From my balcony

One of my primary views is of power lines.

If I stand out on my balcony, I can hear them making this purring, buzzing sound. It's weird. I have a pretty view, but sometimes it seems like I just have a view of power lines, and I worry about my health a little!

When I get up in the morning, I like to just sit and think or pray for a while -- it's a habit I've had since college. I look at the power lines, and TRY to look past them at the and trees, even though they're bare and brown. Thank God, we had sunshine today so I saw more in the sky than gray cloudcover. I even saw stars this morning, at 6:30, with these long nights we have.

My first week is going well -- the best part is forming relationships with people. I'm not sure there's a worst part, although it may be feeling overwhelmed with all there is for me to learn and all I *could* do, but just don't have time to. But all will come with time.

I'm finding that the church seems like a person itself, a sort of Being. It has a personality that I'm getting acquainted with, from being inside the building, listening the stories people tell about the past, finding the books other vicars have left behind on the shelves, the ways people describe their community and liturgy.

Back when I was in college, I spent a semester in Scotland and I visited a New Age community called The Findhorn Foundation. I thought it was awesome -- great vegetarian food, ecological houses, beautiful gardens, a spiritual sense of purpose, and these nifty ways of describing things. Instead of a president, chair, or leader, they had a community "focalizer." Instead of voting or coming to consensus, meeting of people would "attune" to the right decision, through meditation and discussion. And they believed each house, each room, and the community itself had its own "angel," to hold its spirit and look after it. The Angel of the Community Kitchen, the Angel of Blue Sky Cottage, the Angel of the Gardens, the Angel of the Findhorn Foundation itself. It's totally cheesey, but somehow it also sort of works. So, maybe the Church of St. Benedict has an angel, too?

From Findhorn's "angel cards."

Geez, what am I saying? Don't tell the bishop. Or my professors at the University of Chicago. Haverkamps are supposed to be sensible!!!

A Findhorn house... I want one!

First day

Today is my first day as Vicar at St. Benedict's. I'm amazed at how sort of normal it all feels. Of course, I'm still at home in my pajamas, so maybe that has something to do with it. (I have an evening meeting tonight, so I'm going into the office later in the morning, in case anyone is worried.) I had a good breakfast, prayed Morning Prayer, listened to NPR, prayed for my lay leaders and parishioners, emptied the dishwasher, and took the plastic wrap off my new ironing board. All good.

So, it feels very natural to be getting into this day. I have four meetings, I have a list of things to do, I'm going to take my secretary to lunch, I'm having coffee with someone, working on our Advent liturgy, and I'm meeting again with my search committee tonight. A good start.

If only I had more than 2 collar shirts. But more are coming in the mail soon...

Retreat

It was a pretty gray few days...

I ended up coming home eighteen hours early. I felt surrounded by blankness. Maybe that could be a powerful spiritual experience, but I got kind of bored. I mean, it was beautiful in some ways -- I got some good pictures (borrowing Adam's fancy schmancy Canon EOS 300D). But I was restless and all the white skies, mist, colorless landscape, long nights, and empty hours got tough.

It's funny, because I love sitting around reading, thinking, writing, knitting, and taking walks. I have no trouble sitting still. But this time, I think my eagerness to begin a new thing didn't mix well with solitude and lack of sensory stimulation.

Here's the cabin where I stayed, through some trees. Again, note the colorlessness:


On this one, Adam helped me sauce up the color a bit. I do love big empty, grassy fields. This is why I can never leave the Midwest. I'm addicted to open, flat spaces and anything that looks like prairie.

And now, after some time in Iowa meeting Adam's family (which was great fun -- plus, it snowed three inches out there, so it was gorgeous), I've been reconnecting with my apartment, doing some prayer and reflection at home, and otherwise preparing myself for my first day of work, back in the realm of parish ministry.

Red light, green light

My new home is part of a large apartment complex, which has its own stoplight from our "street" onto the main road. It's a busy road, so we have a long red light. Every time I try to drive away from home, I have to wait 1-2 minutes before I can actually leave, waiting for the light to change. At first it was annoying, but then I thought to myself: there's nothing I can do about it, so I might as well just get used to it. And now (mostly) it feels like a moment to meditate, pray, or just sit still for a little while. Every time I leave home!

I'm leaving tomorrow to go on retreat at a place in the middle of northwestern Illinois woods and farmland. So, another kind of stoplight. It'll be grey, rainy, and cold -- and the last day of hunting season, so I won't be able to go walking the first 24 hours or so. But I'll be grateful to take a few days just to sit still, read the Bible, pray about St. Benedict's and my ministry, and begin to bring this transition time to a close. (Trader Joe's seems pretty far away now.)

When I first tried my hand at parish ministry, I was twenty-four years old. There was a lot I loved about it, but I got caught in a lot of knots, too. I'm eager to jump in again, after seven years of studying, at: a law firm, three Episcopal parishes, one retirement center, one campus ministry, five diocesan conventions, and two theological schools.

I'm ready to get started again. 

New Home

I shot these without flash, so I realize they're a little blurry. That's the cost of authenticity, right?

There are still lots of boxes to be unpacked, mostly books at this point. I actually don't have enough furniture to fill up the place, which is FINE with me... I like a little empty space.

But the views are lovely. I'll get some more shots of those soon.

I love the apartment... but I keep saying to myself, "Gee, I live in Bolingbrook." There's a lot of New to get used to. New apartment, new town, new job, new neighbors, Whole New Life. It's a little overwhelming sometimes.

