On Vacation in Another Wilderness

Though on vacation from youth ministry (at least as much as one ever is), I felt this was something to post.

I am fairly well traveled.  I have seen and met people in and from many countries, felt myself to be stranger and family.  I have seen and experienced sights and places that cause you to feel far from home yet are hauntingly familiar.

Never have I experienced anything like the wilds of Alaska.  Though I was here before, it was in the dim twilight of November and my explorations were constricted to Fairbanks.  This trip has included a winding road trip of over 1,100 miles from Fairbanks to Kennicott to Anchorage to Talkeetna to Denali Park and back to Fairbanks.

The drive to Kennicott in particular and the hike to the glacier there was awesome in the true sense of the word.  Though my brother laughed when I tried to express it, my impression of the overwhelming peaks and breathtaking vistas was like trying to understand a higher language.  There is the practical language of nature - being able to understand the calls and sounds of animals, read the paths in the woods, or find sustenance in the brush.  Some of that lower language I can read and speak.  Years of Girl Scout camp helped with that.

This loftier and deeper language is one that hints at the voice of God.  The height and grandeur of the mountains.  The tumble and froth of the rapid creeks.  The sedate, patience rivers.  The blue coolness of the creeping glaciers.  The warmth of the sun on the wild, hearty flowers.

I felt if I was still enough, for long enough, perhaps I might just be able to make something of the quiet cacophony of this majestic language.  

Of Many Languages

Sunday was Pentecost for those that follow the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar.  On this day, as we read in Acts 2:1-11:

When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled,
they were all in one place together.
And suddenly there came from the sky
a noise like a strong driving wind,
and it filled the entire house in which they were.
Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire,
which parted and came to rest on each one of them.
And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit
and began to speak in different tongues,
as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.

Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven staying in Jerusalem.
At this sound, they gathered in a large crowd,
but they were confused
because each one heard them speaking in his own language.
They were astounded, and in amazement they asked,
“Are not all these people who are speaking Galileans?
Then how does each of us hear them in his native language?
We are Parthians, Medes, and Elamites,
inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia,
Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia,
Egypt and the districts of Libya near Cyrene,
as well as travelers from Rome,
both Jews and converts to Judaism, Cretans and Arabs,
yet we hear them speaking in our own tongues
of the mighty acts of God.”

To hear one's native language in a sea of foreign words and experiences is such an immense feeling it is difficult to describe what it is like.  My senior year of college I ventured to Rome to visit a friend studying there for the semester.  After experiencing Florence and its homage to the vast artistic history of humanity, we traveled via train to the seaside city of Naples.  From there we were to take a ferry to Capri.  We had tickets and we had maps. We were experienced travelers and felt that this was a simple enough journey.  Men plan, God laughs.

Our train dropped us in Naples just as the afternoon stretch where shops close and Italians generally take to their homes for a rest from the heat of the day.  Thus we found ourselves picking our way to the docks so we could find our ferry.  For over an hour we roamed through what was the commercial and industrial docks looking for the tourist ferries.  No one was in sight.  Finally, as our exhaustion and hunger caught up with us, we heard voices.  That alone was enough for us to cheer up and begin searching out the people that went with the voices.  Finally we discerned the language they were speaking.  It was English! American English!  We practically ran at full tilt towards this middle aged couple.  I'm sure the band of three bedraggled college students rushing them was a sight.

Providentially, not only were they English speakers with a clue as to what we needed to do, but the woman was actually my friend's advisor in the very university we all attended.  Somehow in the midst of Napoli's docks, we not only found English speakers, but a couple from our very own town.

That sense of relief, belonging, and acceptance that is based on nothing else than hearing words you understand when you expected to be mystified will never leave me.  When I hear the words of Acts in this Pentecost reading, I can understand the amazement and wonder of the people listening to the disciples.

As I was listening to our associate pastor's homily, I began to question myself and my ministries.  When the kids come to our youth ministry events, when the adults come to Theology on Tap or Ya2acht Club, do they feel that sense of acceptance and belonging.  Does the language I use make sense to them?  Any profession, ministry, military, government, medicine, teaching, has a nomenclature.  Am I careful to make sure what I say can make sense and touch the souls of others?

Furthermore, Pentecost is a moment when God spoke to all of us.  Through the mouths of the disciples he was able to show his glory, his compassion, and greatness.  The truly universal message of the Good News was directly related to each individual in the crowd.  Do my actions show that same universal love of God?  Do my own words and actions testify to the presence of Truth?  Do they speak of compassion, understanding, and acceptance?

It's Coming

Summer's coming.

When will a rest?

I've started the heaving planning for summer events.  I am a bit intimidated by the summer schedule.  While I do get to run away to a far, far away place, the rest of the summer is quickly being packed with summer events.

A trip to Cedar Point, a lock-in, the World Youth Day pilgrimage, Apples to Apples apple party, glow in the dark putt putt, picnics, and the Nuts and Bolts conference will force June, July and August to quickly pass me by.  When you toss in planning the 2008-2009 school year, podcasts, and the usual Bible studies it is a formidable schedule.

It is tempting to, as the kids do, blow summer off.  To say that it is a time of rest and relaxation not needing programs or events.

