Your Hero or Mine?

Last week there was a lot of news about Caitlyn Jenner.

 As expected there are many ideas and opinions about her and how she is approaching this transition in her life.   I personally have been so fascinated with this story that I have read a fair amount of what has been written, and I have watched anything that I knew was addressing her story.  (I suppose you could say I am one of the people that the media is catering to in putting so much out there.)  Most of what I have seen and read has been useful.  By useful I mean that it helps me see things from a point of view other than my own.

However, there is one sentiment I have seen that makes me feel compelled to speak out.

There have been several posts on Facebook that show a picture of a military image, a veteran, or a soldier that have said something along the lines of, ‘With all the talk of Caitlin Jenner, let’s remember what real bravery is/who the real heroes are.’ 

I realize that many people agree with this.  I also realize that those who don’t agree may just turn away from it.  I however, have repeatedly felt compelled to speak about the message this puts forth.

First let me say that calling Caitlyn Jenner brave does not detract from the bravery of anyone else.  It is in the realm of the possible to see Caitlyn’s actions as brave AND see the actions of any number of other people as brave as well.  A person who is looking for their own courage, their own source of bravery can look at Caitlyn Jenner and call her their hero without it taking any bravery away from your heroes.  

Some people may believe only one form of bravery can exist.  That the bravery of a woman who is in the midst of a gender transition cannot co-exist with the bravery of a soldier or veteran who fights/fought for freedom.

In the past several decades we have begun to move beyond thinking that there can only be one way.  We have begun to recognize the reality that maybe a person can be in science and have faith in God.  We recognize that the way you read a book and interpret it may be vastly different than how another person interprets it.  Some of us even recognize that this can be true of scripture.  In fact people even recognize that the way they understood a passage of scripture 5 years ago may be different than how they see that same passage today.  There is room in the world for variety and diversity.  Even among our heroes.

 That brings me to my next point.  This is what has me so bothered by all those posts.  You see when you say, “This is REAL bravery,” or, “These are the REAL heroes,” it also sends the message that those are the only forms of bravery and heroes.  Yes you get your point out that you see Caitlyn Jenner as neither brave nor a hero.  You also discount many other forms of bravery, and many heroes that have never ever worn a uniform or even held a weapon.  

Yes, there is no doubt in my mind that soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, etc., are often brave and honorable people.

But please do not insinuate that their's is the only bravery that counts, or that military heroes are the only ones that exist.

I see bravery every day in a million ways. 

My older sister and my best friend who take chemo regularly KNOWING that they will never be cured of the cancer that is trying to destroy them, are brave.

The children who face school every day knowing they will never learn like other people and will never be the kind of ‘smart’ the world looks up to, are brave. 

The single parents who struggle every day to be enough, do enough, earn enough, they are brave.

Bravery exists in a million forms, and yes I think that Caitlyn Jenner is brave.  I doubt I would have the courage to do what she has done if I were in her shoes.  Instead I would probably keep myself trapped in a false life that would eventually wear me down to a shell of a person.  Yet that does not mean that I think my brother, who was an Army Ranger and is now a police sergeant, is any less brave than I did a month ago.  He risks his life every day for other people’s safety.  That is brave.  It takes courage.  My thinking Caitlyn Jenner is brave does not diminish that.

I can also see that for millions of people out there who have no idea how to find their own voice, Caitlyn Jenner might very well be a hero.  That does not make someone like Noah Galloway any less a hero to the people who watched him prove to the world that a ‘disabled’ vet with PTSD could overcome those labels and do anything he wanted.

When you say that military people are the ‘real’ heroes, you offend me as well.  Not a single one of the people I consider my ‘heroes’ have ever been in the military.  The people I admire as heroes fought wars without force, but with kindness, love, and knowledge instead.   In fact my greatest hero lived about 2,000 years ago for a brief 33 years.  Jesus never fought in a military battle, he never received accolades from a nation, and yet he is literally my hero, saving me from a meaningless, empty life.   

You do not have to like Caitlyn Jenner.  You do not have to approve of her.  I pray she no longer feels the need for approval from the public.  Though a little respect, for her and the people who see her as a hero, would go a long way.  

This morning I was standing at my bathroom mirror putting on make-up, when an older Steven Curtis Chapman song came on Pandora. 

