Thoughts from Synod Assembly

Last weekend I attended the St. Paul Area Synod (SPAS) Assembly. How many pastors and laypeople were there? How much coffee was consumed? How many oddball-you-had-to-be-there running jokes did the new Bishop of the E.L.C.A. Elizabeth Eaton create? The answer: a ton.  I had never been to the Assembly, but church nerd that I am, I was excited, because our task was to elect a new bishop of the SPAS.

And elect one we did—Pastor Patricia Lull--from a fine crop of candidates.

Huzzah! But keep reading!

The SPAS is one big tangled web of connections. For me, having been raised in the church, it’s been a comforting support system, and gives me a unique perspective, that there is something beyond my physical church (which is the size of a small town and sometimes just as intimidating to outsiders), a something that spans multiple communities that joins together to make social and spiritual change. I guess I didn’t stop to think how many people I knew within this community, and the diverse ways in which I met them. One of the candidates for bishop I’ve known since I wore Barney pajamas, and another was a fellow traveler in Tanzania in 2009. Colleagues of my mom (Synod Layperson Extraordinaire) who may have met me a couple times over a span of a ten years would stop and ask how I’ve been, former youth directors and pastors…even the woman who assisted at my baptism was there. Even a banjo player I had met once when I was playing mandolin for my friend’s baby’s baptism in December was there!  As a college student who had to build a new community from scratch three years ago—which provided it’s own set of anxieties—this welcome was something I forgot could happen.

But it’s always a funny feeling being in the Youth/Young Adult category at events like these. The E.L.C.A. defines Y/YA as ages 15 to 30. And the main theme that the Church World Orchestra has been playing for years is the Elegy to the Departed Youth Voice. And as a young adult who has always been involved in the church, not because I needed to fill up my resume with activities for my college applications, but because it was important to me, my family, and how we live out our faith, this tune gets boring and whiny. So I had my reservations about the keynote speaker, who was touching on those same themes. But played a different tune! He told us wryly, “It’s not your fault.” (Which gave me a "Good Will Hunting" flashback)  The point he made was that while most people in this global squabble cite the lower church attendance rates of Y/YA to something wrong that they—the parents—did, it more importantly has to do with a radical shift in our culture.

We are a consumer culture now. Giving isn’t as important as taking these days. It’s disturbing to me how many now want to go to church and be entertained, because something as deeply meaningful, brain-busting, and perplexing as Christianity is not something you can package to please everyone. Once we recognize this cultural shift, then we can forge ahead on a clearer path towards more balanced representation in our communities.

 Forget entertainment. I want to go to church and feel useful. That’s what many people my age want in their church. So I was cautiously optimistic when hearing from the seven bishop candidates that not only do they want to actively invest in the future of the SPAS through the Young Folks, but also invite us to share our gifts and voices.  When you put a token teenager on a committee or project, but don’t let them offer their perspective or skills, that is how we squash sustainability, creativity, and trust in one fell swoop. That is how you breed cynicism and indifference, and the stereotype of us Young Folk that is abounding. So, put us in, coach. Let us be useful. 

Problems of the Privileged (and a Poem)

No need to state the obvious: Time goes quickly. It's difficult for nostalgic people like me, especially four days into the New Year, but here we are, marching ahead. Because what else is there to do?

I've talked with many friends my age about how we're anxious for the future. Graduations, grad schools, first real jobs, first real gains as well as losses. The question that makes us want to crawl into our turtle shells is, "What are your plans for ____?"
The kicker is that what gnaws at us isn't our lack of options. It's an abundance of them.
It has been a weeklong Downton Abbey marathon at our house, and what I can't get over is the way peoples' lives were controlled during that period of time--for women, for nobles, for the working-class. A person had their role, and stuck to it. Deviation was scandalous.
But my problem isn't that I'm bound by strict conventions. It's that the opportunities are endless if I choose to chase them. Problems of the privileged, I guess.

