To Do is to Be (a Deacon)

"Heidi, Feel free to smash this next time you need to. B."

This is a gift from Brad. Perfect.

I'm so overwhelmed, here. I'm nervous, I'm tired, I'm moved to tears constantly. I'm feel like I don't even understand what "being ordained" means. And I have no idea how to be a deacon.

I woke up at 4:30am this morning, as I have been often this past week. Tears were coming on, and I was trying to read some psalms and talk myself up, but it wasn't going so well. At 5:30, I remember that my mom would probably be awake, so I called her. I love my mom... she told me everything would be fine, that transitions were hard - they're even teaching a whole course on it at Loyola this year, apparently, and then she talked to be about existentialism. (!) I love being a child of Hyde Park. Although really, my mom is pretty un-Hyde Park, all in all - she teaches at a Catholic school, she reads murder mysteries, she wears make-up, and she is a fount of 1950s celebrity trivia.

However, she has read her French existentialists. She told me about about France after WWII, and how no one had really done anything about the Nazi occupation, they'd just thought and theorized a lot about it. (This is what would have happened if the Nazis had invaded the University of Chicago, by the way.) And so after the War, philosophers decided that the only way to know who you really were was via what you did. Thinking about who you were or what you were doing was pretty meaningless. Doing precedes Being. Which means I don't have to worry about figuring out what the heck it is I'm doing. If I just do it, I will understand it better later.

This is actually pretty Anglican. We don't define being Anglican by what we believe or through doctrine. We are Anglican because of what we do: we go to church, we follow the Book of Common Prayer, we take communion a lot, we baptize people, we have bishops, we bless things, we like to hear what the Archbishop of Canterbury thinks about things. If you do these things, it doesn't matter what you believe, you're pretty much an Anglican.

So, tomorrow I will go to graduation, and get my certificate, I will take communion, and I will hug my friends. My mom will take a picture of me. Boom. I will have graduated. I don't have to understand it.

On Saturday, I will go to my ordination, put on the alb, say the vows (I believe I am so called. I do. I will. I will. I will. Amen.), let More Cows and Jonathan put a stole and dalmatic on me, take communion, be embraced by my community and tell them I love God and will serve them, and I will be a deacon. Boom. I don't have to understand what it all means. I will understand better later.

And I always have a mug to smash, if I need to.

Fish for people

Mark 1:16-17 As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people."

You know, it's funny - that sentence could be taken a couple different ways that don't make any sense. Jesus says:

- "I will make you FISH for PEOPLE." = i.e. you might be more helpful as fish.
- "I will MAKE you fish for people." = i.e., fish for people, or else.

Awkward retranslations... my dad would echo this, and complain about the loss of the King James Version. It's true; it's hard to beat "I will make you fishers of men." I'm such a dork.

I'm doing better. Not because of throwing cups - maybe just better sleep?

I went to Shedd Aquarium yesterday with a friend, which was a nice escape. Fish are so calming. Beluga whales have this giant foreheads, and they're this bright grey-white. And as the dolpins swim by you in the underwater viewing windows, you can see how beat-up their skin is. They just look so smooth from far away. Shedd has a really terrific Amazon exhibit - with mangroves, an anaconda, and lots of clear, brownish water (no piranhas, though). I never knew there were sting rays in the Amazon. And another is on coral reefs in the Philippines - with tanks that go over your head, one a dark dark violet! It was so visually beautiful. I'm not sure I learned anything scientific, unfortunately... I was a bit distracted.

They called their dolphin show a "marine mammal presentation," which seemed pretentious. But it really was more of a presentation than a show... must everything be educational??? I think I'm just ready to be done with school. I have one more 3-page paper, so I'm almost there.

This week is going to be somewhat insane. I have two 2-hour rehearsals, one for graduation and one for ordination. I have a 1.5 hour talk with my bishop. The Presiding Bishop is speaking at graduation, and we're having a 2 hour meeting with her, too. And there are a ton of various goodbye events and parties. It will be tiring, but lots of good stuff. After graduation, there will be family in friends in town to enjoy. I'll deacon at St. Paul and the Redeemer on Sunday. Then Mom and I are going to Michigan to hide out for a few days by the lake.

Then, I will find a job.

Where's my whip of cords?

