Yeah, so I was totally involved in this. Kudos to my mom for helping out!
Vulva Cookies
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Another Sermon, This Time About Demons!
Demons, Devils, Demoniacs, and Other Stories I Used to Think Were Irrelevant
Originally Delivered 1/28/2007
Reading 1: From the Book of Luke, Chapter 8, Verses 26 through 35
Jesus Heals the Gerasene Demoniac
Jesus and the Apostles arrived in the country, and were met by a man possessed by demons. For a long time, the man had worn torn clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. The man was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”—for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. Jesus then asked the demons, “What is your name?” The demons answered, “Legion, for we are many.” The demons begged Jesus not to kill them.
Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and were drowned. When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.
Reading 2: A Monologue from the movie The Devil Wears Prada
This... 'stuff'? Oh... ok. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's actually cerulean. You're also blindly unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.
Sermon
My father reminded me of a story recently. It is a story about a situation he had to deal with in one of the first few weeks he was Dean of Faculty at a small, liberal arts college in the Midwest. The theater department at the college was putting on a production. One of the scenes in the play was a funeral scene. The scenery was fairly simple—a table, with a coffin on top of the table, and a young actress in the coffin.
During a rehearsal a few weeks before the play opened, there was a mishap. One of the table legs buckled, causing the table to pitch forward, the coffin to slide off and hit the ground, and the actress to be knocked unconscious. Paramedics were called, the actress was revived in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and she ended up being totally fine.
A few weeks later, my father received a phone call. The phone call was from the college’s insurance company. The insurance agent was reviewing the insurance claim from the coffin incident. Whoever had prepared the claim failed to mention that the incident happened during a theater rehearsal, so the insurance agent had a few questions.
“First of all,” the agent asked, “how did a coffin come to be at the college? Secondly, how…exactly…was the occupant of the coffin able to be revived in the ambulance on the way to the hospital?” After 45 minutes of careful explanation, my father was able to convince the insurance agent that the college was not in fact claiming bodily resurrection on the insurance form, and the claim was able to be processed.
My father’s story reminds me of something very important—context. A few details and a simple shift in perspectives can make the seemingly impossible, well, possible.
The first reading today was from the Book of Luke. The story of Jesus and the Demoniac seems like one of those impossible stories. Jesus, walking through the country, comes upon this small town where someone possessed by demons is hanging out. This man is living a horrible life—he wears only dirty, torn clothes, he lives in the crypt, he is perpetually tortured by evil spirits. Then, Jesus begins talking to the demons, and even asks them what their name is. They tell Jesus their name is “Legion,” for they are many, and then they beg Jesus not to kill them. Ultimately, Jesus casts them out of the man into a herd of pigs, and the pigs run off a cliff and drown themselves in a lake.
Now, I don’t know about you, but to me this story seemed…bizarre, far-fetched, and totally irrelevant to my own personal spirituality or the larger Unitarian Universalist faith. I thought it was irrelevant, that is, until one of those annoyingly wise seminary professors told me that one word within that passage changed the entire direction of the story. I’m going to share that one word with you, but first, I’m going to offer some context.
The Book of Luke was written down, most likely, in the 1st century CE. It was written during a time when the Roman Empire controlled the entire region. The Romans were not the first group to control that region—before the Romans, the Greeks, before the Greeks, the Persians, before the Persians, the Babylonians, and so on back through history. However, the Romans were proving particularly troublesome to the Jewish people. Roman leaders attempted to erect statues of Roman Gods in Jewish temples (a big “no-no”), and pressured the Jewish people to eat pork, one of the most unclean and forbidden foods for the Jewish people.
And now, the word that changes the entire direction of the passage—legion. The author of Luke could have given the demons any number of names that meant “many,” but the author used a very particular word—legion. The word legion is not often found in the Bible. When it is used, it is often used in reference to Roman legions, the military occupying and controlling the region for the Roman Empire.
The man ripping and tearing his clothes, living as if dead, is possessed, is tormented, by the Roman military. Jesus comes along and has the power to cast the Roman Legion out. He does not kill them, but rather leaves them to be the unclean animals that they tried to force the Jews to eat, and they ultimately kill themselves.
All of a sudden, Jesus is not just a man, but symbolic of a much larger, radical Jewish movement attempting to rid the region of the Roman legion. And this story is about much more than one might see on first glance. It is a story of protest, of anti-colonial sentiment, a story of a community saying “LEAVE US ALONE. We do not want to kill you, but we do not want to be you either.”
This shift in perspectives, these details which allow us to see even the faintest glimmer of what it might have been like to live under Roman occupation over 1,900 years ago, make this story…eerily relevant. For many Unitarian Universalists, this story is representative of their commitment to social justice and to peace.
The second reading today was from the movie The Devil Wears Prada. The movie tells the story of a young, idealistic woman fresh out of college, who travels to New York City with dreams of pursuing her journalistic ambitions. Faced with very limited prospects, she takes a job that she feels to be beneath her—she is the second assistant to Miranda Priestly, the editor and chief of a glamorous high fashion magazine.
While deciding which dress will be featured in the upcoming edition, there is a fashion crisis. No one in the room can decide which belt should be paired with the dress. The belts are about the same size, very similar styles, and are the exact same color. Everyone in the room is going on and on about how choosing the wrong belt will be catastrophic. Everyone, that is, except the young assistant. She is standing in the corner, amazed and totally amused at this inane conversation.
That is when Miranda Priestly turns, she turns in a way that only Meryl Streep can turn, and she says to her assistant, “You think this is beneath you. You think this has nothing to do with you. And yet, the very color of your sweater was determined by the people in this room. You are so caught up in this world, you don’t even realize it, and yet you stand there and judge it as lesser than.”
I admit that I was a bit uncomfortable during this scene in the movie. I found myself identifying with the assistant. I believe myself to be beyond the petty world of high fashion, and yet, I do not stand before you dressed in a burlap sack. I did not grow the cotton, harvest it, spin it into thread, weave the thread into fabric, and sew the fabric into my clothing. I bought these clothes at a store, the contents of which are determined by what’s “in fashion.”
