Lambeth Revisited

This evening I had the privilege of listening as the three bishops of our diocese recounted their recent journey to the Lambeth Conference. Each in turn shared their perspective and a time for questions followed.

I listened as they shared stories about a new way of doing business, Indaba groups, and about the relationships they established and nurtured in that set apart place. I came away from the evening with a sense that their lives had been changed and deepened from the experience.

Indaba groups are a way to solve shared problems by being present with each other and by focusing on the hard work of listening to the experience of others-- rather that expression one's own perception of the problem. Indaba groups call for mutual listening before a solution can be identified or implemented.

I find myself dreaming about what Indaba groups would look like in my life. What about my family would change if each of us was fully heard before decisions were made about our life together? How would my parish be transformed if we instituted this process in the ministries we share? What would happen to our diocese if we dared to listen to each other?

I think we would be changed -- just like the three people I heard this evening were changed.

We hear so much about change-- especially in this election season. I am not sure changing elected leaders or political parties in power will bring about the change I am longing to see.

I long for change that is deeper-- a change in my heart and maybe even in the hearts of those around me.

What Makes a Movie "Good" and Other Thoughts

I just returned from watching the movie, Igor, with my son. I was asked if the movie was good, and I answered that I didn't think it was destined to become a classic. That answer was truthful-- the movie itself was dreadful.

What sticks in my mind, and makes me question my answer, was my feeling upon exiting the theater. My son and I traveled to the movie on this rainy afternoon, neither one of us particularly wanting to see this movie. We skipped through the puddles to the theater and purchased an armload of popcorn and other treats. Then we made our way to our seats.

I say our seats because they are always the same-- the last row and on the aisle. We both walk there instinctively and he is always relieved when he looks up the stairs and finds them empty and waiting for us.

We settled into the seats and discussed each preview and made our plans for future outings. We discussed when he will be able to see PG-13 movies, and once again I held my ground. As the lights dropped, he propped his leg over mine.

As the movie progressed and the plot lagged, we exchanged glances. I knew he was only marginally interested, but he smiled at me nonetheless. After a while he leaned over and nestled his head on my arm. We sat huddled there for the remainder of the movie.

When the credits started to roll, he stood up, stretched, and told me that he loves going to the movies with me. I answered, "me too" and urged him not to forget his coat. As we walked toward the exit, he reminded me of the next movie we plan to see.

No, Igor will probably never be a movie classic, but an afternoon curled up next to my son will always be priceless.

Welcome

We traveled from store to store searching for just the right napkins, plates, and table coverings. We ended up with napkins from one store, table coverings, plates, and cups from another, and the centerpieces will be found in still another. On some days I would call this obsessing, or perhaps needless striving toward perfection, but not today.

Today we are preparing to welcome. A new person will enter our lives, and we hope in time will enter our hearts. We have opened our doors to her and on Sunday we will share worship together for the first time. At Eucharist our lives will be connected in a mysterious and holy way. That is one of the great treasures of Eucharist – we come away from it not only healed but also joined together.

We will come Sunday by Sunday to create and re-create this community. We will feed each other, we will be fed by the worship we share and the new voice in our midst, and we will share that abundance with others.

A Walk With My Son

Just back from retreat, I was invited to take a walk with my son. We traveled across the street and into the field that just hours ago was populated by stalk after stalk of corn. We followed the fresh tractor paths to the far end of the field -- collecting shiny rocks, interesting corn husks, and other things treasured by little boys. Our pockets were soon full of “stuff” that required additional study once we were back home.

As we turned with the edge of the field, we came upon a stand of milkweed pods. We drew closer and I explained how these plants are the food of butterflies, especially Monarchs, and how each pod was full of hundreds of seeds that one day would explode into the world and disperse on tiny feather-like wings.

My son seemed skeptical, so I cut open a pod with the edge of my finger. Sure enough the seeds were aligned in tight rows, each attached to a glistening white plume. Soon there were seeds drifting away from us as we flung them into the air. We each collected an unopened pod to take home with us.

The seeds we scattered that day probably will never germinate and grow – we pulled them into the world far before they were ready.

It is so hard to wait for the right time.