(See John 2:15)

On Wednesday, I tried to throw a refectory coffee cup against the building (stone!), and break it. Brad and Jim were walking with me, and when they realized that I wasn't joking, they said "Heidi, don't!" I guess I let them stop me. I've been wondering if I should've thrown it anyway, but it was probably better in the end not to destroy school property. It would certainly be a first in my embarassingly spotless school disciplinary record.

I had just learned that another parish job that I was interested in was not available, after all, and it was some kind of last straw. I feel like I've been waiting so patiently, trusting the Spirit, following job possibilities along and praying about it all. And when another one just wasn't going to work out, I decided I was fed up with patience and discernment. I was just angry. Angry at God, angry at my diocese, angry at all these rectors, angry at myself. Brad, Jim, and I walked down to Peets, and I think I scared them, with some of the things I was saying and the way I was going on about all this. Brad finally said, "Uh, Heidi: chill out."

This is my fourth year of school. This is my second life transition in two years. Here's another graduation, another week of "lasts," another bunch of goodbyes to people, another search for "what's next." I've done all this already. Doing it again is exhausting.

I went to the beach today and threw rocks - into the water, at a wooden post, and at other rocks. It wasn't as good as breaking a coffee cup, but it was fine.

Anger is cleansing and honest. I like it.

St Thomas, Bronzeville

My friend, Kristin, and I went down to the South Side yesterday to visit St. Thomas Episcopal Church, a Black parish in Bronzeville. Bronzeville is a historic African-American neighborhood that is now moving from economic hardship to gentrification, and major real estate development. The church burned down in the seventies and they rebuilt using modern architecture (that's not it in the photo up there - I had my camera, but just forgot to do anything with it). The church sort of resembles a bunker, which might have been what felt necessary to stay in the Bronzeville of the late seventies, I don't know. But it's still beautiful: abstract and image-based stained glass windows - using thick chunks of bright colored glass, a huge empty cross, and the smell of incense lingering in the air. They call themselves "the Mother Church of African-American Episcopalians in the Diocese of Chicago."

They mix traditional Episcopal hymns and traditional American spirituals, piano and organ (their organist is a white guy), high church stuff - like bells, incense, cope and biretta on the priest, lots of bowing and kneeling - AND traditional African-American preaching and the parish responding with (if subtle) "Amens." and "Mmmhmms." They had an almost entirely male altar party, unfortunately, except for two little girls who were torchbearers... and one very spunky one kept scrunching down while she was supposed to be kneeling, looking very bored. I think she was the priest's daughter, actually. :) They turn off all the lights during the Lord's Prayer and their dismissal anthem... pretty cool and very contemplative. Tons of people came over to welcome us during the peace and after worship. Kristin and I loved it. It felt liturgically alive, rooted in tradition, and interconnected as a community. We were fed smoked sausage links, gratin potatoes, biscuits, and fruit salad, engaged in conversation, and told "Come back!" Even the teenagers ate and stuck around, talking at their own table. It's sad, but few Episcopal churches are that friendly to newcomers.

I asked one woman about the gentrification in the neighborhood (FYI: these are middle to upper-class Black people, for the most part). She said that the parish is working to prepare itself for major outreach, but first they want to work on their internal community, "so we know what we're inviting people into." They just hired a new rector a couple years ago, so they're going through a transition.

I'm so fascinated by race, especially by the African-American experience. I've soaked it up over the years: growing up in Hyde Park, going to an almost entirely Black Catholic elementary school, learning from my mom, who eats up every book she finds on the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement (especially the Taylor Branch books on King, they're EXCELLENT), having a close friend, Kirstin, at U of C, who is Black and tells me about her experiences, doing anti-racism training with my diocese. It all just fascinates me, both because racism has been so destructive, and because the African American experience has shaped the United States profoundly and deeply, in ways I think most of us don't recognize. Black culture is a both an amazing and painful gift to all the people of our country. There's so much I don't know, but I like to keep learning.

Dwight Hopkins was here at Seabury a couple weeks ago to celebrate the retirement of Newland Smith, our librarian, who's been here 40 years. Newland, who is white, has done a lot of anti-racism work, among other amazing things, and Prof. Hopkins, in his talk, admired him as a "race traitor," among the likes of John Brown, and some other white folks who I didn't recognize, which is too bad. It's interesting, because wikipedia identifies "race traitor" as a derogatory term, but for Prof. Hopkins, it was the highest compliment. I don't know if I'm capable of being one myself, but it's something to aspire to, and probably something that costs.

