It's Just Another Manic Monday

“It’s just another manic Monday, I wish it were Sunday…cause that’s my fun day.”

I think that song is appropriate for pastors (maybe some wouldn’t agree).  I, however, today would.  Yesterday I had the privilege of truly embodying the life of a traveling preacher (John Wesley would be so proud).  Unlike the great creatures that took our Methodist forefathers from the open air to preaching houses to eventually churches, by this I mean horses, my great stallion more closely resembled an oversized, luggage sodden bus.  Well, that’s because it was an oversized, luggage sodden bus that I received a concussion from while retrieving a guitar from underneath (I’m so legit right now).

I traveled to the metropolis of Cork and to a little port city called Kinsale.  Both were delightful.  I will have to say, however, “way to flatter a girl Cork.”  Let’s just say I got several offers to stay in Ireland.  How sweet, I truly appreciate these remarks—they warm my heart, confirm my calling, and increasingly make me miss my mom.  It’s true—if Karen was willing to move to the Emerald Isle, I may only return to America for month long holidays here and there (offended individuals please refer to the may in that clause).  And by those offended I mean a handful of people, who I will now name: Marni Robins, Kelsi Robins, Lindsey Baynham, Erin Beall, Astronaut Mike Dexter (he cares in my dreams), and three precious puppies (better make that just two, Riley wouldn’t really care, better make it just one actually Razzle probably wouldn’t either), correction—and one precious puppy: Reese Marie Robins. 

And I fear on those month long holidays that I may become so caffeine and Mexican Food sodden—that TSA may question my capacity to travel (fill in your own joke please).

This has and will continue to be my genuine, polite, pastorally politically correct, and (maybe just a little hopeful) response to requests for me to stay: “O well, you know—I wouldn’t limit God’s call, so I would never put the possibility out of my mind.”  (insert girly giggle).

At this point it may be important (scratch that, I am not willing to commit that my blog is important)….At this point it may be…hmmm…well it may fit to analyze for a just a quick second some of the things I miss in America (Irish people don’t be offended, when I get home I promise to write a blog about the things I miss in Ireland and then my American friends can be offended, and I’ll tell them, “awwww…I love you too, now stop being so arrogant.”)

The official list of things I miss in America (this list is copyrighted, so you better pay up…)

1.  Coffee.  Instant may be convenient, but it is gross. Endstop (Americans that’s Irish for the grammatical period).  And, not to hurt your feelings, but the filtered here is too strong for me.  I’m one of two things in this world: a gourmet latte connoisseur (a majority milk) or a gas station, late night, hazelnut coffee with a splash of skim milk (light creamer if skim isn’t available) with a splenda (health freaks—I know it’s bad, get off your high horse, p.s. that is a dated cultural reference we don’t really ride horses to get places anymore, except on Tuesday I’m riding a horse with my first age appropriate friend in Ireland huzzah!—be jealous).

2.  Coffee automatically brings me to the next thing I will say I miss…guess?  It’s a little place I like to call WAWA.  Wawa is a little foretaste of heaven (blasphemy, perhaps?).  Where else can you get both a delicious meal for yourself and for your car in one stop?  I know you are saying condescendingly, “Lot’s of places Kori, it’s called a gas station.” And to you I say, “yes, but where can you get all those things and a clean, accessible restroom…AHA! I have stumped you, and Wawa is the greatest ever whoever disagrees is a communist (Lindsey Baynham, you shut your mouth when you’re talking to me).