The very fact that I thought to dress up for this occasion is also indicative of us being in an interconnected web of fashion. It is not written into the church by-laws that the preacher should dress up. Rather, it is one of those unspoken yet expected customs. It is an expectation that usually is not even consciously thought about until it is broken.
A few weeks ago, I ordered my first ministerial robe. It is one of those big, flappy academic robes. I will wear it when I bless babies, perform weddings, and officiate at funerals. In some of the more formal Unitarian Universalist congregations out there, I will even preach in it on Sunday.
It was not my idea to start this tradition. Rather, the expectation for preaching in an academic robe dates back much further. In this country, it can be traced back to our Unitarian ancestors who believed so strongly in an educated clergy, they helped found Harvard University. While I may look, act, and speak differently than those ancestors, while I may believe in a different theology and express those beliefs in different ways, I will still be wearing an academic robe when I do it.
It makes me wonder about how many other interconnected webs exist. What other systems consciously and unconsciously determine not just what we wear, but everything from what we buy and who we date to how we treat one another.
The reason I chose to attend the seminary I am at, as opposed to any of the other fine seminaries in this country, was because of the school’s commitment to “Educating to Counter Oppression and Create Just and Sustainable Communities.” This commitment runs deeper than a statement in our literature. This commitment is a guiding force, and affects every level of the school and its work—from the course listings and content to Board of Trustee meetings, from how we make decisions to how we let other’s decisions affect our work.
At a very basic level, this commitment of educating to counter oppressions is an attempt to learn context, to find ways to shift our perspectives enough that we notice the interwoven influences we all feel but may not know how to verbalize.
For example, school meetings and classes will often have people designated as “process observers.” These are people who are actively focused on the interactions in the room. They are people who note the accessibility of the conversation and activity.
During one class I was enrolled in, the process observers noticed that many of the men in the room tended to call out answers and comments while many of the women in the room tended to raise their hand and wait to be called on. This system of interaction meant that even though there were far fewer men than women in the room, the men tended to dominate a good deal more of conversation. No one in the room was consciously doing this. The men in the room did not wish to shut the women out of the conversation, and the women did not wish to be shut out.
As a result, we instituted a policy in which everyone was to raise their hand and wait to be called on. Another student was designated to write down people’s names as they raised their hands and to call on them in that order. The result was…well, miraculous.
Students who had rarely spoken began to add their thoughts to the conversation, enriching our discussion. The careful attention paid to inclusion, to making space for everyone to speak, only deepened the sense of trust and the commitment creative problem solving. It was a class in which people not only felt heard, but they felt valued.
In another example of our commitment of Educating to Counter Oppression, a student wished to offer refreshments after the school’s chapel service on Tuesday afternoon. Being a chocolate fanatic, she thought it would be an act of hospitality to offer chocolate after the service. She then realized that not everyone could eat sugar, so she offered sugar-free chocolate as well. Then, she realized that not everyone liked or could eat chocolate, so she decided to offer trail mix as well. Realizing that not everyone could eat nuts, she decided to offer dried fruit as well.
Her decision was a small act of hospitality, but it was a much appreciated one. By shifting her perspective, by finding ways to offer hospitality to others in a way that they could accept and enjoy, she was sending a very powerful message to those around her. Even if people were not at the table, she set a place for them.
The Demoniac in Luke, the Devil in The Devil Wears Prada, these demons are a reminder to keep an open mind, to find and practice ways of shifting perspectives and giving things a fresh look. When we can do this, these stories, these demons, can be transformative. They can speak to us in ways we never knew existed. They can remind us of our mutual connections, the interconnected webs of which we are all a part.
As this church moves forward through interim ministry and into called ministry, may this church, this beloved church, find ever deepening ways of seeing our interconnectedness, and ever more ways of creating space at the table for everyone to participate. May our demons be transformative.
Amen.
Originally Delivered 1/28/2007
Reading 1: From the Book of Luke, Chapter 8, Verses 26 through 35
Jesus Heals the Gerasene Demoniac
Jesus and the Apostles arrived in the country, and were met by a man possessed by demons. For a long time, the man had worn torn clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. The man was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”—for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. Jesus then asked the demons, “What is your name?” The demons answered, “Legion, for we are many.” The demons begged Jesus not to kill them.
Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and were drowned. When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.
Reading 2: A Monologue from the movie The Devil Wears Prada
This... 'stuff'? Oh... ok. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's actually cerulean. You're also blindly unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic Casual Corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.
Sermon
My father reminded me of a story recently. It is a story about a situation he had to deal with in one of the first few weeks he was Dean of Faculty at a small, liberal arts college in the Midwest. The theater department at the college was putting on a production. One of the scenes in the play was a funeral scene. The scenery was fairly simple—a table, with a coffin on top of the table, and a young actress in the coffin.
During a rehearsal a few weeks before the play opened, there was a mishap. One of the table legs buckled, causing the table to pitch forward, the coffin to slide off and hit the ground, and the actress to be knocked unconscious. Paramedics were called, the actress was revived in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and she ended up being totally fine.
A few weeks later, my father received a phone call. The phone call was from the college’s insurance company. The insurance agent was reviewing the insurance claim from the coffin incident. Whoever had prepared the claim failed to mention that the incident happened during a theater rehearsal, so the insurance agent had a few questions.
“First of all,” the agent asked, “how did a coffin come to be at the college? Secondly, how…exactly…was the occupant of the coffin able to be revived in the ambulance on the way to the hospital?” After 45 minutes of careful explanation, my father was able to convince the insurance agent that the college was not in fact claiming bodily resurrection on the insurance form, and the claim was able to be processed.
My father’s story reminds me of something very important—context. A few details and a simple shift in perspectives can make the seemingly impossible, well, possible.