Rainstorms and fishnets

So, I was hoping people might also share reflections on the last post. Was it too intense? Sometimes I feel kind of alone here - some people see a blog as a conversation, some as a monologue. Personally, I like to hear from people... it just helps me feel as though I'm talking to people and not posting for my own navel!

So, last night, I was supposed to drive from my interview down to Hyde Park to speak at Brent House about singleness and celibacy, for their "Sex and the Altar" series. It's a great series, and I really wanted to share my thoughts lately on being a single person. But I'd also gotten a call from the aforementioned Aunt Beth, my buddy aunt, who was stuck at O'Hare for the night and was inviting me to dinner with her. I was going to drive to Hyde Park, and then come crash with her at her hotel - what fun! However, traffic was unbelievable, then it started raining and storming, and after an hour and a half and only 12 miles, I just couldn't do it anymore. Plus, I was like two miles from my aunt's hotel. I hated making this decision, but part of me felt like I had to do it for my own good - it's hard for me to give up on ministry opportunities. But I felt like I was wasting gas, wasting time, and not believing that the students and the chaplain could have good ideas and discussion on their own, without me. I also felt terribly guilty for abandoning (?) them.

But it was really good to spend time with my aunt. She lives in Vancouver, and I never get to see her. We went to this awful hotel restaurant where all the waitresses wore. like, little black, strapless bathing suits with fringy stuff on the bodice and fishnet stockings. Eek. It was a little embarassing. But the hotel was going for the brothel look... and they got it down.

A mummy is my neighbor

My apartment looks out across the parking lot into the library windows. One Friday night a few weeks ago, the lights were left on in the second floor special collections room. It was sort of neat... you can't see very well in the photos, but I could see the bookshelves and the glass cases that are full of pottery and other artifacts. There's also a small mummy there, a fourteen-year old girl with a beautiful face painted over her wrappings. Sort of like this:

Sometimes, it seems wrong to me that we have someone's body in our library. When the lights got left on, I thought about her up there. You know, we're a religious school and community, shouldn't we commemorate her in some way? What does it mean that she's here? Where did her donor get her from?

We have two bodies under our altar - a former bishop and his wife. We have another upstairs, in a glass case. Two were buried close to what was familiar to them, the ancient girl is far away from anything that would've been familiar to her. Maybe it doesn't matter - both are just bones and remains now. I've complained before about the BodyWorlds exhibits, because I find some of their body reconstructions strange and garish, and I'm not sure that the human body is just a vessel, or meat, or something to joke around with. Maybe a body is just an empty shell, but in Christian thought, a body is more than just a husk - it's a temple for God, a means of conveying and feeling love, a place God becomes incarnate, and an essential part of who we are - so much so, that God seems to promise a bodily resurrection, which I admit is very hard to understand when bodies so clearly decay.

I don't know that I feel strongly enough about to start a campaign, or even exactly what I'd campaign for. Maybe a plaque? Bishop Anderson and his wife have that.
What would I want for my body? I could go on for a while about the plusses and minuses of cremation, but I do think I want to be cremated. My parents want to be scattered to the winds. But I'd rather be interred somewhere around a church - in a memorial garden or wall. And I suppose I'd want a little plaque with my name. I guess I'd want my body to be known, to have a home somewhere. Isn't that strange? I wouldn't really be there, I don't think. But there's something about my body that I think is important, or that I want someone to keep.

How do other people feel about this? The ancient girl, or their own dead bodies?

Texas without words

Texas

I'm off to Texas for a few days to see one of my cousins graduate. We haven't been out to see my mom's brother's family for twenty-seven years, and this seemed like a good time, finally. I have no idea why it took us so long - it's almost criminal. Lisa's getting a B.S. in nursing, for which I admire her immensely.

I'm obsessing over packing because (1) I think I will feel like a hippie no matter what I try to wear in Arlington, Texas, and (2) Going to new places makes me incredibly self-conscious about how young I look, and I spend way too much time trying to figure out how to look OLD. i.e., to prevent, "Oh, Lisa and Christy, is this your younger sister?" (They're 19 and 22.) I've given up on trying to look older than my younger brother. He grew a beard and it just ruined me.

Oh well, at least I'm cute.

I'll be back with photos galore, I imagine. Be very afraid.

Watch over those who sleep

Sigh. I've spent most of the day avoiding writing a paper. The pasttime continues, I'm afraid.