3.  Next is another logical step in the ladder: I miss my car.  Now, I believe all privileged brats of my generation should be forced to live without their precious steel stallion for a brief period, and for this experience I am grateful (and not dead, so anyone can do it).  But I miss SPJ (not the director of Field Ed who I accidently, well unconsciously, referred to as this during an improv show), no I miss my car, Sally Patmos Junior.  To you SPJ, I promise I won’t yell or get angry with you for the first week I am home.  That’s what you mean to me.  I can’t wait to listen to audiobooks with you and stop on the side of the road for over-priced, half-ripened fruits and vegetables. Yes!  And then together we can stop at one of America’s greatest drive thrus…

4. Starbucks I am referring to—can’t help it—a latte by any other name is disgusting (honeybadger style).  Yes, hipsters may question my audacity and my flailing commitment to seek out the little guy and then when no one is watching you will go into Starbucks on the other side of town and get your venti, chai latte with soy milk, extra hot, no water, no foam.  And drink it shamefully while you contemplate and practice how to judge others for your own secrets.  Grad students aren’t the worst, hipsters are, and secretly I want to be one (hehe).  

This blog is lacking theology: spermatikos logos—if you don’t know what that is then seminary is doing its job.

5.  I miss budgetary shortfalls…just kidding, I was trying to lighten the mood.  It didn’t work, okay.  I am going to go sign off on my student loans now to add a little more money to our national debt.  I feel true guilt for this.

6. NPR…national public radio.  As you continue to zap my account each month, I secretly relish in knowing you still exist.  I miss you Rebecca Montagne and Steve Innskeep and whoever is filling in for them that morning.  I miss you people’s pharmacy and the splendid table.  I miss you Talk of the Nation, and last but not least I miss you BBC morning news.  In America, you are exotic and make me feel superiorly informed about the world’s politics and events.  But here in Ireland, you are annoyingly the norm and make me feel nothing.  Call me a leftist, media elite, who probably shops at Wholefoods (Wholepaycheck) or Trader Joes and sometimes (once every six months) remembers her reusable bags…yea you think I’m pretty cool.  You can blame this addiction on the number 7 thing I miss (always number one in my heart—did I mention these are not in order of importance but in stream of consciousness thought)…

7.  My MOM.  Let me just say her name is Karen, and she is totally better than your mom.  Did your mom make you listen to NPR as a child, so that you became addicted to programs like “The Jefferson Hour”—exactly—my mom rocks.  Does your mom call you in the middle of Ireland and google whether or not there are any Starbucks in the metropolis of Cork?—exactly.  P.S. There are none, except one in the airport.  Does you mom mail you your mac charger and seasons of 30 Rock, so you can maintain your university educated, hipster humor—right o, my boy, my mom R.O.C.K.s.  and my mom is married to number 8.

8.  My DAD.  Let me just say his name is Willard but we call him Bill and he rocks because he reads my blog, he makes other people read my blog, and he is waiting until I get home to see the new Planet of the Apes movie.  He also informed me that we are going to see the Redskins play in October and when I informed him I would need pink accented, Redskins attire.  He emailed me one word back: obviously.  My dad rocks and yours is a dentist. The former and the latter gave birth to #9.

9. My siblings.  I have nine—you don’t.  Discussion over.

10.  Elmo’s Diner, last but definitely not least…I miss everything about this place.  Well mostly the food and the people (Lindsey Baynham and Erin Beall will go down in history as permanent Elmo’s buddies).  When you shamefully ask if we can wait a little longer to go to dinner at Elmo’s because you ate lunch there and want to make sure it’s a new waitstaff for shame of your gluttony-then you can be my friend.  I will have to say that all three of us have done this before.  When any combination of us is asked where would you like to eat, we pretend to think hard and sometimes even draw it out, but it is always the same.  We make up lame excuses like “there is just so much variety”—bottom line: Elmo’s is our version of “Saved by the Bell’s” Max.  We are cool. (This was a paid endorsement of Elmos—I wish).

There you have it.  I like things in America (Lizbet Maxwell, do you see how I did that.)  I love some things in America. 

I almost forgot—I had to take a solo-vacation this past week (also something I miss in America—taking vacations with ma familia).  Anyways it was an epic-fail.  No, not epic.  It was okay.  It was kind of boring actually. 