Instantly I was transported back.

We’ve all head those moments right?  When a smell, a sound, a touch, or a taste sends us back to a specific time and place and we almost relive the experience again.

For me it was to my cousin Garrett’s funeral.  It was the background music as we watched the photos capturing his short life.  Snapshots of his infant face scrunched up, his first smile, his first step, his first birthday, bike, game, football, etc.  All the firsts marched across the scene, but ending before all the firsts were even met.  The fun photos were there, the prankster in training, the loving child, the naked toddler bum beneath the cowboy chaps and gun holster.  The heart-wrenching photo of Garrett with our Grandfather (who had been gone for nearly 7 years by this time) with their love for each other and us a nearly tangible thing. 

The pictures kept coming.  Hauling with them that infuriating mix of emotions; the laughter, the joy, the sadness, the ache, the regret, and the anger.  It all just kept rolling over the room as tears and laughter mingled into the sound of shared grief.

Under it all were those amazing words. 'We can say goodbye with hope."

It has been years since the song has stirred the same visceral reaction that it did that day.  Yet this morning it did.  I think it may have been powerful today because I heard it in a slightly different way than I have in the past.

Does that happen to you?  Do you know why?

I don’t know.  I am grateful, but I don’t know what made the difference this morning, or really even WHAT that difference was.  I just know it was different somehow.

It could have be knowing now a different reality of hopes and dreams that could never be.  Maybe it is having a better grasp on questioning God’s plan and WHY terrible things happen. Perhaps it is seeing the wonderful men that his brothers have become and wondering what he would be like, and exactly how much the lurking shadow of grief has helped shape them. 

Truthfully I am not sure what this post is about.  Is it about my cousin?  Is it about me and how the deaths in my life have shaped me?  Is it about how grief never stops it just morphs into a new phase? Is it about the way life seems to loop around and bring us back to the same places (figuratively or literally) with a new perspective. 

I don’t know. 

I just know I heard a song that took me back.  And it was different, and somehow new.

And it was so very beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

Steven Curtis Chapman: "Say Goodbye With Hope"  This link will, I hope, take you to a youtube video of the song.

I am a dork.

I just am.  

I wish I wasn’t, but I am. 

I try not to be, but I am.

I work on trying to be cool and not a dork, but I am.

My latest act of extreme dorkiness has me still pink with the shame and embarrassment of my incredibly naïve, sheltered, privileged, dorkiness.

I went to see Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber in Grand Forks at an event titled Outrageous Faith.  

After being actively engaged through laughter, after nodding in agreement until I looked like a bobble head, and after finding a new level of respect for what I don’t agree with, I waited in line to meet her.  

And have her sign her book.

Oh, but wait, the book I had already ordered and received was sitting on a table at home two hours away.  So I first stood in line to buy another book.  And instead of buying one book, having her sign it and then trade books with my friend who had gone with me, I bought two books.  That way we could each have a signed copy.  Besides, what good pastor doesn’t need two copies of a book that is hilarious, easy to understand, AND theologically sound and Lutheran.  That doesn’t happen often.  

Yes, this is enough to make me a dork, but sadly it is not the dorktacular move of the evening.  

No, I waited in another line for that.  

As I waited to meet her, I gushed about how much I really like and respect her.  I went on and on about how amazing she is.  And in my head I thought and thought and thought about how to express my gratitude for who and what she is to the Lutheran church in particular and more importantly to the Church, without sounding like a certifiably crazy stalker.  

(I am of course a crazy stalker, but I did not want to sound that way.)

When I got to the table I smiled, swallowed down my giddiness and blurted out, “As one of those born and breed Lutheran pastors, thank you for your unique voice.” As the words flew out of my mouth and I saw the slightly shocked expression on her face, the gracious smile and the even more gracious, “Thank You,” the 14 year old girl inside that always wanted to be cool cringed.  And the rest of my snarky self thought, “Really?  Really?  After hours and hours of thinking of what you would say, THIS is what you come up with?”

I suppose it was a decently abbreviated form of what I thought.  But it was not what I meant.

