It is May 30, former Memorial Day, 2018. I see that I haven't added to this blog in well over a year, but having read some old posts - and I hope I haven't deleted them - I decided to add a little before getting back to what I was doing before I diverted to the blog.
What a dumb name this is, "Phillip's Fillups." Surely, I can come up with a better and more creative name. I enjoy reading from time to time in others' blogs, both private and professional, and gain much from it.
I've tried to copy and print out some old ones from this and haven't been successful: only part of a first page gets printed. Technology has always eluded me anyway.
There's much I could say, but I'm rather strapped for time, having promised LaVera, my long-suffering spouse, that I would make a few phone calls to places that have billed us for who-knows-what. We just received our Amex bill and I see therein a few glitches, so I shall have to iron them out somehow. No doubt, I'll be put on hold, after punching in a number of numbers until I reach a live voice. Even then, with the live voice, there is absolutely no guarantee that I'll be assisted in a manner I would expect.
The "big deal" in my life now is an upcoming trip to Germany. I have sung with the Portland Bach Cantata Choir since 2006 (is is it 2005 when it began?) and we are making a tour of East Germany to many of the places J.S. Bach, our patron, lived and worked in: Erfurt, Eisenach, Muhlhausen, Leipzig, Coethen, Dresden. I used up most of my supply-work money to pay for this (over $4500) so I hope it proves to be a worthy enterprise and fun as well. We had a long, 3-hour rehearsal last night, and are giving a "preview" concert this coming Sunday, June 3, at St Michael and All Angels Church. There will be a few more rehearsals, and we were warned last night by our conductor Ralph Nelson that we'll rehearse "on the bus" as we travel from place to place later on in June. I hope to blog about the trip as well, so stay tuned. (I don't even know if this blog is circulated or not!!!)
So, drawing this to a swift close, it's "good to be back" (how often have I said that since 2009 when I started blogging?) and to keep in touch.
Wednesday, May 30, 2018
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
This is my second "blog" and I still have to figure out how I can circulate this stuff without sending it hin and yon to all and sundry. Some may not be interested in my persiflage at all and others may be voyeurs of a sort. I don't want to pander to either gang.
Today I attended my ecumenical lectionary study group that has been going on for about seven years or so. When I joined it, I was still Rector of Ascension Parish in the West Hills of Portland, had to get LaVera to work, so was late to our meetings which then took place at St. David of Wales Parish in Portland on the east side. I thoroughly enjoyed all the conversation around the four readings appointed in the lectionary for the Sunday eleven days hence from our meeting. I.e., today's session dealt with the readings for Sunday, October 4. We use the RCL (Revised Common Lecitonary) and look closely at the Hebrew Scripture reading, the Psalm, the Epistle and the Gospel. Someone, usually the one who presents the 1st reading, offers a prayer before we begin and the Gospel-presenter brings some sort of treats, usually what I call "gooey rolls." Today, the Gospeller forgot he was presenting and we had, nevertheless, some fresh fruit, including some freshly-picked figs which I found a bit mushy and not very delightful. But the conversation was terrific, as always.
I am constantly in awe of how my Presbyterian (mainly) colleagues in the group do their work: they have a true love for The Word, a hermeneutical (?) and homiletical love. I think in their seminaries they study both the original Hebrew texts and the Greek ones. They, of course, are called upon to preach rather full sermons each week in their respective pulpits and often I'll hear such a question, "How will this text 'preach'?" We Episcopalians don't give as much time and effort to preaching the Word, but I'm always in awe. Perhaps I could add more than my simple "two-bits" and really give them an Anglican spin on things, but I don't or can't. Our one UCC member is one of the smartest and cleverest people in the group. Thus far, if everyone's present, we have 3 ELCA (Lutherans), 1 UCC (Congregational/United Church of Christ), 4 (sometimes 5) Presbyterians, and 4 Episcopalians (3 clergy and 1 lay preacher). We have a great time and I'm fed richly by this group.
