Things I do instead of papers...

Basketball Campout

Too much beer by some
it's worth the b-ball tickets--
that puke on my leg.

(Photo a la Kara Eidson)

I went to the shrine of my other religion--Cameron Indoor Stadium--where I paid homage 26 times at a check-in line-
Sometimes at 3am, sometimes 7am, sometimes noon.
But my group secured tickets for a season of fanatical blue hair-dying, screaming, chanting, and occasional (very occasional) crying.
Yes, I am a Cameron Crazy again.
I figure I should get it while I can because parish life won't be like that at all--
the blue hair-dying, that is.


The Princess Tent (a.k.a. "Beverage Castle")

The Weekend

(I just finished typing this, and I feel better. That said, I know I'm not perfect, nor is what I say. I'm still posting it, though.)

I think they wanted me to go to the UMC conference on HIV/AIDS because I just got back from South Africa, and I still wear my little beaded AIDS bracelet around my wrist.
So, I went. I was glad for the chance to drive with a favorite professor, glad for a chance to get to hang out with an energetic 4-yr-old, glad to get to know two other travelers a bit better.

We got there. No hitch. Got into the room--no problem. Got to the registration desk...and now it gets a bit tricky. Sheila and I only had one registration between us. We figured we'd swap child care help, so we only really needed one name tag. I asked if they wanted me to register anyway. The woman running the gig, clearly stressed, opened up a verbal can of whoop ass. Negative, I thought to myself. That's okay. I'm still allowed to go to the big group things.

Fast forward. Dinner time. Sheila and I aren't too hungry. We'll share a plate.
Not without a nametag. She wasn't allowed in without a nametag. Not even if we're sharing. Sharing is what we tell our children to do--adults, apparently, don't share.

So, that was the conference. I did get into dinner that night, and even got my own chair and salad because there was too much food for the "over-crowded, standing room only" dining room.

I think the thing that got to me was that people stood up crying the first day, talking about how the practice of hospitality is so important, especially when it comes to HIV ministry. Heck, I was even surprised as some brought up the reconciling movement, and one man even said that hospitality even extends to the LGBT community. Yet here we were, the body of Christ, not even practicing hospitality within the doors of our own conference! I mean, if you want my honest opinion, I'll tell you that I think we are light years away from being able to even grasp the concept of hospitality within the confines of many churches.
But I didn't need a conference to tell me that when there are friendly reminders like paragraph 304.3.

Ah, I digress...

Anyway, I am not sure where I'm going with this except to say that if we cannot practice things among ourselves--love, acceptance, hospitality, sharing--then we shouldn't kid ourselves into thinking that we can do better in different situations.

I know I'm rambling a bit, and I no doubt will hear from a wiser being about how it is harder to show compassion and care among the people we love most, etc.

I have some polity to read and some sandwiches to make before parking lot camping on Friday. I'll stop typing now...

On a Preaching Sunday

Sunday I preached at all three services at St. Matthew's, Hillsborough. It went very well. I realize now that my nervousness about writing the sermon was not because of stage fright--I mean, I was more afraid of not getting the processional choreography right--it was my fear of not conveying the message of the gospel well. (Okay, and it was really, really important to have a good first sermon at a church I love so much.) A nerdy reason for my fear, indeed! But everything went really well, and I think the Divine showed up.

But the feeling of exhileration regarding Sunday was not about my capability to sermonize, affirming as it was. My feeling happened because of the presence of the holy, mysterious love that I encountered at the Eucharist. I don't know exactly what it was, but there was something amazing and colossal about serving each individual--about watching each person's reflection in the chalice as they made their personal encounter with Christ--about seeing how each individual has their own interesting or quirky way of taking communion--and about somehow being a part of all of it. I can only describe it as the same feeling of wonder I felt when I was in the delivery room as my friend gave birth to her son. It was that kind of mysterious to me--that kind of inspiration in my heart. Yesterday I mentioned it to someone whom I look up to very much, and she said that this feeling probably will not happen every time Eucharist does, but my prayer is that I and we as a church can continue to be aware of the holy mystery that is offered weekly (monthly, annually, for some).

I leave you all with my opinion for the night...Whoever says that the Holy Spirit does not exist in institutions like the Episcopal Church has yet to darken its doors.

community?

I think this haiku will change this year. I hope it will. I pray it will.



Community when?
We rarely look at the part
That says "Unity"