You see when traveling for pleasure alone, you must play three roles: the mom (get yourself where you need to be when you need to be there); the kid (be at the place you are going and participate); the kid’s best friend (entertain kid and make sure he/she enjoys said vacation).  This is exhausting.  I saw a castle, missed my bus, and didn’t have a TV at my B&B.  I slept a lot? I guess that’s fun.  There will be more to say about this outing in future blogs.

LAST THOUGHT…

The AMERICANS have arrived from California and will be in Ireland for the next two weeks doing youth and children’s ministry in Killarney.  Pray for us and our ministry.  AND I will see all five of the people who read this blog in two weeks.  I love you like a mouse loves cheese (this is how my mom cleaned up the once popular phrase her children used: I love you like a fat kid loves cheesecake—I told you my mom rocks!).

Peace.

Hiking shoes and sermonizing!

 I know…don’t be overwhelmed.  Two blogs in one week, I know, perhaps it is too much, but I can’t help that I have a lot to say, SO LISTEN TO ME! (please).

So these last couple of weeks have been interesting.  I know the buzz word, “interesting” is often used to express indifference or to cover up something that is not ideal—but here I use interesting in the quirky, surprising way.

Today I bought hiking shoes (that has no relevance other than I wanted you to know). 

I have been preaching and teaching more than I ever have before, which means I have had more feedback and responses to my teaching and preaching than ever before.  The following story, however, will be forevermore one of my favorites.  Following a sermon I gave a little over a week ago on “identity,” a tourist who was on holiday and happened to come to our service approached me.  After the service she stopped, took my hand, and began to speak: “Now listen, you had some very good things to say, and I really enjoyed it. But…please don’t take this the wrong way.  I am saying it out of love.  I just don’t want to offend, but I feel like I need to tell you that you…you shouldn’t do yoga anymore.”

My inner-monologue: “YOGA! That’s all, HALLELUJAH.  If yoga is the only thing wrong with my sermon then wooooohoooo!  I was expecting: it was too lengthy, your theology was bad, you should cut your bangs (someone else said this later).  If yoga is all it is then I shall sleep well tonight.”

My actual response: “Oh absolutely thank you so much.”

In this same day I had two incredible encounters.  First I was invited to one of my favorite couples (don’t tell the congregation I have favorites…it probably isn’t ethical).  When we arrived at their house, we slowly realized they’d been burglarized while we were at church.  HOW TERRIBLE!  Fortunately not much was taken, but we were just a wee bit shaken.  I tried to get my best comedy on though and keep the mood light—I described the episode of the Middle when the neighbor thinks the family has been robbed but really they just left the house a mess.  It is a classic episode (and probably a foreshadowing of my own life).  Despite the crime—it was an absolutely wonderful afternoon with two people who love the Lord and with whom I enjoy spending my time.

Later, however, I had the equally amazing opportunity to spend an evening with a couple from the United States who had stumbled upon Killarney Methodist that morning, came in for worship, we got to talking and before they left they took a chance and asked me to dinner.  Let me just say they are two of the most wonderful, Godly people I have ever encountered, and I was speechless after our night together.  Let’s just say—it has to be the Holy Spirit when you all three cry publicly during your conversation in the company of relative strangers (while talking about the work that God is doing in your life). 

There is no doubt that I will never ever forget this day for the rest of my life.  And while this may not be the smoothest transition, I want to update you all on some of the decisions I have been discerning over the summer.

Just to update all of you out there…I have been praying and discerning a lot over these last two months and have really struggled with my plans for the end of next year.  I know many of you may laugh and think “why is she thinking so far in advance, doesn’t she know it could all change.”  Believe me, I know but in the land of boards and agencies and paperwork a year is a relatively short period of time.  In order to go before my ordination boards next spring, I would have to indicate to the ministerial services office of my plans this month.  Yes, almost one year prior to the actual time of commissioning and ordination at next year’s conference.  With all of that said, I have come to the peaceful (somewhat uncomfortable) decision to not request my paperwork this July and to postpone my possible commissioning until the spring of 2013.  Gasp.