The first reading today was from the Book of Luke. The story of Jesus and the Demoniac seems like one of those impossible stories. Jesus, walking through the country, comes upon this small town where someone possessed by demons is hanging out. This man is living a horrible life—he wears only dirty, torn clothes, he lives in the crypt, he is perpetually tortured by evil spirits. Then, Jesus begins talking to the demons, and even asks them what their name is. They tell Jesus their name is “Legion,” for they are many, and then they beg Jesus not to kill them. Ultimately, Jesus casts them out of the man into a herd of pigs, and the pigs run off a cliff and drown themselves in a lake.
Now, I don’t know about you, but to me this story seemed…bizarre, far-fetched, and totally irrelevant to my own personal spirituality or the larger Unitarian Universalist faith. I thought it was irrelevant, that is, until one of those annoyingly wise seminary professors told me that one word within that passage changed the entire direction of the story. I’m going to share that one word with you, but first, I’m going to offer some context.
The Book of Luke was written down, most likely, in the 1st century CE. It was written during a time when the Roman Empire controlled the entire region. The Romans were not the first group to control that region—before the Romans, the Greeks, before the Greeks, the Persians, before the Persians, the Babylonians, and so on back through history. However, the Romans were proving particularly troublesome to the Jewish people. Roman leaders attempted to erect statues of Roman Gods in Jewish temples (a big “no-no”), and pressured the Jewish people to eat pork, one of the most unclean and forbidden foods for the Jewish people.
And now, the word that changes the entire direction of the passage—legion. The author of Luke could have given the demons any number of names that meant “many,” but the author used a very particular word—legion. The word legion is not often found in the Bible. When it is used, it is often used in reference to Roman legions, the military occupying and controlling the region for the Roman Empire.
The man ripping and tearing his clothes, living as if dead, is possessed, is tormented, by the Roman military. Jesus comes along and has the power to cast the Roman Legion out. He does not kill them, but rather leaves them to be the unclean animals that they tried to force the Jews to eat, and they ultimately kill themselves.
All of a sudden, Jesus is not just a man, but symbolic of a much larger, radical Jewish movement attempting to rid the region of the Roman legion. And this story is about much more than one might see on first glance. It is a story of protest, of anti-colonial sentiment, a story of a community saying “LEAVE US ALONE. We do not want to kill you, but we do not want to be you either.”
This shift in perspectives, these details which allow us to see even the faintest glimmer of what it might have been like to live under Roman occupation over 1,900 years ago, make this story…eerily relevant. For many Unitarian Universalists, this story is representative of their commitment to social justice and to peace.
The second reading today was from the movie The Devil Wears Prada. The movie tells the story of a young, idealistic woman fresh out of college, who travels to New York City with dreams of pursuing her journalistic ambitions. Faced with very limited prospects, she takes a job that she feels to be beneath her—she is the second assistant to Miranda Priestly, the editor and chief of a glamorous high fashion magazine.
While deciding which dress will be featured in the upcoming edition, there is a fashion crisis. No one in the room can decide which belt should be paired with the dress. The belts are about the same size, very similar styles, and are the exact same color. Everyone in the room is going on and on about how choosing the wrong belt will be catastrophic. Everyone, that is, except the young assistant. She is standing in the corner, amazed and totally amused at this inane conversation.
That is when Miranda Priestly turns, she turns in a way that only Meryl Streep can turn, and she says to her assistant, “You think this is beneath you. You think this has nothing to do with you. And yet, the very color of your sweater was determined by the people in this room. You are so caught up in this world, you don’t even realize it, and yet you stand there and judge it as lesser than.”
I admit that I was a bit uncomfortable during this scene in the movie. I found myself identifying with the assistant. I believe myself to be beyond the petty world of high fashion, and yet, I do not stand before you dressed in a burlap sack. I did not grow the cotton, harvest it, spin it into thread, weave the thread into fabric, and sew the fabric into my clothing. I bought these clothes at a store, the contents of which are determined by what’s “in fashion.”
The very fact that I thought to dress up for this occasion is also indicative of us being in an interconnected web of fashion. It is not written into the church by-laws that the preacher should dress up. Rather, it is one of those unspoken yet expected customs. It is an expectation that usually is not even consciously thought about until it is broken.
A few weeks ago, I ordered my first ministerial robe. It is one of those big, flappy academic robes. I will wear it when I bless babies, perform weddings, and officiate at funerals. In some of the more formal Unitarian Universalist congregations out there, I will even preach in it on Sunday.
It was not my idea to start this tradition. Rather, the expectation for preaching in an academic robe dates back much further. In this country, it can be traced back to our Unitarian ancestors who believed so strongly in an educated clergy, they helped found Harvard University. While I may look, act, and speak differently than those ancestors, while I may believe in a different theology and express those beliefs in different ways, I will still be wearing an academic robe when I do it.
It makes me wonder about how many other interconnected webs exist. What other systems consciously and unconsciously determine not just what we wear, but everything from what we buy and who we date to how we treat one another.
The reason I chose to attend the seminary I am at, as opposed to any of the other fine seminaries in this country, was because of the school’s commitment to “Educating to Counter Oppression and Create Just and Sustainable Communities.” This commitment runs deeper than a statement in our literature. This commitment is a guiding force, and affects every level of the school and its work—from the course listings and content to Board of Trustee meetings, from how we make decisions to how we let other’s decisions affect our work.
At a very basic level, this commitment of educating to counter oppressions is an attempt to learn context, to find ways to shift our perspectives enough that we notice the interwoven influences we all feel but may not know how to verbalize.
For example, school meetings and classes will often have people designated as “process observers.” These are people who are actively focused on the interactions in the room. They are people who note the accessibility of the conversation and activity.
During one class I was enrolled in, the process observers noticed that many of the men in the room tended to call out answers and comments while many of the women in the room tended to raise their hand and wait to be called on. This system of interaction meant that even though there were far fewer men than women in the room, the men tended to dominate a good deal more of conversation. No one in the room was consciously doing this. The men in the room did not wish to shut the women out of the conversation, and the women did not wish to be shut out.