What I meant was;

“Thank you.  Thank you for being enough of an outsider in the Lutheran world that you see what is really Lutheran and what is not.  You see through the cultural trappings of upper-mid-western Scandinavian and German heritage.  You see through the often passive-aggressive fill-in-the-ota niceness (as in North Dakota nice) that means you politely thank someone for helping them in some way, and then immediately go to inform the pastor that that person can never work in this capacity again because they do it differently than 'we do it here'.  You see through the reserved nature of the ‘native’ Lutheran people’s hesitancy to change and their confusion of what is Church tradition and what is their congregation’s tradition.  You see through all of the crap, to the real heart of what it means to be Lutheran, that God’s love and grace is sufficient for all people in a way we could never even begin to grasp, let alone fully understand.

And I meant thank you for choosing to share that message.  Thank you for refusing to bow to the conventions of the cultural traditions.  Thank you for keeping your voice, so you can share that Lutheran message with people who are not born and breed in the mid-west culture that so often gets mis-represented as the Lutheran message.  Thank you for being you so you can share the God I know as a Lutheran pastor with all of those who have been hurt by this and other denominations.  Thank you for being who you are while embracing our message.  

Because by doing that you reach a group of people I never could. I in my culturally confused theological grasp of Luther’s teachings, could not share our message of hope with the world who needs it.   

I have no doubt that THE CHURCH will not only survive, but it will thrive.  I do however, believe that it will change.  It will change in a way that no one can predict.  It will change in a way that frankly, I am excited about.

And because you have come into the Lutheran world and remained enough of an outsider to embrace the heart of the message without letting it change the way you voice it to the world, because of that, our message will be part of that change.  

As I stand in the gap between the people you can reach, and the ones who are stuck in that culture wrapped Lutheran identity, I will do what I can to minister to the ones struggling to keep up.  I will fight to not lose those who remain rooted in the past and do not want the change that comes.  

But you, and all those who are like you, you will be the ones to mold the change.  To have an impact on whatever the Church begins to look like.  And because God has touched you through Lutheran practices, part of what the Church will look like is the message and hope of the Lutheran heart.  

So thank you for doing what I can’t.  

Thank you for following God’s call.

Thank you for working side by side, if only figuratively, with those of us who are trapped by the heritage and cultural confusion.

And thank you for ministering to me.”

That is more along the line of what I meant, but the giddy little girl who so wants to be friends with the cool and popular older girl got caught up in her own supposed importance and came out a blubbering mess.

So yes, I am a dork.

Yet, if there is one thing I have learned from Ms. Nadia Bolz-Weber, it is this: Be who you are, because God will work through that.  God is that capable. 

I have been reading Luke 24:13-35 the past couple of weeks in preparation for this Sunday. 
This beautiful story occurs right after the women share the news of the resurrection as two disciples journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus.  

I love the complexity of the story and Christ's presence with in it. 

It reminds me a lot of hiking. 


I grew up literally across the street from South Mountain Park in Phoenix AZ.  I went hiking all the time, of course we just thought of it as playing in our front yard.  As an adult I began hiking it more and more while staying with my dad.  I used different trails, and really began exploring the park.


The thing is, while you are on a trail, this is pretty much all you see...






It is still pretty and nice, but you just see what you have left in front of you to climb.  Occasionally you look up and look around and see this...








A nice sight, true.  Especially in the spring or early summer (in Arizona desserts that would be  Feb.-May).  Yet, still you are looking only at what lies ahead.

Yet when you finish the hike, and look back at where you have been.....

Wow!  The sight can be ...




amazing...





spectacular...



breathtaking...






But you have to finish the trail to see it. 

Even if you take a breath and turn around in the midst of the trail, the whole view will not be available to you.  You have to get though the climb first.  And then you have to look back at where you have been.  I am amazed every time at it all: the view, where I came from, how far I have come, all of it!


This morning I was listening to Narrative Lectionary podcast on the Luther Seminary site workingpreacher.org.  Mary Hinkle-Shore was saying that when we are kept from recognizing Christ on our journey through something, we are given the gift of being able to look back on the journey later and see how Jesus was with us. 

A pretty amazing way to look at it, but it drives home the point that you have to finish the journey first. 

Kind of like the hike.

Once you finish the climb you can look back and recognize how Jesus has been with you all along.


Unlike the hike however, this recognition is not based on our merit, or strength, or ability to power through.  The ability to recognize Christ comes from Jesus revealing himself to us. 