On Wednesdays, I try to get to our parish, Ss. Peter & Paul, for our noonday "Celtic Mass" and Bible study that follows. The "contract" is to stay well within an hour for both and we do rather well with it, although today, we went on a bit longer. We usually look at the propers for the coming Sunday. And this Sunday, our Assisting Bishop, Sandy Hampton, will be with us to visit, confirm, baptize and preside. He preferred that we use the RCL lectionary which includes the reading from Numbers, wherein the Hebrews are whining greatly about all the good food they had in their slavery in Egypt and are having to put up with that awful "manna". I imagine the good bishop will, upon urging from our rector, raise up for us all what our parish is hoping to do in the future. That is, be an "emergent church," welcoming all in the Name of Christ
Thursday, December 22, 2016
December 22, 2016 - Post-Confession
It has long been part of my spiritual discipline to make my confession, usually before the two great feasts of the Church Year, during Advent and Lent. And today was such a day. It is never easy to do this. One might think that gathering up one's faults and sharing them with another priest would come easily after all these years. It isn't!
My first confession was as a boy of 16 at Church camp one summer in Kansas. The Chaplain of the camp and the "Theme-Coordinator" were teaching us high school kids on the subject of "The Five Minor Sacraments." Some today would take issue with inflicting this sort of thing on unwitting adolescents, but for me it was a profound experience to be there. The camaraderie among the kids was infectious and the leadership from all the staff, mostly priests, was excellent.
The day for concentrating on the Sacrament of Penance, as it was then called (this was 1958 after all!), came with a "demonstration" of one priest making a mock confession to the Chaplain. I recall that, during this time, someone in the back who couldn't hear yelled out "Can't year ya!" That broke everyone up, but the seriousness of this was imprinted upon me in a way that has never really disappeared. An impassioned meditation at Evensong that night also made a huge impression upon me: the priest who gave it talked about a young man who'd left home in a huff, and from the bus window he saw a handkerchief tied to a branch of a tree in his yard. Apparently his mother had left this as a sign of her love for him, even though he'd chosen to run off. The boy cried as he saw that handkerchief and was reminded of his Mom's love as well as the love of God.
There was a sign-up sheet for those of us who wanted to avail ourselves of this "Most Comfortable Sacrament," as it's been called, and I timorously signed up. Without going into detail about what I said (remember I was a 16-year-old male!), and all my sweat in that hot place, it went well. The Chaplain was a most compassionate man and reminded me at the end of our time to throw away the sheet on which I'd listed my faults.
I'd wondered what I'd do - or how I'd act - around that priest when I saw him again. What would he think of me, spitting out all those "sins" as I knelt beside him as he sat in a chair with a purple stole around his neck? He had told us that the priest never, ever talked about what was said "in the confessional" to the penitent or to anyone else. That made the whole thing very safe in my estimation.
Now, fast-forward 58+ years later, and I went again, as I've gone many times before, to another priest to make my confession. And, every time I go I tremble a bit, but I am so blessed to have a wonderful colleague as my confessor. He is a wise, understanding man, a busy parish priest who makes time for those of us who want to avail ourselves of this sacrament. It's obvious that he's heard many confessions. In my own "career" I have not heard as many. In fact, in my last parish where I was Rector before I retired, I heard no confessions whatsoever. And this parish "billed" itself as Anglo-Catholic where such a thing would be expected! In much "lower" parishes, I heard a few confessions and in one place more than one priest came to me for that sacrament. That parish had developed something of a reputation as a church to which a priest could go for that purpose, assured that a priest there would be experienced and skilled. It was a daunting, awesome task.
It is part of what priests do, I suspect fewer and fewer in the contemporary Episcopal Church, but I've often been surprised how many people do "go to confession" and often for the first time. It is a safe place, as I said earlier, to open up one's soul. It is making oneself vulnerable in the presence of another human being, being spiritually "stripped naked," as it were. It is a time of transparency, candidness and truthfulness. I would have to say that the confessor has to muster up all the compassion he/she has to offer. One has to listen closely, offer what counsel one can, pronounce the absolution provided in the Prayer Book formula, and send the penitent on his/her way. It is hoped that it will be a joyful and forgiven way.