As a result, we instituted a policy in which everyone was to raise their hand and wait to be called on. Another student was designated to write down people’s names as they raised their hands and to call on them in that order. The result was…well, miraculous.
Students who had rarely spoken began to add their thoughts to the conversation, enriching our discussion. The careful attention paid to inclusion, to making space for everyone to speak, only deepened the sense of trust and the commitment creative problem solving. It was a class in which people not only felt heard, but they felt valued.
In another example of our commitment of Educating to Counter Oppression, a student wished to offer refreshments after the school’s chapel service on Tuesday afternoon. Being a chocolate fanatic, she thought it would be an act of hospitality to offer chocolate after the service. She then realized that not everyone could eat sugar, so she offered sugar-free chocolate as well. Then, she realized that not everyone liked or could eat chocolate, so she decided to offer trail mix as well. Realizing that not everyone could eat nuts, she decided to offer dried fruit as well.
Her decision was a small act of hospitality, but it was a much appreciated one. By shifting her perspective, by finding ways to offer hospitality to others in a way that they could accept and enjoy, she was sending a very powerful message to those around her. Even if people were not at the table, she set a place for them.
The Demoniac in Luke, the Devil in The Devil Wears Prada, these demons are a reminder to keep an open mind, to find and practice ways of shifting perspectives and giving things a fresh look. When we can do this, these stories, these demons, can be transformative. They can speak to us in ways we never knew existed. They can remind us of our mutual connections, the interconnected webs of which we are all a part.
As this church moves forward through interim ministry and into called ministry, may this church, this beloved church, find ever deepening ways of seeing our interconnectedness, and ever more ways of creating space at the table for everyone to participate. May our demons be transformative.
Amen.
Monday, December 31, 2007
How I Ask For Money From the Pulpit
Stewardship Sermon, April 1, 2007
“Stupid Work,” and Other Phrases I Want to Utter On a Daily Basis
I went on a trip a few weeks ago to visit my dear friend Adam in Chicago. The last time I visited Chicago…I guess it was a little over a year ago now, it was the dead of winter. We walked, as quickly as we could, from building to building in the freezing cold temperatures—heads bowed into to the wind, covered from head to toe in hats, scarves, heavy winter coats, gloves, and boots. It wasn’t like that this time. This time the weather was beautiful.
It was one of those idyllic vacations. I got a chance to relax a little, to catch up with old friends, and the food was great. But there’s something else that made it wonderful, something that is a little more difficult to capture in words. I guess one of the reasons I enjoyed my time in Chicago so much was that, well, nobody expected anything of me. I was not thinking about the errands I needed to run, the dishes I needed to wash, the homework I should be working on, and the bills I should be paying. Instead, I was thinking, “What do I want for lunch, and who’s going to make it for me?”
I won’t lie to you—I thought about “missing” my plane and staying on for a few days, perhaps even staying on indefinitely. But, reality has a way of sneaking in when you least expect it. I started to think of all the things that stress me out, all the responsibility that can weigh heavy on my shoulders, and I started to think what giving up that responsibility would mean.
Sure, it’s a lot of work to take care of my two cats, Jessie and Pumpkin. There’s the regular feedings, litter box scoopings, expensive vet trips, etc… But then, when I get home from a hard day, and Jessie jumps into my arms and starts purring, well, you can’t put a price tag on that sort of thing. My cats are worth the effort and expense.
Yes, the seemingly endless household chores I do get very old very quickly, but then, keeping up the house allows me to live with some of the finest roommates anyone could ask for. They’re warm, kind, supportive, and do things like get me medicine when I’m sick. I wouldn’t want to give that up either.
And homework for school, well, I’m ready to give that up, but I wouldn’t want to give up everything school has meant for me. I wouldn’t want to give up the dream I’ve pursued while studying there, or the future colleagues I’ve befriended. Being a minister has been a lifelong call, and I’ve worked too hard to give it up overnight.
I guess I’m saying that while it was fun having no one expect anything from me for a while, it is only when people expect things of me that I have the kind of life-altering relationships, the relationships that have shaped me into the person I am today, the relationships that make life worth it. It seems paradoxical at best, and like a sick joke at worst, that more responsibility can be the key to greater happiness and to living a more fulfilling life.
I have seen the same thing occur for many of you at this church. I’ve seen many of you kind of sneak in on Sunday mornings, unsure if this could be a home for you. It reminds me of people at the beach, gingerly sticking first a toe into the low tide, seeing if they want to commit more of a body part to touching the ocean. Coming to church here can be kind of a testing of the waters.
For some people, these are not the right waters, or at least the waters they are looking for right now. I welcome them, as visitors to this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning. May you find what you are looking for. For others, however, this is the cool, clean water they have been thirsting for. It is a tall glass of iced tea on a hot day, a compass that helps them find their due North. I welcome them as well, as members and friends of this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning.
Those of you who have found a home here, I wonder what it is that makes it home? I’m sure I could ask 100 people and get 100 different answers. For some of you, you found a home here by working with the youth. You saw your child find community in religious education, or you made connections with the youth by being an advisor or teacher. It was through your interactions in the R.E. building that you realized, “this place shares my values,” or, “I really respect the people that go here.”
For others of you, I bet the deciding factor was performing in the choir—finding a comradery with your fellow choir members, using your voice to sing beautiful music, looking out at the congregation and seeing joyful hands of appreciation waving in the air. This church became a place in which your gifts were appreciated.
Still others found community and hope in responsibility by being on a committee, in a TIE group, by ushering on Sunday morning, by providing refreshments to people after the service. There are many ways in which people find joy and greater personal fulfillment by taking care of this place, these people, our community.
Many of you help support this church financially. People sometimes ask me, “Does it bother you to help on the canvass for this church when it pays your salary?” My answer is, “no, because the ministry of this church is far bigger, stronger, and in more places than I could ever be.” That the money raised at this church, the money that keeps this place running, is here to support the ministry of this church. While that ministry pays my salary, it also pays the salary of the Director of Lifespan Religious Education and the administrator who keeps this place running.