I know it has come after a lot of long conversations with God and with those close to me, and I just need a year to do—well, I don’t know yet, God hasn’t revealed that part yet.  All I know for now is that, I have some peace about this decision.  And I have peace about the steps that will come after this year.  People were very nervous when I went off to study in a Buddhist monastery several years ago—they were scared I might come back with less faith.  But, in reality, nothing has strengthened my faith more than that experience.  Taking a year off after I graduate in May is not an attempt to run from my calling, but it is part of my calling.  I am not abandoning the prospect of ordination—actually, right now, I have never been more comfortable with my call to ordination.  It is coming. 

Do not fear—in many ways, this decision is the best possible one.  While I have been in Ireland, I have been scared to death by the notion that God may indeed be calling me to pastoral ministry (in an actual church), which is something I have been avoiding for a long time.  The language of being called to be a pastor horrifies me, which is probably a very good thing.  I am becoming more at home and more accepting of this call, but I need time to sort out some things.  My mom and roommate Lindsey Baynham can confirm that I have not always kept the cleanest room, but I have always been a planner—I like to think through things before I do them (sometimes to my detriment and sometimes to my benefit).  I followed God’s call all the way to Ireland and found peace (not answers) to a lot of my questions.  I am going to continue to follow God wherever it is that God will lead me.  And right now, this is where God is leading me—to take some time off after seminary.  This has been a long discernment process, and it isn’t over yet.  But I just thought I would release myself from the burden of living up to others expectations and attempting to hide myself from God’s plan in order to please the people who are watching me. 

So there it is.  I have been compiling a list of things to do with a year off (not really off but not really on either).  Here are some of them…

1.    1. Go to New Zealand (because the Flight of the Concords said it wouldn’t suck)

2.   2. Be in a play (I really really miss theatre)

3.   3. Make (not buy) gifts for other people (at least 3x)

4.   4. Study and take the GRE

5.   5. Grow a garden (finally!)

6.   6. Do a lot of yoga (regardless of parishioners’ warning J)

7.   7. Use my hiking shoes.

8.   8. Add to this list.

        

            And Here is some proof that I am actually in Ireland.

Single in Seminary

It seems I haven’t updated my blog in a little while because, well, I have (excitingly) been doing the preacher thing.  It has been humbling, transforming, exhausting, renewing, and actually quite fun.  Please don’t tell anyone I said that—it might get out and then everyone will want to be a preacher, and I just can't risk the job security.  I will blog about experiences linked with my pastoral role soon-stop being so sad I can feel it as I type.

So for now….drumroll please (wait for it)…This will be a scattered hodgepodge of a blog in which I reveal my true feelings: “I am just a girl about to get her masters in theology standing in front of the blogger community, asking then to understand that she is not going to be a nun but that she is a human being and struggles like they do."  So let’s do this.

First of all, it is official-I am what the French call, okay correction, what most people who speak English call single.  That would mean I do not have a significant other with whom I can publicly canoodle.  This does not mean I am necessarily miserable, nor does it mean that I have taken an active stance toward singleness.  It just means the timing (God’s timing) for that part of my life hasn’t come. And, let’s be honest, it might have something to do with my high standards, which I draw from the one and only Liz Lemon on 30Rock: “I want a guy who will be monogamous and nice to his mother. And I want someone who likes musicals but knows to just shut his mouth when I’m watching Lost . And I want someone who thinks being really into cars is lame and strip clubs are gross. I want someone who will actually empty out the dishwasher instead of just taking out forks as needed… like I do. I want someone with clean hands and feet and beefy forearms like a damn Disney prince! And I want him to genuinely like me, even when I’m old."
 

Being single in seminary is not a sin, nor should it make me feel like I have something written on my face as it does. 