Some priests I've gone to have said an old sentence that always moves me whenever I hear or see it: "May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ make whatsoever good thou hast done, or evil thou hast endured, be unto thee for the forgiveness of sins, the increase of grace, and the reward of eternal life ... Go in peace, the Lord hath put away all thy sins, and pray for me, a sinner." That part about "evil thou hast endured" always strikes me right between the eyes. So many who come to us are in great spiritual pain, some have been abused in one way or another, and they lay themselves bare, heart and soul. And we are there for them at that crucial time, to be a part of God's great grace and gift of forgiveness and healing and wholeness. In our tradition, we've come up with a handy little slogan about this sacrament: "All can, some should, none must." In our Anglican/Episcopal way, it is not required before receiving Communion and there is absolutely no coercion or expectation that people will go to a priest for confession.
It's been my "custom" after finishing my time as a penitent and after praying what the confessor has given me as a "penance" (not really that, but more of a reflection in the way of a Psalm or prayer or hymn), to stop off at a store and purchase a poinsettia (before Christmas) or a lily (before Easter) for our home. It has become a way of celebrating the fact that my sins have been "put away" and the "slate is cleared."
But, today, a minor disaster occurred when I had to slam on the brakes on a busy freeway on my way home. I heard some bottles (I'd bought some wine and beer for our family celebration in a few days' time) fall from the seat onto the poinsettia that I'd placed on the floor of my car. I won't recount what I said just then, but I vowed never again to put anything on the seat - everything from now on would be on the floor! Well, I was able to salvage a small part of the poinsettia but it looks like another version of Charlie Brown's infamous Christmas tree!
Now, just what, do you suppose, is the metaphor here? That elated feeling of having re-connected with God in that wonderfully poignant time at confession being shattered by a minor disaster? I could have had a car wreck and that surely would not have been a very nice Christmas gift. So I was thankful for that not happening! Or is there some sort of warning here: don't try to "celebrate" after a confession? Perhaps God is saying, "Just be with it quietly and confidently!" Or just maybe it was this: the shattered poinsettia is a symbol of the mess we can easily make of our lives and the need we all have to repent?
It has long been part of my spiritual discipline to make my confession, usually before the two great feasts of the Church Year, during Advent and Lent. And today was such a day. It is never easy to do this. One might think that gathering up one's faults and sharing them with another priest would come easily after all these years. It isn't!
My first confession was as a boy of 16 at Church camp one summer in Kansas. The Chaplain of the camp and the "Theme-Coordinator" were teaching us high school kids on the subject of "The Five Minor Sacraments." Some today would take issue with inflicting this sort of thing on unwitting adolescents, but for me it was a profound experience to be there. The camaraderie among the kids was infectious and the leadership from all the staff, mostly priests, was excellent.
The day for concentrating on the Sacrament of Penance, as it was then called (this was 1958 after all!), came with a "demonstration" of one priest making a mock confession to the Chaplain. I recall that, during this time, someone in the back who couldn't hear yelled out "Can't year ya!" That broke everyone up, but the seriousness of this was imprinted upon me in a way that has never really disappeared. An impassioned meditation at Evensong that night also made a huge impression upon me: the priest who gave it talked about a young man who'd left home in a huff, and from the bus window he saw a handkerchief tied to a branch of a tree in his yard. Apparently his mother had left this as a sign of her love for him, even though he'd chosen to run off. The boy cried as he saw that handkerchief and was reminded of his Mom's love as well as the love of God.
There was a sign-up sheet for those of us who wanted to avail ourselves of this "Most Comfortable Sacrament," as it's been called, and I timorously signed up. Without going into detail about what I said (remember I was a 16-year-old male!), and all my sweat in that hot place, it went well. The Chaplain was a most compassionate man and reminded me at the end of our time to throw away the sheet on which I'd listed my faults.
I'd wondered what I'd do - or how I'd act - around that priest when I saw him again. What would he think of me, spitting out all those "sins" as I knelt beside him as he sat in a chair with a purple stole around his neck? He had told us that the priest never, ever talked about what was said "in the confessional" to the penitent or to anyone else. That made the whole thing very safe in my estimation.