For that very reason it is more necessary to reach out the kids.  To connect the incoming freshmen with the community and help them acclimate to the new environment of high school life.  To provide graduating seniors with the tools and mechanisms to move on to the next phase of their life.  To spend time as a group joining in social events.  The summer provides an unique opportunity to focus on community building and pastoral care.

So I will enjoy my vacation in June to see my brother in the land of the midnight sun.  I will use those days to relax (if not exactly catch up on sleep).  I will then come back knowing that the ensuing months will be just as busy as the rest of the year.

Vindication

They laugh.  They mock.  Inevitably, they ask for it.

One of the essential items I pack for any youth ministry event - whether it is a retreat, camping, service project, or international travel - is duct tape.  This miracle product will repair ripped jeans, hold up broken airline tray tables, suspend just about anything, and will, without fail, be used on each and every event.

Somewhere is a stunning picture of me standing in front of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.  I have my day pack slung over one shoulder.  On the other shoulder is my flute with a role of duct tape on the strap.  

With two retreats just wrapped up and the massive undertaking to attend World Youth Day now less than 80 days away, duct tape has a comfortable position on my desk.

For all those who have ever mocked me (and there are plenty), here is a bit of higher vindication. 

Moondust and Duct Tape

Another Minor Miracle

I survived.  Basically the month of March through this past weekend served as a crucible for me.  Whether it was the normal chaos of Holy Week, the State Conference, or back to back retreats it has been a challenge.  While there's plenty to keep me busy (as always), it is at least down to the normal level of chaos.

As I am enjoying the first day off where I haven't had to do some work here at home, I am enjoying some of my favorite simple pleasures.  The list of Jenn's favorite things to enjoy on her day off:

1. My favorite pair of sweat pants.
2. My incredibly holy, incredibly oversized sweatshirt.
3. Lebanese take out for dinner (I love chicken shwarma, hummus, and fattoush salad).
4. West Wing DVDs.

I must say that I deeply mourn the loss of West Wing on Prime Time.  I love the show and the switch from discussing relationships withe teenagers to the world of politics and government.  It was after all my first love.  

So I shall continue enjoying a truly relaxing day with some of my favorite fictional characters and some excellent take away.  A bit of rest before heading into the Educational Trust Fund benefit, end of the school year activities, and preparations for World Youth Day and international service trips.  For the time, I shall enjoy the time watching Josiah Bartlett appoint a new Supreme Court Justice.

Jenn's Law #1

We all roll our eyes and quote "Murphy's Law" when something goes wrong.

I propose a new set of laws - Jenn's Laws.  These relate to the specific ways things roll in ministry.

To begin with:

"When you get sick, you will go from fine to death warmed over in about two hours.  Of course, this will occur the first two hours of an overnight retreat.

Anyone care to hazard a guess as to my current condition? Anyone? Bueller?  Bueller?

Yup, exhausted, finished a retreat around noon and have youth group at 7:00 pm.  And I have almost no voice, difficulties breathing, and am generally a breeding ground of charming forms of mucus punctuated by horrible coughs.  

Mangoes & Greek Salad

Today is a mango sticky rice & Greek salad sort of day.  What exactly, dear reader, does that mean?  - Basically my schedule is so hectic that I didn't have time to put together a lunch or dinner.  Thankfully lunch was included in the morning meetings I had and a Whole Foods store was on my way from the meetings to the office.

This is one of those days where I almost wish I didn't care so much about what I do.  Or that I wasn't a bit of a stubborn perfectionist.  Bad combination when you're faced with two weekends of back to back retreats, state conference wrap-up (and planning next year's), a diocesan council or two, and various other projects.  I want everything I do to be perfect partially due to my own perfectionism, but mostly because I don't want my imperfections to mar the experience of others.

Especially when it comes to faith it seems people demand perfection from those in leadership.  Hypocrisy, sin, or even just the minor everyday faults we all have are highlighted as faults with the faith, faults with the leadership, and used as an excuse to doubt or criticize.  Thus, when I am putting together an event, a h

andout, a presentation, I truly do want to make it faultless.  If there is one less thing that people can object to as they continue on their journey of faith, the better.  

However, this creates several problems.  Not the least of which is that I (like everyone else) am full of faults, sins, and unintentional hypocrisy.  No one is perfect.  I am buying into the demands that others place on me that are fundamentally unreasonable.  It also causes me extraordinary levels of worry and stress.  Not healthy, especially when your mother had a heart attack in her early 40s due to stress and so forth.  By seeking to be without fault I also am giving an implicit statement that others should be perfect and without fault.

Yes, we should strive to be without sin and strive to be like our Father.  I know that I am called to live my life as a disciple, actively and consciously.  I am called to be a disciple, not a perfectionist.  Thomas, Peter, and Paul and the lot were always falling short.  I take comfort in that.  God used their imperfections to bring light to others.  Jesus did not demand perfection from Peter.  He forgave him his denial and then asked not for faultless, but for Peter to love and feed his flock.

Not perfection, but love.  Therein lies the true call of discipleship and those of us who feel called to ministry.  We are called to love, not to be perfect.  We are called to love ourselves, our neighbor, and our God.