Here is one-side (my-side) of a conversation I have had multiple times this summer regarding my single status.  Disclaimer: those who may have asked these questions, no need to fear—I appreciate the fact that you consider the possibility that I might indeed be in a relationship; your concern reassures me that one day I may have children:

“No…I don’t have anyone special back at home…”

“Yes…I would like to.”

“And Yes, I agree, it is never too late.”  (Inner-monologue: “I am only 24, right?”)

“Yes…maybe I will meet an Irish bloke (fingers crossed)”

“Then, yes, I guess I would have to stay here forever.”

“Oh, you don’t say, there are plenty of eligible 70 year old farmers without wives up the mountain.  Give them my number.”

The hilarity of my single situation makes me laugh more than it makes me cry—but I just find it mind-blowing how much of an issue it is for people whether or not I have a “fella.”  Several of the most incredible people I know have yet to find their significant other—and they are still highly functioning, so congregations heed my warning, “Do not fear—it is not that we are strange, awkward individuals who lack the ‘right stuff.’  We are just kind of busy…usually washing our hair.”  And for the record, here is a short rant from the Kori peanut gallery (which consists of only one person—me).  It isn’t the sexiest pick-up line to say, “I am going to be pastor.”  I mean let’s be honest with ourselves—when you reveal this fact, especially as a woman, you lose a little steam.  Now add pastor (which infers you possess and intend to extend leadership skills in a dominantly male profession) to, again let’s be truthful, hilarity (which I am sometimes accredited as possessing) and the result is somewhat of an intimidating personality, which I will not apologize for, nor tone down—I would rather be single than deny myself the pleasure it is of being myself.  

This portion of the blogpost turned out to be a little more ranty than intended; I, however, feel it was necessary to get these feelings out in the open air for the world to enjoy and disagree with or find great comfort in (I think I used that last line in a Revelation Bible study recently).  Anyways this is in no way a personal ad, perhaps more so it a public warning: SINGLE SEMINARY STUDENTS ARE PEOPLE TOO.  Thank you blog audience, thank you.

Body building--I hate going to the gym!

Wednesday…hump day, the middle of the week.  A day named for the fact that people used to wed on this day.  Why, I do not know—but someone a Wikipedia might, so check there.

Today, I had the privilege of visiting one of the congregations that is overseen by the minister at Killarney (the church where I have primarily been working at this summer).  I made the 30-40 minute trek with a lovely couple, which we shall call J&E.  These two people are inspiring disciples and mentors.  They actually helped to establish the congregation in Killarney in 1998.  As E is about to celebrate his 80^th birthday, you can imagine the spirit and passion of this couple who have spent a majority of their retirement serving as church planters for the Methodist church in Ireland.  Church planting, at least from my point of view in the United States, is viewed as a young, hip thing that must be done because the church is dying.  FALSE.  Church planting should be a response to the ministerial needs of a community and the model that J&E have followed is a witness to that understanding—not a springing forth out of the fear of our own mortality.  They have established congregations by faith and love, loving people and trusting that God will bring those people toward God’s self.  This couple has helped to establish two congregations and now primarily works with the congregation in Kenmare.

We travelled there this morning for the Wednesday morning coffee hour where anyone and everyone is invited to come in and have a cup of tea/coffee and a scone and to just sit and chat.  Prior to our tea, J led us in Bible Study and focused on what it means to be the church.  Good question—we really don’t ask this in seminary (probably because we are not very good at it—notice I said ‘we’).  We are a mobile community constantly moving and shifting, inundated with information and overwhelmed by the atmosphere of academia, which perpetuates competitiveness and doesn’t really promote unity or diversity.  We are being trained with a certain set of criteria and by a certain group of old, dead (mostly German) men. “All of my friends are all dead, white old men.”—this is a very catchy song that embodies the seminary experience.” 

Getting back to Kenmare, we focused on three texts 1 Cor. 12, Ephesians 4, and Romans 12—all of these focus on unity of the body, diversity of the body, and the maturity of believers that is attained through love.  This is one way we can understand what it means to be a church.  To be a group of individuals who have responded to God’s call and, in doing so, have chosen to recognize and use the gifts God has given us to perpetuate love toward one another so that others may see Christ and not ourselves.  Inner monologue—“But…but, I work so hard shouldn’t I get a little credit.”  Bible—“no, not really.”