Now, fast-forward 58+ years later, and I went again, as I've gone many times before, to another priest to make my confession. And, every time I go I tremble a bit, but I am so blessed to have a wonderful colleague as my confessor. He is a wise, understanding man, a busy parish priest who makes time for those of us who want to avail ourselves of this sacrament. It's obvious that he's heard many confessions. In my own "career" I have not heard as many. In fact, in my last parish where I was Rector before I retired, I heard no confessions whatsoever. And this parish "billed" itself as Anglo-Catholic where such a thing would be expected! In much "lower" parishes, I heard a few confessions and in one place more than one priest came to me for that sacrament. That parish had developed something of a reputation as a church to which a priest could go for that purpose, assured that a priest there would be experienced and skilled. It was a daunting, awesome task.
It is part of what priests do, I suspect fewer and fewer in the contemporary Episcopal Church, but I've often been surprised how many people do "go to confession" and often for the first time. It is a safe place, as I said earlier, to open up one's soul. It is making oneself vulnerable in the presence of another human being, being spiritually "stripped naked," as it were. It is a time of transparency, candidness and truthfulness. I would have to say that the confessor has to muster up all the compassion he/she has to offer. One has to listen closely, offer what counsel one can, pronounce the absolution provided in the Prayer Book formula, and send the penitent on his/her way. It is hoped that it will be a joyful and forgiven way.
Some priests I've gone to have said an old sentence that always moves me whenever I hear or see it: "May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ make whatsoever good thou hast done, or evil thou hast endured, be unto thee for the forgiveness of sins, the increase of grace, and the reward of eternal life ... Go in peace, the Lord hath put away all thy sins, and pray for me, a sinner." That part about "evil thou hast endured" always strikes me right between the eyes. So many who come to us are in great spiritual pain, some have been abused in one way or another, and they lay themselves bare, heart and soul. And we are there for them at that crucial time, to be a part of God's great grace and gift of forgiveness and healing and wholeness. In our tradition, we've come up with a handy little slogan about this sacrament: "All can, some should, none must." In our Anglican/Episcopal way, it is not required before receiving Communion and there is absolutely no coercion or expectation that people will go to a priest for confession.
It's been my "custom" after finishing my time as a penitent and after praying what the confessor has given me as a "penance" (not really that, but more of a reflection in the way of a Psalm or prayer or hymn), to stop off at a store and purchase a poinsettia (before Christmas) or a lily (before Easter) for our home. It has become a way of celebrating the fact that my sins have been "put away" and the "slate is cleared."
But, today, a minor disaster occurred when I had to slam on the brakes on a busy freeway on my way home. I heard some bottles (I'd bought some wine and beer for our family celebration in a few days' time) fall from the seat onto the poinsettia that I'd placed on the floor of my car. I won't recount what I said just then, but I vowed never again to put anything on the seat - everything from now on would be on the floor! Well, I was able to salvage a small part of the poinsettia but it looks like another version of Charlie Brown's infamous Christmas tree!
Now, just what, do you suppose, is the metaphor here? That elated feeling of having re-connected with God in that wonderfully poignant time at confession being shattered by a minor disaster? I could have had a car wreck and that surely would not have been a very nice Christmas gift. So I was thankful for that not happening! Or is there some sort of warning here: don't try to "celebrate" after a confession? Perhaps God is saying, "Just be with it quietly and confidently!" Or just maybe it was this: the shattered poinsettia is a symbol of the mess we can easily make of our lives and the need we all have to repent?
Thursday, December 8, 2016
December 6, 2016: About Dr John Ruef
It is December 6, 2016 and I see I am 'way behind in adding anything to my blog-site. Today, at a luncheon for retired clergy here in the Diocese of Oregon, a colleague mentioned his blog and that got me to think about my neglected one that I think I started around 2008 or 2009. Btw, Steve Norcross is an excellent writer, and I'll ask his permission soon to incorporate it here so that others may enjoy his writing.
But for me, at present, I'm preparing for our annual Advent/Christmas letter to our family and friends. Sad to say, the list grows shorter with deaths, and each time news of someone's death reaches us, I go to the Christmas card list and delete their names. I find that very sad, but know that death is inevitable and many I know have, as we sometimes say, "died a good death."
It is about one recent death - and his life - that I want to say something about herein. Our clergy pension group sends out a "necrology" (a list of those who've died) each month to fellow pensioners. Espying names of clerics I've known, some rather well, on that list comes as a shock. And the death of my seminary New Testament professor, John Ruef, came as a shock, but no surprise; he had been quite ill and in a nursing home these past few months.