It reminds me of a poem. I try to memorize them. The process is the perfect balance of right and left brain activity. I drill the words into my head. I walk around the neighborhood, thinking them over and repeating them, looking a bit off, mumbling to myself. I write it out, speak it, take it piece by piece. When it finally all comes together, it's much like when I play music. The words turn into living things, and if they're the right words, they dig real deep. 

The Laughing Heart, by Charles Bukowski, read by the great Tom Waits. Memorized, now, by me.

Proud Mama Moment

Em wrote a choral piece.  Some of her college friends performed it in concert.  Here's the text by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, then a link to the audio.

God of the day, and of the night

In me there is darkness but with you there is light.

I am alone but you will not leave me.

I am weak, but you will come to my help.

I am restless, but you are my peace.

I am in haste, but you are the God of infinite patience.

I am confused and lost, but you are eternal wisdom.

You direct my path, now and forever.

Amen.

https://soundcloud.com/user210700361/09-god-of-the-day-and-of-the

Welcome

I’m being welcomed back to many places this week. Concordia. The music department. My multiple workplaces. To new apartments and dorms. To the Land of the Healthy People after having bronchopneumonia for two weeks. But I felt the full-on hugging feeling of welcome most when I went to church this morning.

Usually I go with a group of friends, but this time I went on my own. I scanned the sanctuary to see if there were any other students or people that I knew. Nope. But wait! I saw Lyle! He’s a kind, older gentleman that introduced himself to me and my friends our first year, showing us his Class of ’59 ring, and ever since then I’ve run into him and his wife at church, chapel services on campus, and even at the coffee shop. When I played piano for chapel last year, he would always say, “I don’t remember your name, but I’m looking forward to hearing you play that piano again!”

It’s been quite a few months since I'd seen him, and since he doesn't always remember names, and I recently cut off 18 inches of my hair, I sat down next to him expecting him not to recognize or remember me. Which made it all the more touching when he shook my hand and said, “It’s good to see you again! You must be in your third year now? I’m looking forward to hearing you play piano again!”

One of the readings today was from Hebrews 13:2, which I felt fit my situation perfectly: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” No matter how much of a community I have built for myself here, I always have an underlying feeling of being the stranger. I’m not claiming to be an angel. But I’m thankful for the people who have reminded me that I am not a stranger, that I am always welcome.

One thing I'm sure of in life is that there are lonely people in this world. Sometimes I’m one of them. What I wonder is, how can I be the one to welcome in the stranger? Why is it so hard for us, not only to be the welcomer, but also sometimes to even accept being brought to the table?

Why can’t we all be like Lyle? 

On Trying to Play Piano Away from the Piano...

I put a lot of time into being a pianist. But people don't always realize how much time and energy goes into it.
I tell them it's like exercise. You have to do it every day. I can't just stop for a couple weeks, then dive back in and expect to play my Mozart concerto (my first ever--squeeee!) at the same level as before. It hurts my head, it hurts my hands, and is a tedious struggle getting back on track.
Rachmaninoff nails it, saying,

"If I miss practice for one day, I notice. If I miss practice for two days, my critics notice. If I miss practice for three days, everybody notices."

But some days it's a fight to drag myself to the piano. Some days practice is boring. Sometimes life gets in the way and my time is forced to be spent elsewhere. The solution?
Score study! The fancy name for what's basically the Think System, Professor Harold Hill's ingenious method of practicing away from your instrument. But unlike his students in "The Music Man," I'm actually making progress.

Nowadays, I bring a score to the coffee shop and play on the table top, or to my receptionist job for when I have a break. The library. The park. Long car rides. I'm amazed at how much this mental weightlifting
has helped me improve this summer, and how much time I save. By the time I practice at the piano, my fingering and rhythm is already solid, and I can dig deeper into the music. It also gives me the feeling that I am an invincible musical wizard. Or a Jedi. I can't tell which one is better.

Sometimes I get curious looks from people. They ask how I can call it practice if it's not at a piano. What am I actually doing? A lot, as it happens, and it's paying off.