You'll be interested to know that not only is there a Pakistani/Indian grocery across the way, but there's a (Mexican?) bakery and eatery down the street that Adam and I have sworn devotion to -- Panaderia Coral. Their concha sweetrolls are amazing. This is not your 1950s suburb, here. Not even your 1990s suburb.

Some things I'll miss

Living in a place that feels so medieval (well, except for the cinder blocks in my apartment...).

The fireplace

The BookShelf.

Our super-duper retro clock (note the cautionary sign on top: "Electronically controlled time," ostensibly to warn that it may not be as reliable as say, your hand-wound pocket watch, back in the day.

The cloister.

I'll even miss Seabury's water damage.

I won't miss Trader Joe's. (My locker, there -- I quit three weeks ago.)

Ah, how medieval.

Sitting in the chapel stalls.

Our El stop -- Noyes.

The Central Street beach (that's my backpack).

And of course, the scary cupboard. (And what's inside.)

Ah... don't you just feel like you're in a fairy tale castle?

Lilith and I will miss the purple couch.

And the people:

We're so medieval. We just can't keep up with the 21st century. Crazy Christians.

Just like living in a castle... knights in armor and all.
Well, almost.

Packing

This the view from my windows at Seabury.

It's hard to know how to leave a place. Should I have had a big party? How do I say goodbye to everyone? I think I'm realizing I just can't -- there are too many people, too many feelings, and no way to acknowledge them all well. People leave, it's part of life, and I'm just too overwhelmed with all the logistical stuff I need to do to even know how to begin to approach it.

Guilt

One of my Seabury neighbors told me my "Generosity" post got him thinking... and feeling GUILTY!!! We laughed. But I got to thinking: guilt isn't from God (that's right, my Lutheran and Roman Catholic brothers and sisters...).

I think guilt might be from the devil, if you believe in that sort of thing.

Guilt makes us feel like we're "bad" people, that we've messed up, that we don't deserve love. I think God wants us to know that we have power, that we're loved, and that even though we've messed up something, we can start over, again and again.

We have power!!! Let's use it. To free up our own lives so we can feel God's love for us, and to to help other people have better lives and realize that God loves them, too. Guilt just mires us in uckiness.

(Hopefully I haven't made anyone feel guilty for feeling guilty, here.)

10 Random Things About Me

I haven't been tagged for a meme in a long time. (I don't even really know what "meme" means or how's it's pronounced -- meem?) I did a similar one to this last April: 6 weird things about me. But heck, there's plenty of weird, random stuff in my life to go around!

1. I used to be able to milk 42 goats in three hours (with an electronic milker!). This was a part-time job while I was the part-time pastor of the Monterey United Church of Christ in western Mass. Rawson Brook Farm still makes the best chevre I've ever had.

2. I don't like sweets very much. I'd rather eat lemon pepper fries, olives, or goat cheese than cookies, cake, or candy bars. I like a little fruit pie, maybe a brownie or tiramisu, sometimes.

3. I'm not very good at finishing books, especially nonfiction. I have like ten books I'm reading all over my apartment, mostly congregational development and new pastor sorts of books recently. I like stories better than information -- but I'm also picky about the kind of novels I read.

4. I should be packing right now, but instead I'm procrastinating with this stupid list. At least I've packed six boxes of books. And I have like fifty collapsed boxes outside my front door that various people have given me (see photo). Including one from my parents that says "Jon's clothes and diapers" from their last move, in 1982. Jon is now twenty-eight.

5. When I was in high school, I saved my babysitting money to buy art at the Hyde Park Art Fair two summers in a row. "Nerd Alert!" as my brother's girlfriend would say. I still have two pieces I bought.

6. I'd rather drink water at room temperature than cold or with ice in it.

7. My favorite season is winter, because everything is so quiet and still. And I like wearing sweaters and hats. Cozy.

8. I don't have an iPod. I can't decide if I would use it if I did -- I'm stuck in the 90s with my CDs.

9. I can't stay awake much past 10pm ... I just start to fall asleep. But I can wake up at 6am no problem. Although waking up when's it dark outside these days is hard.

10. I think Swiss Chard is pretty good.

Generosity

I've been thinking about generosity lately.

I don't have a lot of money right now. I haven't had much money for the past four+ years, while I've been a student. Now, I've stopped working, for my move and transition, and so I need to be even more careful. Probably many of you are in a similar position: we watch what we spend, we are afraid that there won't be enough, we worry about the future, we hold on to what we have.

"And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?"

That's how my parents raised me: "we might not have enough!" One year, they gave each other new tires for Christmas. And sure, maybe there's nothing wrong with that. But what happens to the level of fear in our lives when we always worry we might "run out," of money or time or whatever? WE of all people, in the richest country in the world, with all our appliances, articles of clothing, choices of foods, and yes, we even have decent homeless shelters.

In this time where I feel especially pinched, I've been trying not to be anxious. I've been trying to believe that I have enough. Maybe even that I have more than enough. Even though I still only own one collar shirt. (Crazy, I know.)

"Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?"

As I anticipate having a salary again, I've been thinking more about generosity. I've been thinking about how to give away what I have -- money, talents, love, kindness, joy -- and not be scared about it. I've been thinking about tithing. I've been thinking about believing that there is enough for me to enjoy my life and for me to give away a chunk to help other people enjoy theirs, or even just survive.

But it's hard, because this belief that "There isn't enough" is so deep inside my head.

"Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you."

I'll let you know how it goes this year...

Anyone else tried tithing?