Loving the Library

The Munchkin and I hit the Bozeman Public Library today. I love the library. M's not sure what to think, I think, as she slept through most of our visit (perfect!). I had quite a take, after roaming the stacks for a few minutes. I love seeing what one search leads to, and could easily spend hours pulling books off the shelves. Here's the haul. We'll see how many I can get through before they're due on June 2nd!

(Maybe) Read. (Probably Not) Reply.

A member of my congregation likes to forward me lots of stuff. Lots.of.stuff. Seriously. For awhile I felt compelled to open it all and then try to read it all, and then think of some decent response to email back to him. I couldn't keep up. Finally, I told him I'd subscribed myself to the Henri Nouwen Society's daily email, and also let him know that I wouldn't always be able to reply to all of the First Things articles, youtube videos and assorted other things he sends. He seemed surprised that I'd thought he expected me to in the first place. Let me tell you - after the fall out we took at our house for taking some parental leave, G and I were starting to feel a little paranoid. Unnamed, unspoken expectations can be dangerous things. Especially if you're the one of whom a couple hundred people have unspoken expectations.
Fortunately, after some hard work, lots of listening, and near-constant reminders not to get defensive, things are getting better. At some point I'll be able to write a half-way intelligible and thoughtful paragraph about how the whole thing went down.

In the meantime, you might also enjoy the meditation the Henri Nouwen Society sent on Easter. It must have made an impact on me. I remembered the "maybe" - perfect for this month's nablopomo - and perhaps a fitting description of the growing edge of my life, too.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. We joyfully announce it. [And yet] I realize that my faith and unbelief are never far from each other. Maybe it is exactly at the place where they touch each other that the growing edge of my life is.

Please Pass the Paper

I love it when little ideas come to fruition, without me pushing to make them happen.
After our synod pastors' conference at Chico Hot Springs last week (more about that later), I've been trying to think of simple things our household could do to continue simplifying, build community, and live a little lighter on the earth.
When I finally rolled into the office late this afternoon (Grant had a continuing ed. gig til mid-afternoon), I ended up having a good conversation with our office manager. We covered a wide range of topics, including stewardship, giving, making sacrifices, American lifestyles of consumption, etc.... I mentioned how we'd given up our satellite TV, she mentioned they've given up their daily newspaper.
And a light bulb appeared over my head. We still get the daily paper - why don't we share?
So, starting tomorrow, I'll take the paper with me to work and hand it over. I said I couldn't make any guarantees about getting today's paper today - chances are good it'll be a day later - but she didn't mind (the crossword will keep). The only promise I extracted was that the paper will be recycled when her household is finished with it - otherwise she has to bring it back and give it back to me so I can recycle it. She laughed. No problem.
How fantastic!!
This feels especially good, since over the weekend I also remembered to ask another family at church if they have a broadcast spreader for things like grass seed and fertilizer that we could borrow. I figure if we only use it once or twice a year, there's no reason we need to own one!
The spreader arrived by the office door Sunday night. Perfect!
It feels good NOT to buy things, and even better to share the things we already have.

A death in the human family

Just before I turned off the computer last night and finally headed to bed, I saw the headlines that Osama bin Laden had been killed, and listened to the President's speech about it.
It's been hard to avoid coverage about it - front page of the paper, all over the news, and even all over facebook. I am thankful that so many of my friends who "demand a deeper ethic for the world," as one new facebook pal put it.
Check out tensegrities, and the links offered there.
Maybe... someday we will actually remember to pray for our enemies, and to love them, until the only enemy left is death itself.

What follows is the letter to all the members of my denomination, the ELCA, from our Presiding Bishop. Not bad.

Sisters and brothers in Christ,

 The death of Osama bin Laden is an occasion for solemn remembrance. We remember the lives of all whose deaths resulted from his choosing hatred and violence. We stand with those who continue to mourn the death of loved ones while giving thanks for their lives, their love and their faith. We also continue to hold in prayer all whose service in the military, in government and in humanitarian and peacemaking activities contribute to a safer and more prosperous world.

At the same time we also recall who we are: people baptized into Christ, freed to serve our neighbors. We are people called as Christ’s ambassadors of reconciliation with our neighbors, serving God’s work of restoring community. We engage our neighbors of other faiths, including our Muslim neighbors near and far, in respectful, searching dialogue and shared commitment to build a world that reflects God’s will for peace with justice. We pray for our neighbors, even those who are our enemies.
Most of all, in these 50 days of celebrating Christ’s resurrection, joy finds its fullest and deepest expression not over a human death but in God’s promise to unite all things in heaven and on earth, to reconcile the human family and to bring God’s reign of peace. Confident in what God has promised, we witness our resolve against any act of violence in the name of religion and our renewed commitment of service to the neighbors and world God so deeply loves.

In God’s grace,

Mark S. Hanson

Maybe

I signed up for Nablopomo, or "National Blog Posting Month" for the month of May. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that it's pushing 11pm on a Sunday night and I am for the first time sitting down at the computer, I think perhaps I was wrong...
Nablopomo was initially developed to go along with nanowrimo (national novel writing month, when crazy people sign up to churn out a novel in the month of November. I did it back in 2009, and of course have not returned to that manuscript even once. Someday, perhaps...). Now, nablopomo is EVERY month, and every month the minds behind the frenzy offer a theme. This month it's "maybe." Following the theme is optional, and most months I have fleeting thoughts about engaging it and committing to writing more in terms of quantity, if not at all "more" in terms of quality.
Last week, in my post-Easter exhaustion and hopefulness, I entertained all kinds of crazy notions about making more time to write (and read, clean, exercise, cook, etc.). We'll see how that turns out.
I'm learning that in some ways, maybe in some of the least helpful ways, Easter works like New Year's Day in my life - there is before, and after, when of course I'll get everything organized and straightened up and put back on track. Somehow I don't think a massive self-improvement project is what the liturgy has in mind when we are reminded of the newness of life we have in our risen Lord.
Maybe I should just cut myself some slack.

That Thursday

"Do you know what I have done to you?" he asked that night.
Twenty-four damp feet shifted. That's a rhetorical question, right?
No matter, he didn't even pause for effect.

"Do we know what you have done for us?" Sure, Teacher. No problem, Lord.

Wait.

What was the question?

What have you done to us?
     Why did you take off your outer robe?
What have you done to me?
     Not just my feet but my hands and my head, and my elbows, my knees, my eyes, ears, lips...

"Do you know what I have done to you?"

Sometimes. Sometimes I know.
Sometimes I know,
     the way I remember a dream for all of thirty seconds when I wake up;
     the way the lyrics to that song are almost on the tip of my tongue;
     the way my child looks into my eyes and sees things I didn't even know were there;
     the way all I ever hoped and longed for is suddenly mine, having been there all along.

I know now, in this moment. But I am prone to forgetfullness, and to distrust what I know.
I need you to remind me. Command me. Send me back to the basin and the towel.

I'm back. I think.

I've been asbent from Unseen Endings for awhile. For several reasons. Perhaps I'll get into those later. For now, I'm back. I think. There's a lot I've been meaning to say, and I plan eventually to get around to saying at least a fraction of it. But for now, go read this post. Amazing. It might get a mention in my Good Friday meditations, if I can figure out just where to put it and how... I'll let you know.