The money raised in the canvass for the budget pays for religious education materials so that we may help the youth of our congregation live into their dreams. The budget pays for the candles we use to light the chalice every Sunday. It pays for the folders our wonderful TIE group leaders receive, so that they may facilitate their groups that so many of you feel connected with. Money came out of our budget for the beautiful stoles our choir wears and for someone to come out and tune the piano many of you love so much. All of the reasons people feel connected to this church are, in one way or another, there because someone cared.
They cared about the ministry of this church, whether it be the ministry of doughnuts on Sunday, of music, of small group facilitation—the ministries of this church are supported by the very people sitting around you right now—the people who give their time, energy, and money to supporting the work of this church so that the vital work continues. You, right here, right now, are part of an ever unfolding history of this place, a history that lives in the walls, that has helped shape us into the people we are today. It is through the care and responsibility of people in the past, that we were given the keys to this place, so that we may care for it in the future.
There is a Japanese film from the 1950s called Ikiru, which in Japanese means, “To Live.” The film is about a bureaucrat named Mr. Watanabe, who spends all day every day taking papers from a very tall stack, stamping them, and putting them on top of another tall stack. He lives a repetitive life, his office co-workers nicknaming him, “The Mummy.”
Then one day, he finds out he has inoperable cancer. With only a short time to live, he goes out to a bar and gets drunk for the first time. When he does not find fulfillment in drinking, he asks a women from work out. Still unsatisfied, he sees a rundown and dirty area of Tokyo and decides what they really need is a park for the children to play in. Spending his time and money recruiting volunteers and installing playground equipment, he creates a little bit of beauty in the midst of a neighborhood thirsting for care.
The film ends with him on a swing in the park, singing softly to himself as the snow begins to fall all around him. He sings, “Life is so short / Fall in love, dear maiden / While your lips are still red / And before you are cold, / For there will be no tomorrow.” Mr. Watanabe died on the swing in the cold.
Mr. Watanabe makes me think about what I would want to leave behind. What would I want the legacy of my short time here on this earth to look like? How could I spend my time and money wisely if I want my hopes, my visions, my values, Ikiru, to live?
As you think about your interactions with this church community, I challenge you to think about your hopes, your visions, and your values. What would it take to help realize those dreams in our community? How can we, as the trustees of this generation, find fulfillment in our generosity, and leave a legacy of care for the future? I leave these questions in your capable hands.
Amen.
“Stupid Work,” and Other Phrases I Want to Utter On a Daily Basis
I went on a trip a few weeks ago to visit my dear friend Adam in Chicago. The last time I visited Chicago…I guess it was a little over a year ago now, it was the dead of winter. We walked, as quickly as we could, from building to building in the freezing cold temperatures—heads bowed into to the wind, covered from head to toe in hats, scarves, heavy winter coats, gloves, and boots. It wasn’t like that this time. This time the weather was beautiful.
It was one of those idyllic vacations. I got a chance to relax a little, to catch up with old friends, and the food was great. But there’s something else that made it wonderful, something that is a little more difficult to capture in words. I guess one of the reasons I enjoyed my time in Chicago so much was that, well, nobody expected anything of me. I was not thinking about the errands I needed to run, the dishes I needed to wash, the homework I should be working on, and the bills I should be paying. Instead, I was thinking, “What do I want for lunch, and who’s going to make it for me?”
I won’t lie to you—I thought about “missing” my plane and staying on for a few days, perhaps even staying on indefinitely. But, reality has a way of sneaking in when you least expect it. I started to think of all the things that stress me out, all the responsibility that can weigh heavy on my shoulders, and I started to think what giving up that responsibility would mean.
Sure, it’s a lot of work to take care of my two cats, Jessie and Pumpkin. There’s the regular feedings, litter box scoopings, expensive vet trips, etc… But then, when I get home from a hard day, and Jessie jumps into my arms and starts purring, well, you can’t put a price tag on that sort of thing. My cats are worth the effort and expense.
Yes, the seemingly endless household chores I do get very old very quickly, but then, keeping up the house allows me to live with some of the finest roommates anyone could ask for. They’re warm, kind, supportive, and do things like get me medicine when I’m sick. I wouldn’t want to give that up either.
And homework for school, well, I’m ready to give that up, but I wouldn’t want to give up everything school has meant for me. I wouldn’t want to give up the dream I’ve pursued while studying there, or the future colleagues I’ve befriended. Being a minister has been a lifelong call, and I’ve worked too hard to give it up overnight.
I guess I’m saying that while it was fun having no one expect anything from me for a while, it is only when people expect things of me that I have the kind of life-altering relationships, the relationships that have shaped me into the person I am today, the relationships that make life worth it. It seems paradoxical at best, and like a sick joke at worst, that more responsibility can be the key to greater happiness and to living a more fulfilling life.
I have seen the same thing occur for many of you at this church. I’ve seen many of you kind of sneak in on Sunday mornings, unsure if this could be a home for you. It reminds me of people at the beach, gingerly sticking first a toe into the low tide, seeing if they want to commit more of a body part to touching the ocean. Coming to church here can be kind of a testing of the waters.
For some people, these are not the right waters, or at least the waters they are looking for right now. I welcome them, as visitors to this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning. May you find what you are looking for. For others, however, this is the cool, clean water they have been thirsting for. It is a tall glass of iced tea on a hot day, a compass that helps them find their due North. I welcome them as well, as members and friends of this church, and as fellow seekers in the search for meaning.
Those of you who have found a home here, I wonder what it is that makes it home? I’m sure I could ask 100 people and get 100 different answers. For some of you, you found a home here by working with the youth. You saw your child find community in religious education, or you made connections with the youth by being an advisor or teacher. It was through your interactions in the R.E. building that you realized, “this place shares my values,” or, “I really respect the people that go here.”