Whoa…so we are supposed to love people and not expect anything in return (except for an eschatological (fancy word for future/Jesus-coming-back time) reward).  Easier said than done.  I can’t even perpetuate unity within my own family—seems like someone is always frustrated at me or me at them and no matter what amount of prayer or forgiveness I attempt to offer, it often seems that issues of tension, competitiveness, jealousy, or anger cannot be smoothed out, and it consumes my thoughts and my prayers and distracts me from embodying the kind of love and unity that we are called to live into.

The worst part is families kind of have to love you in spite of it all.  Church people don’t really have that sense of kinship (of course we should—we are brothers and sisters in Christ). It scares me to think that in my own life there is so much tension and division that how could I possibly ever lead a congregation or instill unity in a group of people who are constantly at odds because, while they attempt to serve a God that calls us to be one, we still are surrounded by the worldly pursuit of wealth and the admiration of ambition. 

This is why I struggle with the vocational call to be a minister—because it is hard work.  It would be so much easier to defend my thoughts and equated analysis from the comfort of a computer in a little cubicle in the bowels of a library.  There I would never really be forced to deal with the everyday reality of suffering (apart from the reality of my own existence).  This is why a desk job is appealing—because it is safe and less scary than trying to live into the horrifying task of bringing people together or even more scary—to attempt to embody this spirit of unity in my own life. 

I wish I had some triumphant “aha moment” now so that I could offer you a response like “YES, I believe I can do this—I can lead people toward a fuller understanding of unity and Christly embodiment,” but the reality is I don’t know.  I’m not brave.  I’m scared of failure, of failing others and of failing God.  I have already failed several members of my family, and I don’t know how to piece that back together.  I don’t know how to build the kingdom of God; I am just riding on this grace praying for my easy, get out of jail free card—hoping it might come in the form of a burning bush with a sign that says “Go that way.”  I really do want to be the person God is calling me to be, but that person seems like they might have to accept the fact that failing is okay and that mistakes are important.  That person scares me—I like answers.  This entry may not make much sense, but I am just attempting to name some of the things that have been floating through my mind while being sensitive to the lives that entwine themselves in my own.  We live in a very voyeuristic society that desires to know and see all of the failures and inadequacies of our lives and this has caused a culture of fear to emerge.  A culture that I am very much a part of and have not yet figured out how to disengage from.  I guess it is a good thing that all of my friends are old, dead (mostly German) men because they can’t really talk back to you when you complain to them, but, then again, they also can’t read your blog.  So to all of you alive, well-looking, men and women I hope you enjoy this deep, unsatisfying blog (like the ending of an independent film).

Spiral Day...eek!

Sad day…

You can’t win them all folks.  Today has been one of those days.  One of those days that spirals into a pool of self-fulfilling horribleness.

Incident #1: Inner-monologue: “What a beautiful day.  I am totally going to make it into town in the sunshine today.”  Reality: apocalyptic rainstorm half-way to town, and I was wearing a dress.  Okay maybe it wasn’t apocalyptic, but when you are wearing a dress it seemed like the end of the world.

Incident #2: Inner-monologue: “Phew made it to town.” (Short meeting in between thought patterns.) “O well, since my afternoon lunch date got cancelled, I guess I will just catch up on emails, bills, and world events.”  Reality: My computer is dead, and I forgot my charger.  Noooooo.  And it is still raining, so I cannot even escape this nightmare to fetch said charger.

Incident #3: Inner-monologue: “Well the rain isn’t so bad; I’ll just walk around town (with my umbrella), grab some lunch, and then go do some work at the church.” Reality: Despite eating lunch, upon return to church to do work I dropped my Ipod Touch (which I have owned for over two years disaster free) and shattered the bottom half of the screen.  Are you serious UNIVERSE?

