in; a leader who sets himself apart and is above the people. A leader who was dropped in from above and will one day leave just as mysteriously, but will never quite be one of them. The people will adore him, listen to his every word, follow him … but they will never quite know him. Now here’s the thing … both the leader AND the people like it this way. Both entities are getting something out of this.

There is however, a growing group of people who are not satisfied with this status quo. Who have begun looking around and thought that there might be a third way. For lack of a better term, or maybe because I like it a lot, we can call ourselves PFKC now. Or as Jamie Arpin-Ricci is calling us, The Community Coming To Be Known As Missional, this third way, this way of being Jesus; of not just sitting in a pew on Sunday and counting it sanctified all week long. It looks like many things. It’s walking a tightrope amidst a broad road. It’s living with open hands in a tight fisted culture. It’s seeing a mother’s dreams on the face of an old homeless man. It’s seeing people not clerks in the grocery store. Having authentic friendships without any ulterior motives. It’s learning how to be yourself again, the beautiful one who God created to be and love and laugh in the world; to be in relationship with Him and with others.

So how do these two sets of people get along with one another? One set is comfortable within the social contract, loving the leader, wearing the colored spectacles, following the crowd and the rules (whatever they may be). They love the beautiful walled city in which they live, apart from everyone else. The other set has grown discomfitted with the social contract, thrown down their colored spectacles, gone adventuring outside the walls of the city, decided that the rules are not necessary for their existence and that the crowd might be going in a direction they don’t want to go.

One set is, by nature, conservative, holding on tightly to the things they know and love. The other set is, by nature, radical, letting go and finding new ways; new wine in old wineskins. It’s my hope and dream that the two groups can get along, can love each other as children of God, as mutual brothers and sisters in Christ. We do things differently, we see the world differently, but we share one God, one Saviour, one Holy Spirit. If we can manage to walk through this new way lovingly we will not further splinter the Church, but perhaps bring it back together again. That is my dream today.

BlazingEwe’s brother died last night.

He lay down and … just … died.

Thirty-seven year old brothers are not supposed to die.

If they do, we should be able to know how or why. There should be a car accident. Or hunting incident. They don’t lie down on the living room floor and die.

My best friend and I are waiting for that phone call to tell us that this is all a joke. A sick joke, but a joke, nonetheless. This isn’t real. Younger brothers don’t die first. They still have all that uncle-ing to do. And they still have to be a brother as your parents get old. And now who will she make jokes with about dad getting crotchety and mom getting silly? Who will help her remember the pecan tree in the front yard? And picking up sticks in the back yard?

Someone please call and tell her that they made a mistake.

UPDATE:  The phone call came.  There is no mistake.  But now there is a reason.  He died of a massive heart attack.  How does a 37 year old man die of a massive heart attack?  There is barely any solace here.

I’ve recently taken out my Celtic Daily Prayer book … again and begun using it more regularly … again. I love the Celtic way of prayer and life. The way of learning to pray through life and live through prayer. It grounds me in a good way. There was a book mark that I’d left in a funny place, so I opened it to the bookmark and found some readings that struck me:

The only preparation which multitudes seem to make for heaven is for its judgment bar. What will they do in its streets? What have they practised of love? How like are they to its Lord? Earth is the rehearsal for heaven. The eternal beyond is the eternal here. The street-life, the home-life, the business-life, the city-life in all the varied range of its activity, are an apprenticeship for the city of God. There is no other apprenticeship for it.

Traveller to God’s last city, be glad that you are alive. Be thankful for the city at your door and for the chance to build its walls a little nearer heaven before you go. Pray for yet a little while to redeem the wasted years. And week by week as you go forth from worship, and day by day as you awake to face this great and needy world, learn to ‘seek a City’ there, and in the service of its neediest find heaven.

I’ve searched, but cannot find the source, of these readings. So I cannot properly attribute them.  I’m pondering the notions they present about our search for the heavenly.  They seem to be inextricably linked.  Or are they?  Do we practice for heaven in service to the needy?  Who is needy?  I wonder sometimes if providing service to those who are needy in body is a service to those of us who are needy in spirit.  Thus it becomes an apprenticeship for both.

Today is the day I’m supposed to have launched a post about Christians and altered states of consciousness to participate in the March SynchroBlog. But. I didn’t get my act together. I might in the days to come because I find that topic piques my interest. Then again, it seems overwhelming. So I might not. In the meantime, I thought I ought to let you all know about the others who are more organized than I and who have written some interesting, engaging thoughts on the issue. So when you have time, go check my fellow Synchies out:

Shamanic Vision and Apocalyptic Scripture at Phil Wyman’s Square No More

Can prayer be an example of Alternate Conciousness? at Eternal Echoes

Better Than I Was [at times], Not Better Than You Are by Mike of Earthsea

emotionalism vs rationalism at Adam Gonnerman’s Igneous Quill

Consciousness of the absurd and the absurdity of consciousness at Steve’s Notes from the Underground

The Unconscious Christian by Matt Stone

Hypnochristians at Jamie’s More Than Stone

The extreme consciousness of the Spirit by Les Chatwin

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me at Mike’s Musings

What is reality? by David Fisher at Be the Revolution