For others of you, I bet the deciding factor was performing in the choir—finding a comradery with your fellow choir members, using your voice to sing beautiful music, looking out at the congregation and seeing joyful hands of appreciation waving in the air. This church became a place in which your gifts were appreciated.
Still others found community and hope in responsibility by being on a committee, in a TIE group, by ushering on Sunday morning, by providing refreshments to people after the service. There are many ways in which people find joy and greater personal fulfillment by taking care of this place, these people, our community.
Many of you help support this church financially. People sometimes ask me, “Does it bother you to help on the canvass for this church when it pays your salary?” My answer is, “no, because the ministry of this church is far bigger, stronger, and in more places than I could ever be.” That the money raised at this church, the money that keeps this place running, is here to support the ministry of this church. While that ministry pays my salary, it also pays the salary of the Director of Lifespan Religious Education and the administrator who keeps this place running.
The money raised in the canvass for the budget pays for religious education materials so that we may help the youth of our congregation live into their dreams. The budget pays for the candles we use to light the chalice every Sunday. It pays for the folders our wonderful TIE group leaders receive, so that they may facilitate their groups that so many of you feel connected with. Money came out of our budget for the beautiful stoles our choir wears and for someone to come out and tune the piano many of you love so much. All of the reasons people feel connected to this church are, in one way or another, there because someone cared.
They cared about the ministry of this church, whether it be the ministry of doughnuts on Sunday, of music, of small group facilitation—the ministries of this church are supported by the very people sitting around you right now—the people who give their time, energy, and money to supporting the work of this church so that the vital work continues. You, right here, right now, are part of an ever unfolding history of this place, a history that lives in the walls, that has helped shape us into the people we are today. It is through the care and responsibility of people in the past, that we were given the keys to this place, so that we may care for it in the future.
There is a Japanese film from the 1950s called Ikiru, which in Japanese means, “To Live.” The film is about a bureaucrat named Mr. Watanabe, who spends all day every day taking papers from a very tall stack, stamping them, and putting them on top of another tall stack. He lives a repetitive life, his office co-workers nicknaming him, “The Mummy.”
Then one day, he finds out he has inoperable cancer. With only a short time to live, he goes out to a bar and gets drunk for the first time. When he does not find fulfillment in drinking, he asks a women from work out. Still unsatisfied, he sees a rundown and dirty area of Tokyo and decides what they really need is a park for the children to play in. Spending his time and money recruiting volunteers and installing playground equipment, he creates a little bit of beauty in the midst of a neighborhood thirsting for care.
The film ends with him on a swing in the park, singing softly to himself as the snow begins to fall all around him. He sings, “Life is so short / Fall in love, dear maiden / While your lips are still red / And before you are cold, / For there will be no tomorrow.” Mr. Watanabe died on the swing in the cold.
Mr. Watanabe makes me think about what I would want to leave behind. What would I want the legacy of my short time here on this earth to look like? How could I spend my time and money wisely if I want my hopes, my visions, my values, Ikiru, to live?
As you think about your interactions with this church community, I challenge you to think about your hopes, your visions, and your values. What would it take to help realize those dreams in our community? How can we, as the trustees of this generation, find fulfillment in our generosity, and leave a legacy of care for the future? I leave these questions in your capable hands.
Amen.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Denial--Oh, How We All Use It
Working in a hospital, I've been pretty amazed at some of the coping techniques people find to get them through their day. I have seen families ignore or deny their feelings (sometimes for years), try to laugh off their pain and fear, rearrange their lives to take care of a loved one so that they don't have to face their own fear of death, etc... The human capacity to survive is pretty amazing. Recently, however, there have been three situations which have shocked and amazed me, and they all have to do with out and out denial.
The first one occurred at 1:30am in the Emergency Room a few weeks ago. I was paged by a doctor down there because a woman had died, and the chaplains respond to all deaths and code blues (people stop breathing or their heart stops beating) in the hospital.
A 90 year-old woman had been brought in by paramedics when her husband found her passed out on their bedroom floor in the middle of the night. The woman was a diabetic, which can turn into a very nasty degenerative disease. On top of that, the woman had a pulmonary embolism two years ago (a blood clot in the lungs, which would have been a heart attack if the clot went to the heart or a stroke if the clot went to the brain). Basically, this woman was pretty old and sick.
The doctor was great--he was very gentle and kind with the man. He explained what had happened, what they had tried to do, and gave the man plenty of time and many openings to ask questions, etc.. When the doctor asked the man if he and his wife had ever discussed funeral arrangements, the man replied, "No, never--she was so young and healthy!"
Now, I totally get that this man was in shock, and I felt incredibly bad for him...but really? Young and healthy? She was a 90 year-old diabetic who had already had a pulmonary embolism. The gymnastics the mind has to go through to construe her as young and healthy is amazing.
The second case was quite tragic. A 45 year-old woman died of cirrhosis of the liver. She was an alcoholic who drank 1/2 liter of hard liquor a day, and she came from a long family tradition of alcoholics. The woman was so sick, she was yellow. And when I say she was yellow, I'm talking Sponge Bob Squarepants yellow.
The woman was incredibly sick, and ultimately, she went into cardiac arrest (her heart stopped beating), she survived hooked up to machinery for a while, and then she died. Then, her family and friends started arriving.
No one was talking to anyone else in her family, and her friends were quite distant from the entire family. Everyone was in denial that she had been sick. Her best friend kept saying, "She was only diagnosed with cirrhosis last week, how could this have happened?"
Once again, I get that this situation was totally overwhelming, but, seriously? You didn't know she was sick? Really? Not even in the farthest depths of your mind? She was yellow.
The final event occurred on Christmas at about 11:40pm. I was on call, and I awoke from a sound sleep with a start when my pager went off. I headed up to the 8th floor where a patient had just died. Apparently, it wasn't really a surprise to the staff that the patient had died. However, his family was in shock. I knew I'd be there for a while when the wife said, "I know he's 83, that he's had lifelong health issues, that he's had two massive strokes in the last month, and that he's been totally unresponsive for the last week, but I really thought he'd get better and come home!" I ended up being there for 2 hours.