We don't control it.

We simply walk by faith. The same faith that God gives us.

It is scary and humbling.

When we as Christians get to the summits of our journeys, we look back and see that we had nothing to do with it.  It was all God.

Now that is an amazing view!





(Pictures are non-copyright pictures from City of Phoenix website.)

I saw this picture today on a friend's facebook page...







The power of it struck me breathless. 
My heart pounded.
My eyes watered.
My soul cried out a silent prayer that echoed across time.
            "Thank you God for reminding me."

I am where I am meant to be.  I have never doubted it. It has been confirmed over and over again in the two years I have lived out my calling in New Rockford.

Yet I have felt restless lately.  Restless and yet lethargic at the same time.  Bound by an old longing that is new everyday.  Haunted by a deep insecurity that makes me fear that longing will never be fulfilled.  The fear and insecurity are tethered to me like weights at times.  They keep me grounded, when I should be soaring.

I get this way around my birthday every year. 
One more year that I am single. 
One year closer to letting go of the hope of having children.

I say this not to look for sympathy. 
        I don't want that.
There is no need to say the normal comebacks; "You still have time.", "So and so didn't have kids until....", "Women in their forties are having babies all the time."
        These are not only not helpful, often they hurt more.

I simply state my reality. 
It is what it is. Normally.
But every now and then it lingers near the weak spots in my heart and threatens to overshadow the many blessings in my life. 

Most days I face life with energy, hope, and the knowledge that life the way it is is great.  I do love where I am and what God has called me to do.  I have no regrets about past choices, or the journey I am on. 

Then the loneliness creeps in like a fog. 

Though I never forget or question that I belong here, I do forget to breathe.  I freeze and let fear and insecurity take root in my lungs, and the breathe of God has no room to move.

When I saw this today, I was struck in the chest with the power of it.  The stagnant air forced out taking the fear with it.  Only beauty and hope remained.  And the Spirit poised on my lips awaiting my next breath. 

When I inhaled, I breathed in the life that Paul speaks of, "the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs to deep for words.' Romans 8:26

I know God has called me here.   Now, God, help me remember to breathe.  Amen.

When the Dust Settles

My entire adult life has been a series of changes and moves. I taught for about ten years, but never staying more than two years in one school. My housing changed at an even more frequent rate. If you count college I have lived in 17 places in the past 20 years. The number of times I have moved however is greater since I lived with my Dad and my sister in the same location several times before or after a transition or move.

Most people would get tired just by thinking about that uprooted lifestyle. There are advantages to it though. Everything is always new and therefore exciting. When you are changing that often you are constantly learning, which I love. Nothing gets routine or boring. To top it all off, you rarely have to dust.

For the first time in my life, I now find myself in one place for more than two years. And there is no plan to change this in the near future, or even the distant future that I see.

There is a wonderful sense of stability and rootedness that I am very unfamiliar with. I love knowing that I do not have to leave my friends and the congregation and the town that I have come to love so much. I love watching the children of First grow up before my eyes. I get excited when I think about the children who will be in confirmation with me in a few years. I get to plan what I want to do differently next Advent and next Christmas. I get to help vision with a group AND know that I will be here to see the visioning begin to take shape into reality. The house I live in can be completely decorated. I can paint the walls! I can even buy furniture that I want to keep longer than a year. It is all lovely and fun and new in a way. I love so much of my new reality.

I do not, however, love the dusting.

You see that is the problem with roots and stability. They come with dust. They come with monotony and ruts and routines that allow dust to settle and gather. It seems to happen overnight too. One day the house was as cluttered, messy, and scattered as my house always is (and yes always will be!). The next day there were dust bunnies growing on shelves and cobwebs dancing in the morning light.

At any other time in my life, I would have ignored it for another week or month and just dusted things as I packed them.

But I have no plans to pack anything for years, which meant that before the Christmas party I had for the congregation I had to break down. I had to dust. Ugh. And I will have to keep dusting. I suppose it is a part of stability and structure. Oh how I long for my unstable and transitional life when I hold the dustcloth!

In the past month I have learned that it is not just furniture and nick-nacks that need to be dusted either. It is often relationships too.