Oh no there are incidences #4 and #5…

Incident #4: Run-in with anonymous individual who begins discussing the activity of walking with me.  Anonymous person: “Oh well you see you’re fine up top.  It is just your hips that are wide.  You know that’s your problem.”  Inner-monologue: “You knew I was having a bad day didn’t you?  Thank you very much for reminding me of “my problem area” and also for explaining there wasn’t much to be done.  I got the memo, but I am going to try to run a marathon now since there is no other hope.”

Incident #5: Inner-monologue: “I am feeling utterly defeated.  I guess I should cycle home while there is sunshine and eat dinner (reduced portion size…see incident #4 for details).”  Reality: As I begin cycling home, and just as the bike lane opens up officially, a car determines that it is not yet ready for the bike lane. Result: I must try to jump up on the sidewalk…Result: I fall short…Result: raw hands, two bloody knees, and a severely wounded ego.  About half way home the shock began to wear off and my knees began to hurt.  Once I got home, I took a restorative shower, and attempted to crawl into bed on my knees.  Well, I can tell you I will not be doing that for a few weeks.

Believe it or not, all of this managed to happen before 5pm.  I am trusting it can’t get much worse.   Wow, my knees really hurt.  And I totally forgot to log in the incident report that a dog chased me as I went home.  I won, but he could be waiting for my return.  And also universe, where is Gerard Butler (I know he is Scottish, but he portrayed an Irishman in P.S. I Love You)?  I mean I have come to Ireland, traveled through the scenic countryside, and have been chased by numerous dogs…yet not once has a young, attractive Irish lad attempted to save me.  P.S. I Love You (the movie version) you instill false hope in intelligent yet hopelessly romantic twenty something year old women. 

Now I hope everyone feels better about their own lives today, and now thinking through my day it actually wasn’t bad at all.  I mean my accident could have been worse, and I did make it home in one piece.  I got to talk to the one and only Karen Robins (she is the bomb.com). I also met some lovely individuals in town who happened to ask me where the Methodist Church was, and I was able to make their day by taking them back and showing them around.  And I found some gifts to send home. 

At the end of the day I have to remember that I am still blessed and God is still good…praying tomorrow is better J

Expensive Fish & Chips and Cheap Kindness

Fish and Chips=Epic Fail

Quantity does not equal quality.  I made the fatal mistake of attempting to eat an authentic meal of fish and chips here in Killarney.  There is no need to mention establishment names, but there is also not much to say other than the fact that the fish was bland (not even vinegar on the table); the chips (French fries) were hard on the inside; and the salt shaker was broken.  Now the grand total of this purchase was 13.95 euros…that’s like 17 or 18 dollars.  Epic fail.  I was trying to treat myself because I had been doing really well not eating out and making sure I wasn’t wasting money, and then this terribly sad experience.  Well, needless to say, I will not be making many more attempts to experience fine culture through the medium of food.  I am content with my homecooking (make that very content).  I would have been happier with a bowl of soup and a piece of brown bread. 

Why am I explaining this grotesquely long boring story you ask because, of course, it is my desire to avoid talking about important stuff like calling and discernment.  I’m getting there though. 

Over this last month I have had more pastoral training than I have in my seminary experience.  Throughout the last 2 years I have had enumerable opportunities to witness ministry (and for that I am grateful), but I will have to say I was never at a point before where I felt comfortable stepping in and being a part of that ministry in anyway that made me vulnerable.  It is so easy in ministry to attempt to do the things that are important but are really detached.  Building relationships and getting to know people, their stories, and ultimately their hearts is hard work, but it is by far the only work that really means anything (of this fact I am becoming more and more assured).  That is why ministry is horrifying to me because if you are willing to really know someone then you must be willing to know someone—the good and the bad; the joy and the pain; the sin and the grace.  

