Guess that stained glass window! 2

So, here's the complete set, for what it's worth. Maybe this is boring, but I promised, so here they are:

The Hebrew Bible Series...

Psalms, per David's harpThe Histories, per a Scroll

Pentateuch, per Moses with tablets

They're not the best pictures ever, since I again was leaning over the balcony to get them, and the light wasn't always where I wanted it to be, but bear with me...


New Testament Series...

Matthew, the Human
Mark, the Lion
Luke, the Bull
John, the Eagle
Paul, "Sword of the Spirit"

(What? No Revelation...?)

And this is my favorite... although it's actually over in the refectory:

Hooray for worlds colliding!

Guess that stained glass window!

I'm spending my days in between freelance projects... indexing a book one of my professors, Frank Yamada, is about to publish, working on the accreditation process for the seminary with another professor, Ellen Wondra, and keeping up with small editing and odd jobs for the Anglican Theological Review, where I've worked all year. I work on the index at this table in the library, usually. The table needs a new coat of varnish - it flakes off and gets all over everything. But I keep coming back because I like the space. It's a two story room (there's a better photo here, from last January), and dead quiet in the summer. There are also a set of stained glass medallions in the windows, that I like to look at when I need to take my eyes off my computer screen. Back in January, I blogged about the Moses holding the Ten Commandments, with a funny little smile. There are also medallions for the gospel writers, and then there are a couple that completely stump me. Like, what the heck is this?

Something on fire? Or shofars maybe?

And what about this??? It was further away from the balcony I was precariously leaning over today with my camera, so I got even less of a close-up. It's a set of tongs and some gemstones. I thought I was an upstanding Protestant who knew my Bible, but I suddenly feel very Episcopalian! Any ideas?

You know what? I think those upper windows are supposed to be the sections of the Hebrew Bible. The lower windows are the New Testament: the gospel writers. And the other upper-story windows are a harp (Psalms!), Moses smiling (the Torah), and something else that I can't remember. So, maybe somewhere in there we're supposed to see the prophets, wisdom literature, and the histories? Any ideas? I'll try to put in the others tomorrow, so you can see the complete set!

It's fun to blog about Seabury again... it's been a while since I've chronicled a piece of the campus here. Let me know if there are any requests out there for further things you'd like to see or are wondering about, with Seabury or funky Episcopal paraphanalia.

Summer liminality

So, I may be dumb, but my name is only in for one job right now. (Well, technically two, but I've heard the second is probably going to call someone else, and I never even interviewed with them.) Mostly, this has been fine... I trust that things will work out. But lately, I've been feeling kind of liminal, in a cramped sort of way. I know all kinds of theological thinkers say that liminality is a fertile place for ideas, change, and spiritual experience. But when you're not sure where you're going to be living in three months, all that fertility feels a little frivolous.

I suppose I should try to think over my spiritual practice, to try to tap into some of this liminal good stuff, instead of getting mired down in my boredom and frustration! That way, too, if this parish offers their position to someone else, I'll be in a better position to adapt and figure out what I will do instead. (My back-up plan right now is go back to being a legal assistant, as a temp, while I keep waiting.) I should probably be talking to God about all this. I don't know if any of you've ever tried actually talking with God about things, but it surprises me how often it actually works. I've gotten weird answers, and also very sensible ones. But often, I forget to ask.

Ten Prayers God Says Yes To

This is from beliefnet.com ... and although I'm praying for a particular job right now, it probably would be better for me to pray some of these things than, "God, please let St. X in Cute Surbuban Town hire me!"

Some of these are even kind of hard. Do I really want to be an instrument? What will I have to give up? Who would I need to become? The generosity one gets me, too - I feel pretty poor right now, but I'm really not. And praying for courage, wisdom, and peace seems so unsatisfyingly abstract. But those are the things that make life satisfying, really, rather than a new job, new car, or a cute new outfit, loathe as I am to admit it.

God, Show Me That You Exist
God, Make Me an Instrument
God, Outdo Me in Generosity
God, Get Me Through This Suffering
God, Forgive Me
God, Give Me Peace
God, Give Me Courage
God, Give Me Wisdom
God, Bring Good Out of This Bad Situation
God, Lead Me to My Destiny

for some short reflections on each, check out Ten Prayers God Says Yes To

Capture the Flag

I went to daycamp in Hyde Park when I was a kid. About twice a summer, we played Capture the Flag on the Midway, this huge open field near campus. But in 6th grade or so, I decided I didn't want to play anymore. All the girls who had already entered puberty always won at everything. Plus, we had to play with the boys. Now, a few years ago, I played a mean game of Capture the Flag through the woods and around all the houses at Gould Farm. That was wicked great. My team totally won, by the way. 6th grade was a different story. Instead of playing Capture the Flag, I'd sit with my other girly friends on the grass and we'd pick clover and make them into chains. Very sweet, right? The other kids had to run and tag each other around us. I think we must've annoyed the crap out of our counselors. We were such party-poopers. But we enjoyed ourselves.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. I do too many blog entries based on the photos I have sitting around. But that's why I took this photo - I was walking around Hyde Park last week and smelled the clover on the Midway and BAM, I was back with Vanessa Ford and Laura Donohue, making clover chains in 1988.

Summer is coming along. I've had a couple job interviews, as I've said. I have plenty of part-time work here at Seabury to keep me busy, which is a relief. I can probably stay here all summer, if I need to. There's a parish I really like, but their process will take a while, yet. I choose to believe that God has a place for me, and everything will be fine. I'm saying "no" to another parish, and I just need to find the balls to send the email. I worry I'm wrong in my judgments a lot, and I really need to cut it out. Some lessons to be learned from the Heidi who used to turn up her nose at the counselors and make clover chains just because she damn well felt like it.