I have been so used to saying good-bye soon after getting to know people, that I have forgotten what a long-term relationship is like. Sure I have stayed friends with people over the years, but texts, emails, skype, and visits help you keep the newness of everything. You never seem to get tired of people. More importantly, people have less time to get tired of, or annoyed with, me.

I have had an uncomfortable lesson recently. Like the furniture and nick-nacks, the relationships that I have cultivated need to be picked up, wiped off, examined for problems, and maybe even moved to a new location. The behavior that helped lead two people into a friendship, can often become cloying and sticky creating dust bunnies that need to be brushed away. Like a house, relationships can become worn with time and constant use. They need to be brightened up, repaired, given a fresh coat of paint and treated in a new way to maintain their shine. When a room in the house becomes stagnant to me, I re-arrange it. Why wouldn’t the relationships I have here also need to be arranged differently from time to time?

I have become rooted, and I love it. I do not however want to become rutted. I do not want my life to become monotonous. More importantly I do not that for the relationships in my life. Distance, change, and new surroundings are no longer my ‘get-out-free clause’. I need to learn to maintain a place and a life for a long period of time, because this time I will still be here when the dust settles.

Faith, Hope, and Love.

Like many people I love these words.  I love them strung together just like this as a simple phrase that reminds us how to live.  They are beautiful, simple, and powerful.  They speak the heart of the Gospel without preaching.  

They are words that can mean so much when they become actions and are the basis of a well-lived life. 

Recently though, these words have become actual people to me.  (Now let me say that all of my family and friends poses these qualities.)  Yet recently I have been spending quite a bit of time with three other women who have come to embody these words.   They each act in all of these ways, but something in who they are speaks to one word so strongly that I can no longer separate the woman form the word.  

It helps that one of the women is named Faith.  I am sure that is how it started.  Every time I saw a piece of jewelry or home decoration with the word faith on it, I immediately thought of her.  Over time I began to watch her faith in action and I began to see the childlike nature of the faith she holds.  It is not childlike because it is immature or simplistic.  It is childlike because it simply IS.  She has no need to explain or defend her faith.  There is no trying to assure others of how strong her faith is.  It simply is who and what she is.  There is probably no tangible way to explain it.  The closest I come to even understanding it is to remember the absolute certainty I had that my parents would pick me up from day-care. When I think of Jesus telling the disciples that they need faith like a child’s, this is what I imagine it to be.

As I have spent more and more time with these women, I have come to see how it was this idea of faith, hope, love that has really bonded us together.  We all share a faith in God that has seen us through difficult times.  It was through our family of faith that we even began to spend time together.  And it has been through the battle one of these women is waging with cancer that we have all learned what real hope looks and acts like.  

So often in this world we confuse hope with a wish.  We ‘hope’ for many things; a good life; prince charming; money; a good grade on the test; etc.  Really what we are doing is wishing.  A wish might or might not happen.  It might not even be based in reality.  Often even if we get what we wish for we are disappointed.  A wish is based in the fairly-tale realm which we so often confuse with happiness.

Hope however is that slowly burning ember in the depths of who we are that God is constantly feeding.  It never says life will be perfect, or happily ever after.  Hope says, “Take my hand.  You are not alone.  I will bring you through one more day.”  Hope speaks of truth and blessing not sunsets and spells.  Hope has become personified in my life by a woman who says, “life is good,” when so much seems to be wrong.  Hope is finding life and joy where the world might see pain and despair. 

When life get s a little overwhelming the four of us will gather, often with wine, to bolster each other up against life’s storms.  Not often do we actually vocalize the words of faith and hope, but they are ever present in our gatherings.  The one word of this trio that is spoken with frequency is love.  

You see the third of these ladies is one of those people who sees the good in everyone and loves them for that good.  No matter who it is on the complaining block that night, we have come to learn that words of love will be spoken about them before the night is over.  It would be wrong to assume that she never sees a persons faults or flaws.  It is that reality that makes this woman such an example of love.  She loves people despite their flaws, even when those flaws trample on her life.  

It is likely you will see us often together; Faith, Hope, Love, and I.  Learning from each other and strengthening the lives we touch, I pray.

You may wonder what role it is that I have in this group?  I wonder that often myself.  

        With these three I abide; Faith, Hope, and Love,

        May you be blesses with the same.