Love is Love

On Monday, I witnessed history.

It was a last minute decision. My friend and I drove to the Capitol to watch Governor Dayton sign the same-sex marriage bill into law, which as of August 1st gives gay and lesbian couples the legal right to get married.
We got there a little early and explored the Capitol building. Turns out it contains a lot of sketchy hallways and tunnels, a cafeteria with walls decorated with German table blessings, and more people in suits than I was prepared for.
So many people were milling about, and you could sense the excitement.
As it got closer to 5 o'clock, we gathered in front of the Capitol steps. What followed is a problem that I've been dealing with all my life.
I couldn't see anything. I'm around 5'2. We were near the media crews, so we were rather close to the podium. I'm glad we showed up when we did, because there were thousands of people there. Except I didn't know this, because I couldn't see past the people in front or behind me! I must admit, I was somewhat disappointed--I wanted to take great pictures to post on here. This was a big deal--my friends are finally getting the equal rights they deserve! I felt like I couldn't be a good witness to it now.
But let me tell you what I did see.

I saw families. Moms and moms, dads and dads, with their babies and toddlers and 8 year olds and teenagers. This was the most meaningful part for me. I don't consider family to be just about shared genes. It's about people who you share a bond with and are with you every step of the way. These families with gay parents were always families in my mind, and now I felt an indescribable happiness knowing that they would soon become legally recognized as such, and would enjoy the same benefits and protection that any straight-parented family might have.

Rainbow flags. Raised high, waving in the air, held by old guys and and 20-something moms. One of them was 10 feet tall, each color with a different streamer, being held up over the grass between the Capitol steps. On our way out we walked by and it almost swallowed me like Charlie Brown's kite-eating tree.

Dizzy, dehydrated, sunburned, but nonetheless happy people. And I was one of them!

Middle-aged 9-5 desk-job types standing next to frisbee-throwing hippies. I love America.

No signs of a protest. I'm sure there must have been some anti-gay marriage group there. It's sad that I assume so, but we live in a time where it's always within the realm of possibility. But from what I could tell, it was a joyous, calm event, celebrating the fact that equality had triumphed.

Hymn sing

Yesterday in worship we had a hymn sing. They had taken a poll, asking members to name their favorite hymns. So we sang and listened to a few people talk about why a particular hymn was significant to them.

It brought my Grandma to mind....

I attended a Lutheran grade school where for eight years, every week on Fridays we studied a hymn. And memorized it. So I have all these hymns in my head, which is a wonderful gift even though I learned the version with 'thee's and 'thy's that have now been changed to you and your.

Having memorized a bunch of hymns came in very handy when I was 19 and spent the last morning of my Grandma's life sitting at her hospital bedside. The day before I had been there when the pastor came to visit, he read a verse and we sang her favorite hymn, Behold the Host Arrayed in White. So on the morning of her last day, the hospital called at about 4 AM to say she was agitated, would someone come? My uncle and I took the first shift. Unlike the day before, when they only let us into her ICU room for ten minutes every hour, and only two at a time, this day they welcomed us and let us stay. So I held her hand and talked with her, but she was restless and not at ease, breathing fast and shallow. So I sang the song from the day before. She took this really deep breath, relaxed and her hands stopped clutching at the sheets. I thought she fell asleep, so when I got to the end of the verse I stopped singing. She startled, looked at me, and squeezed my hand. I started singing and she relaxed again.

I sang everything I could remember for the next several hours until other relatives came to sit with her. Every time I stopped, she squeezed my hand.

 

 

Behold the host, arrayed in white

like thousand snow-clad mountains bright,

that stands with palms and sings its psalms before the throne of light!

These are the saints who kept God's word;

they are the honored of the Lord.

He is their prince who drowned their sins

so they were cleansed, restored.

They now serve God both day and night;

they sing their songs in endless light.

Their anthems ring when they all sing with angels shining bright.

 

 

It's not my all time favorite hymn, but it brings my Grandma back for a moment, squeezing my hand, telling me to sing some more.