I officiated at evening prayer tonight. It's reading week, and lots of people go home, since we still have a couple weeks before finals are due. So, only six people were there. Still, it was nice in the big empty chapel, as things grew dim outside.

It's a gorgeous night - mild and full of the smells of flowering trees. Makes me think of when I took some intensive summer courses at Andover Newton, while I pastored the little church in Massachusetts, and spent weekdays at the seminary for two weeks that June. When it was warm, I tried to sleep out on the roof! It was sweet, although the sunlight wakes you up really really early when you sleep out, and sirens seem louder when you're actually outside. It's not as good as camping. But sometimes I wonder how you get out on the roof of these apartments...

"MinCon"

Yesterday, I went to the annual Ministry Conference at the divinity school. Shane called it, "MinCon," which sounds like "DragonCon," a sci fi conference my brother went to once, where everyone dresses up like storm troopers or Batman.

Anyway, I reconnected with a lot of my classmates, who came back for it - "The Church and Popular Culture in the Media Age" was the theme this year. Lauren Winner gave the keynote - which was fabulous. I know a lot of people who really don't like her because of her sex book - aka, chastity book - but she's very genuine and eloquent. And we listened to a lot of other folks, a Catholic priest, Margaret Mitchell, a political science prof, a blogging nun, Jason DeRose from public radio ("Preach with your Bible in one hand and your iPhone in the other."), and the marketing director from Willow Creek (the megachurch), talk about how media has become part of Christian life and community, and how it changes us, theologically. Margaret Mitchell talked about how Christianity has always used media to convey its message - her work focuses a lot on the travels of Paul and then the gospels as "mass media," which made experiencing Christ, personally, possible after his death and resurrection.

I felt like it was a day at the gym for my brain. I forgot my credit card, or I would have bought people's books.

It was also really great to see a lot of my old friends and classmates again, back in Swift Hall and Bond Chapel, carrying Medici coffee cups and talking theological smack. Still, I always find it hard to explain my life at Seabury adaquately to div school folk. Just as I find it hard to explain the div school to people at Seabury. To someone from Papua New Guinea, they would probably seem pretty much exactly alike.

A spiritual geography

My friend Michelle posted some photos of herself, her husband, and her baby son on facebook the other day. They're living in San Francisco - so you can see the Golden Gate bridge, Chinatown, and the dark green-blue Bay in the background of her photographs. It looked so beautiful - the colors, their glowing faces, and just what a particular sort of place San Francisco is. I confess: I felt jealous.

It made me start feeling restless again... don't I want some adventure? don't I want to explore all the beautiful places in the world? huh? Why, four times now, have I chosen to be in Chicago, when I could've gone somewhere else? (1) I came back here after my pastor gig in western Massachusetts, (2) I took a job here - at a law firm - while I thought about whether I could do ministry again, (3) I chose to get my MDiv here, and (4) I chose to do my Anglican Year here.

I had good reasons. My family all lives here (for now, anyway - my brother and his girlfriend might move to St. Louis), I grew up here, I have friends all over the place, I love the Midwestern, gritty urban, funky artsy, richly diverse culture here, and - I find myself wanting to say - um, it's beautiful.

Duh. Every place is beautiful.

Yeah, Chicago is my spiritual geography. A la Kathleen Norris. When I first read Dakota I was jealous of her, too. I wanted a grandmother's house in the middle of nowhere where I could go write about interesting things. That's probably also why I love Annie Dillard so much: she writes about what happens in particular, small places - sand storms, children getting burned, bugs and frogs in a pond.

Sometimes, the Lake, the skyline, the El, Lake Shore Drive, etc., bore me. They're burned on my brain. But here I am. I know it all so well. A guy I was introduced to the other day down at the diocesan offices, a community organizer (who was mighty cute, I might add), said to me, "You should do what you know. You should probably go back to Hyde Park if you want to do something effective." I was talking to him about starting a house church (crazy me), and I think I've moved away from that idea, but what he said has stuck with me (and not just because he looked like a JCrew model).

And maybe that's even what this blog has been for me - a chronicling of my spiritual geography this year, at Seabury. I'm obsessed with places and objects and images. So, if I end up in Forest Heights, Lake Grove, Oak Plains, Pretty Hills, or whatever Chicago suburb, maybe I'll do the same thing, there.

Sorry this blog has been so much about the FUTURE lately. I should follow my own advice and write about where I am, now.