Now, I've never waited with someone I love in a hospital. I've never sat at the bedside of someone I've loved and prayed for a miracle day after day. I've lost people I loved, but I've never had the particular hospital experience. I have no idea what kind of stamina it takes to be there day after day, helpless as ever.
It's amazing to me that people can do that, and it's even more amazing to me how they do that. Sometimes the spirit needs to protect itself by offering up an explanation--I'll just be here until they can walk on their own again, or until the wound heals, or until he is strong enough to come home. People tell themselves that this is a turning point, and that the person is ready to change their diet/exercise routine/outlook on life/addiction patterns to emerge a new and healthy person. People will grasp so tightly to a shred of hope, wishing with every bone in their body that it's true.
It makes me wonder what I hide. If someone can deny that their loved one is old, or sick, or even yellow, what can I deny about myself, or deny about the people I love? What feels too painful to admit or even think about?
I offer up the same questions to you, my friends, family, and fellow human beings. What is it that has always seemed too hard to say or hear? Is there anything you've always wanted to tell someone? Are their secrets or wishes that make you feel too vulnerable to share with those around you?
In this time of New Years and New Beginnings, I wish you ever-widening and deepening self-awareness. You're worth it.
The first one occurred at 1:30am in the Emergency Room a few weeks ago. I was paged by a doctor down there because a woman had died, and the chaplains respond to all deaths and code blues (people stop breathing or their heart stops beating) in the hospital.
A 90 year-old woman had been brought in by paramedics when her husband found her passed out on their bedroom floor in the middle of the night. The woman was a diabetic, which can turn into a very nasty degenerative disease. On top of that, the woman had a pulmonary embolism two years ago (a blood clot in the lungs, which would have been a heart attack if the clot went to the heart or a stroke if the clot went to the brain). Basically, this woman was pretty old and sick.
The doctor was great--he was very gentle and kind with the man. He explained what had happened, what they had tried to do, and gave the man plenty of time and many openings to ask questions, etc.. When the doctor asked the man if he and his wife had ever discussed funeral arrangements, the man replied, "No, never--she was so young and healthy!"
Now, I totally get that this man was in shock, and I felt incredibly bad for him...but really? Young and healthy? She was a 90 year-old diabetic who had already had a pulmonary embolism. The gymnastics the mind has to go through to construe her as young and healthy is amazing.
The second case was quite tragic. A 45 year-old woman died of cirrhosis of the liver. She was an alcoholic who drank 1/2 liter of hard liquor a day, and she came from a long family tradition of alcoholics. The woman was so sick, she was yellow. And when I say she was yellow, I'm talking Sponge Bob Squarepants yellow.
The woman was incredibly sick, and ultimately, she went into cardiac arrest (her heart stopped beating), she survived hooked up to machinery for a while, and then she died. Then, her family and friends started arriving.
No one was talking to anyone else in her family, and her friends were quite distant from the entire family. Everyone was in denial that she had been sick. Her best friend kept saying, "She was only diagnosed with cirrhosis last week, how could this have happened?"
Once again, I get that this situation was totally overwhelming, but, seriously? You didn't know she was sick? Really? Not even in the farthest depths of your mind? She was yellow.
The final event occurred on Christmas at about 11:40pm. I was on call, and I awoke from a sound sleep with a start when my pager went off. I headed up to the 8th floor where a patient had just died. Apparently, it wasn't really a surprise to the staff that the patient had died. However, his family was in shock. I knew I'd be there for a while when the wife said, "I know he's 83, that he's had lifelong health issues, that he's had two massive strokes in the last month, and that he's been totally unresponsive for the last week, but I really thought he'd get better and come home!" I ended up being there for 2 hours.
Now, I've never waited with someone I love in a hospital. I've never sat at the bedside of someone I've loved and prayed for a miracle day after day. I've lost people I loved, but I've never had the particular hospital experience. I have no idea what kind of stamina it takes to be there day after day, helpless as ever.
It's amazing to me that people can do that, and it's even more amazing to me how they do that. Sometimes the spirit needs to protect itself by offering up an explanation--I'll just be here until they can walk on their own again, or until the wound heals, or until he is strong enough to come home. People tell themselves that this is a turning point, and that the person is ready to change their diet/exercise routine/outlook on life/addiction patterns to emerge a new and healthy person. People will grasp so tightly to a shred of hope, wishing with every bone in their body that it's true.
It makes me wonder what I hide. If someone can deny that their loved one is old, or sick, or even yellow, what can I deny about myself, or deny about the people I love? What feels too painful to admit or even think about?
I offer up the same questions to you, my friends, family, and fellow human beings. What is it that has always seemed too hard to say or hear? Is there anything you've always wanted to tell someone? Are their secrets or wishes that make you feel too vulnerable to share with those around you?
In this time of New Years and New Beginnings, I wish you ever-widening and deepening self-awareness. You're worth it.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Observations From a Hospital
I wrote the following while on a 15 minute break at the hospital where I'm working as a chaplain. I was sitting outside on a veranda, overlooking the city, and the following just came to me.
"I saw the face of God today. She was a 97 year-old Chinese woman with stringy, greasy hair, who wanted to die. I can't tell you exactly how I know it was God, other than just a feeling I have. When everything else falls away--eating, drinking, hygiene, an urge to cling to life--when it falls away, it is much easier to identify God.
You know what the most spectacular thing was? God was in the room twice, as only God can be. God was in the daughter's eyes as well. The daughter who slowly fed her mother a bite at a time, who told me her mother fought the doctors tooth and nail, who smiled when she spoke of her mother's ability to taste a food once and know how to cook it--God was in her face, too.
God was also down the hall in the 87 year-old Russian Orthodox woman who couldn't speak, who labored through every breath, but whose breath calmed and slowed the longer I sat and looked at her.
Lest you think God only resides in women, I also glimpsed God in a 95 year-old, New York born, ballroom dancing Episcopalian. I never knew God meringued, but I can swear it's the truth.