Take that, Anxiety!

I've taken a week of doing mostly nothing to recover and relax after the chaos of last week and the anxiety fest following. This past weekend, my dad and I went out to western Michigan, where, for the past twenty-five years, my parents have been renting and being caretakers for a cabin called "Grape Vine." It's been a major part of childhood for my brother and me, and going back is always like being a kid again in some way. I didn't get a picture of it. But this is the beach, about 100 feet from the house:
Dad and I went to the grocery store, ate meals, read on the porch, talked about various things, took a three mile walk, and washed windows. I also took a swim! Best thing ever. It was just warm enough not to be painful, and still cold enough to be absolutely BRACING. There was no wind either, so the water was incredibly still - usually I get pummeled around by waves, but I could paddle out over my head easily, just like I was in a big dark swimming pool. Beautiful.

Here's me and dad, in hats... I realize appear to have no lips.

So, I'm feeling less anxious. My friend Heather kindly emailed and reminded me, "unknown change is a b****." But I'm getting a few more "knowns" to hold onto. I had a second interview today for one position, and I have another tomorrow. So, I have some choices, which is great. And I'm going out for gelatto with a neighbor shortly, which should be great.

Fear of change

"A monk was once asked, 'What do you do there in the monastery?'
He replied, 'We fall and get up, fall and get up,
fall and get up again.' "

Why is it so hard to be in transition? Even though all the big events are over, I'm still carrying around a lot of anxiety - about where I will work, what it will be like, where I will live, what I will do about my car... I'm just a big ball of WORRY! And I'm not usually a worrier. My default tends to be: accept what comes, stay calm, absorb everything, go with the flow, trust that everything will be fine. But in this new job I'll have, I'll have to redefine myself in a way I haven't for a long time. I'm not going to be a student, I'm going to actually have responsibilities - and a public image, even! I'm going to be someone besides just "Heidi," who can make all her decisions privately, and choose, for instance, not to show up at meetings if she doesn't want to.

What's the difference between being yourself, and adapting to your life as it changes? I feel like I'm getting a little lost in all these new possibilities, even though right now that's pretty much just three jobs in the greater Chicago area!

I've noticed, as I go through life, that I like the idea of new possibilities, but I usually don't actually stray far from my familiar people and places. Since college, I've done a lot of different things, but my body has stayed put in Monterey, Massachusetts and Chicago, Illinois (ok fine, I lived in Loveland, Ohio for 3 months). I love structure. I need a framework outside myself to keep my life in place, so that I can feel safe to focus all this ebullient and wandering energy I have on work, people, God, and myself. Right now, I don't feel too safe or structured, and so my energy is wandering all over the place, like it can't find a place to rest and settle down.

I'm trying to read Psalms and breathe and talk to people, to ground myself. But it may just be that I'm going to be like this until I sign a contract somewhere.

Let us live with uncertainty
as with a friend...
knowing we do not know is
the only certainty

(both quotes from Esther de Waal's book on Benedictine spirituality)

Ordination

St. James Cathedral, with a banner of Pentecost flames. My college friend, Jonathan, took all these photos:

Moi.

Consecration.

With my parents.

With my brother.

Me, Aunt Ann, and former Presiding Bishop, Frank Griswold (who was also Bishop of Chicago).

Lunch at Greek Islands afterwards. You can see my aunt and uncle, my counsin, my brother and his girlfriend, my mom, my friend Alicia, Brent House chaplain, Stacy Alan, and my friend, Anna Brawley. That's my hand on the left.

There are a bunch more here, if you'd like to see more. I'm still sort of amazed to have been ordained. Deacon? Reverend? What? I served as deacon at my supporting parish, St. Paul and the Redeemer, on Sunday, which made it seem more real. And I had another job interview yesterday, which also helped. I still feel like myself, and yet, I feel responsible for more than I did before. I'm actually surprised to realize that I feel different... I'm still figuring out how to explain that, though. I don't believe clergy are holier than anyone else, but maybe our job training is just more deeply spiritual and personal than most people's. And I suppose we're invested with trust and responsibility for our communities, and for helping others in their relationships with God and with each other, and that's what makes me feel different - because I feel the weight of that trust.

I'm famous!

Me and a few other Seabury folks, anyway... this is from the Episcopal News Service. I'm in the background in the second photo.

http://www.episcopalchurch.org/79901_86530_ENG_HTM.htm

More graduation photos

Ian and Joseph sat next to me at St. Luke's.

My buddy, Kristin, in her sacristan duds.

My friend and neighbor, Jennifer, in her deacon robes.

I felt so tacky asking for this photo... what an Episcopal groupie! But Kris practically pushed me over there; after all, everyone else was getting their picture with the PB! So there they are: Bonnie Anderson (the head of the House of Deputies, like the House of Representatives in Congress) and the Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori - two amazing women.

The PB is pretty introverted and seemed sort of lost in all the people and energy, although she's an amazing preacher and communicator. Bonnie Anderson seems more outgoing in large groups; she was full of energy and asking me all kinds of questions.

Beth and Kris.

Court and Jim.

Isaiah and his dad, Brad
(who gave me the mug, which has yet to be smashed, stay tuned).

I'm afraid I didn't take ANY photos at my ordination. More Cows and Jonathan did, though, and I expect I'll be getting CDs or something from them sometime. I'll blog about it, soon - I'm still trying to process it all, and I'm exhausted.

I'm also trying to process the fact that my little Golf needs a new transmission, and I'm not sure the car is worth it (a '99). But I'll take a week to think about it - I do love that little car.

Stay tuned

More graduation pics later... with friends, and even the PB!

Graduation without words

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?