Over the counter hospitality is quite easy for myself.  Giving someone a smile as they pass or exchange a few words is easy—I guess you could say it is cheap kindness because it costs me nothing and it has very little return.  But costly kindness—the type that endures through intimacy is not easy.  It takes a lot of grace to be able to embody this costly kindness and a lot of prayer.  I also think it is a spiritual gift (that most ministers should probably possess).  When you see people at their worst, at their most grieved, and at their most joyous—the intimacy of these moments that a pastor shares in are unique and, at times, overwhelming.  Sharing tears with a stranger over the loss of his/her estranged, beloved son is not normal—but then the work of God is not normal.  It comes in the form of a defenseless child to an unwed girl. 

Sometimes cheap kindness is quite appealing because it is so easy, but it seems to me to be constantly fleeting.  It has no endurance and, therefore, cannot sustain any type of meaningful relationship.  The call of society pushes against any type of relationship that dares to defy cheap kindness because, if we do, we might just be guilty of sharing the unconditional love that God calls us to in 1 John 4.  It is this fear of endurance, which prevents so many of us from doing things like training for marathon or hiking up a mountain or investing time into someone we might think might be flawed (news flash: that flawed someone is you.)  Ah, but you see if we do love—the fear is vanquished.        

Castles, Bikes, O MY!

 It is only Tuesday evening, but I thought I might do a mini floggish entry because well I can’t believe time is flying so fast.  Don’t worry, stay tuned more theology to appear in the near future.

I have discovered a few things about my Irish self over these last four weeks…1) I like being outside.  Yes, I know.  Shocker.  Now please do not go out and purchase a tent, so we can share a moonlit night around a fire…this I still do not like.  I do, however, enjoying walking, hiking, and bicycling outside.  I walked all the way to a castle yesterday—o yea! Watch out Durham—this kid is coming back in new fashion with a basket attached to the front. WHAT NOW?  2) I enjoy European Yogurt…at least the kind the Irish make.  And no it isn’t frozen VA Family…I resent that thought.  No, it is liquidy and delicious.  Don’t know what happened to make this conversion a reality but something did, and it is done.  You can’t tell right now but my inner monologue is in the tone of Tina Fey via Liz Lemon (Erin Beall, enjoy).  3) I like tea with a bit of milk, no sugar.  Don’t know what this means for my coffee addiction.  Hopefully nothing because, let’s be honest, if I stop drinking coffee then several commercial franchises may experience bankruptcy and that isn’t ethical in a recession.  These franchises shall remain nameless due to copyright laws (and my own personal shame). 4) I like every version of “INSERT COUNTRY’S Next Top Model”…this may not be a revelation to everyone, but it means something to me. 5) I like line drying my clothes.  Yes, I wish it were because I am a hippy and love nature but actually it is just because I don’t have to wear my jeans one day just to be able to wear them comfortably the next (it’s a crime what the dryer does to your jeans).

Tomorrow will be a bit sad.  My host fairy godmother is leaving for a fortnight (that is still two weeks for the English).  It will be sad now that I will have to revert to my old ways and actually prepare my own breakfast and eat it alone.  Got it Granddaddy Charlie, all good things must come to an end. 

Please continue to be in prayer for the church I am serving and each person who is a part of my journey this summer.  There are many requests I could lift up—and God knows each of them.  I will preach on the “ordinary time” this Sunday because like most Theology nerds I like the Liturgical Calendar and well the scripture I am focusing on talks about the incarnation--and it is fitting--we're moving into ordinary time now…so exciting! 

That’s right everybody who has been keeping track.  I managed to fit liturgical calendar and “next top model” in the same blog, and I am not complaining.  One day I will take on the world, and shout loudly against the man (but not today—sorry those of you who wish I would).

One last thought…so I am addicted to these digestive biscuits with dark chocolate, so I went to the local supermarket the other day and they were BOGO (buy one get one free)!!!!!!  Dad, please don’t tear up…I know you have never been prouder.