Coming to San Francisco, there's a lot of people I expected to meet--new friends, fellow students, neighbors, perhaps even a local celebrity. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to see God on a ventilator, to see God with pancreatic cancer. Heck, I never even realized God got colds. Yet...yet...I can attest to it now.
I wonder where I'll find God tomorrow. On a stretcher in the hallway? In a nurse's uniform running from room to room? Next to a sea of rooftops, the adventure begins."
"I saw the face of God today. She was a 97 year-old Chinese woman with stringy, greasy hair, who wanted to die. I can't tell you exactly how I know it was God, other than just a feeling I have. When everything else falls away--eating, drinking, hygiene, an urge to cling to life--when it falls away, it is much easier to identify God.
You know what the most spectacular thing was? God was in the room twice, as only God can be. God was in the daughter's eyes as well. The daughter who slowly fed her mother a bite at a time, who told me her mother fought the doctors tooth and nail, who smiled when she spoke of her mother's ability to taste a food once and know how to cook it--God was in her face, too.
God was also down the hall in the 87 year-old Russian Orthodox woman who couldn't speak, who labored through every breath, but whose breath calmed and slowed the longer I sat and looked at her.
Lest you think God only resides in women, I also glimpsed God in a 95 year-old, New York born, ballroom dancing Episcopalian. I never knew God meringued, but I can swear it's the truth.
Coming to San Francisco, there's a lot of people I expected to meet--new friends, fellow students, neighbors, perhaps even a local celebrity. What I wasn't expecting, however, was to see God on a ventilator, to see God with pancreatic cancer. Heck, I never even realized God got colds. Yet...yet...I can attest to it now.
I wonder where I'll find God tomorrow. On a stretcher in the hallway? In a nurse's uniform running from room to room? Next to a sea of rooftops, the adventure begins."
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Beepers and Other Mysteries of the Universe
It's Day 2 of my chaplaincy, and I am exhausted. I haven't even seen any patients yet--I'm dragging just from orientation.
I find it strange that I now have a beeper. My beeper even has my name on it. "Beep" has become a verb for me, as in "I've been beeped," or "a patient is coding, beep the chaplain." I have yet to be beeped, but I picture my first time as some sort of comic farce, my pocket exploding in a frenzy of loud, high pitched tones and hyperactive vibration. Perhaps I'll be walking down a hall and will suddenly flail my arms out of surprise. Perhaps I'll be in the on-call room when someone in the Intensive Care Unit dies at 2am, and I'll jolt awake with a cartoon like flourish, complete with bumping my head on the alcove with the statue of the Virgin Mary.
I'm part of a "care team" that includes the doctors, nurses, staff, and case managers working with a patient, and I sit in on "team meetings" and go on rounds. I never thought I would go on "rounds." I have a name badge with my title on it. I even write on people's charts. Craziness.
Even though it's exhausting, I'm finding a nice camaraderie with my colleagues. I'm feeling especially close with the Priests (ironic that I fled from the church but find comfort with its stewards). They tell hilarious stories about things they've been asked to do, like help the nurse get a patient's dentures back in after they died and rigor mortis had set in.
Strangely enough, even after all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the hour-long commute both ways, it still feels...well...right. It feels really good to be where I am and doing what I'm doing. Now if I can just figure out how to beep others...
I find it strange that I now have a beeper. My beeper even has my name on it. "Beep" has become a verb for me, as in "I've been beeped," or "a patient is coding, beep the chaplain." I have yet to be beeped, but I picture my first time as some sort of comic farce, my pocket exploding in a frenzy of loud, high pitched tones and hyperactive vibration. Perhaps I'll be walking down a hall and will suddenly flail my arms out of surprise. Perhaps I'll be in the on-call room when someone in the Intensive Care Unit dies at 2am, and I'll jolt awake with a cartoon like flourish, complete with bumping my head on the alcove with the statue of the Virgin Mary.
I'm part of a "care team" that includes the doctors, nurses, staff, and case managers working with a patient, and I sit in on "team meetings" and go on rounds. I never thought I would go on "rounds." I have a name badge with my title on it. I even write on people's charts. Craziness.
Even though it's exhausting, I'm finding a nice camaraderie with my colleagues. I'm feeling especially close with the Priests (ironic that I fled from the church but find comfort with its stewards). They tell hilarious stories about things they've been asked to do, like help the nurse get a patient's dentures back in after they died and rigor mortis had set in.
Strangely enough, even after all the exhaustion, the anxiety, the hour-long commute both ways, it still feels...well...right. It feels really good to be where I am and doing what I'm doing. Now if I can just figure out how to beep others...
Monday, September 3, 2007
New Job, Here I Come
I promise, promise, promise to post more fun and exciting things soon. I have some great pictures from my trips this summer. However, tonight I am going to bed early because I start my new job in the morning--YAY!
I report to the hospital at 8:30am so start my chaplaincy, and I'm nervous/excited about it all. I wrote in an e-mail to my friend John, who is a brilliant chaplain and friend, "I start my CPE residency tomorrow, and I'm just a wee bit nervous. It kind of feels like the first day of kindergarten again--I don't know where I'm going, I don't know who my teacher is, I'm not sure what it's going to be like, and there's a very real chance I might, at some point, cry. However, this time I won't have a nap time and I'll be dressed in a suit. Is that progress?"
I hope all of you are well. Fun and exciting things are afoot...
I report to the hospital at 8:30am so start my chaplaincy, and I'm nervous/excited about it all. I wrote in an e-mail to my friend John, who is a brilliant chaplain and friend, "I start my CPE residency tomorrow, and I'm just a wee bit nervous. It kind of feels like the first day of kindergarten again--I don't know where I'm going, I don't know who my teacher is, I'm not sure what it's going to be like, and there's a very real chance I might, at some point, cry. However, this time I won't have a nap time and I'll be dressed in a suit. Is that progress?"
I hope all of you are well. Fun and exciting things are afoot...
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