I've had the joy and pleasure of keeping in touch with Dr Ruef through the years, ever since I was graduated from Berkeley Divinity School in New Haven in 1970. Not only was he my "NT Prof" but was our neighbor on Mansfield Street, right by the "Yale Whale," a euphemism for the Ingalls Hockey Rink. He also consented to travel out to the plains of Kansas to preach for my ordination to the Priesthood nearly forty-six years ago this very month.
We met up from time to time at various Episcopal Church functions, and it was always fun to see him again and talk with him. He would always have some pithy comment to make, often in a sarcastic vein. One time I saw him at a Trinity Institute conference in New York City when he lived and worked in Buffalo, the see city of the Diocese of Western New York. I asked him what his impression was of a foreign Roman Catholic prelate who addressed the conference. "Well," he said, "When you dress up Billy Graham in lace, what do you have?" I blushed and probably mumbled something like, "Huh?" His reply: "In other words, I was disappointed." That seemed to clarify things.
Later, he became Dean of Nashotah House, one of the Episcopal Church's seminaries, located in a rural area near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I visited there to do some continuing education and, as Dr Ruef put it, to have "a little 'R and R.'" These three visits each were singularly stimulating and enlightening for me and could be the subject of another blog entry some time. One of these, in 1978, took place when Michael Ramsey, the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, was in residence at "The House," teaching theology and being available for the faculty and students as a colleague and friend. A walk that I took around one of the lakes on the seminary's property, with the good Bishop and a student assigned to help him not to trip (Bishop Michael's eyesight was waning), was memorable. Bishop Michael had remarked how his chaplain was "such a name-dropper." Said I, "But, Bishop, I'll drop your name once I get home." He: "Yes, yes; but just once!"
I see that I never finished this post - it is now December 8, a few days later than when I started. Pressed for time at present, I'll continue the thoughts I put down here some other time. Suffice it to say, I miss John Ruef dearly. I've heard from his widow, Jane, a singularly wonderful and beautiful woman, right after his funeral which took place November 29th in Chatham, Virginia, where they had lived for about thirty-one years. John was Chaplain and Teacher at Chatham Hall there, then retired, having the care of Emmanuel Church, Chatham, and small missions in Gretna and other towns nearby.
There will be more later on. Meanwhile, blessings to the readers of this and wish me luck keeping it up in the future!
But for me, at present, I'm preparing for our annual Advent/Christmas letter to our family and friends. Sad to say, the list grows shorter with deaths, and each time news of someone's death reaches us, I go to the Christmas card list and delete their names. I find that very sad, but know that death is inevitable and many I know have, as we sometimes say, "died a good death."
It is about one recent death - and his life - that I want to say something about herein. Our clergy pension group sends out a "necrology" (a list of those who've died) each month to fellow pensioners. Espying names of clerics I've known, some rather well, on that list comes as a shock. And the death of my seminary New Testament professor, John Ruef, came as a shock, but no surprise; he had been quite ill and in a nursing home these past few months.
I've had the joy and pleasure of keeping in touch with Dr Ruef through the years, ever since I was graduated from Berkeley Divinity School in New Haven in 1970. Not only was he my "NT Prof" but was our neighbor on Mansfield Street, right by the "Yale Whale," a euphemism for the Ingalls Hockey Rink. He also consented to travel out to the plains of Kansas to preach for my ordination to the Priesthood nearly forty-six years ago this very month.
We met up from time to time at various Episcopal Church functions, and it was always fun to see him again and talk with him. He would always have some pithy comment to make, often in a sarcastic vein. One time I saw him at a Trinity Institute conference in New York City when he lived and worked in Buffalo, the see city of the Diocese of Western New York. I asked him what his impression was of a foreign Roman Catholic prelate who addressed the conference. "Well," he said, "When you dress up Billy Graham in lace, what do you have?" I blushed and probably mumbled something like, "Huh?" His reply: "In other words, I was disappointed." That seemed to clarify things.
Later, he became Dean of Nashotah House, one of the Episcopal Church's seminaries, located in a rural area near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I visited there to do some continuing education and, as Dr Ruef put it, to have "a little 'R and R.'" These three visits each were singularly stimulating and enlightening for me and could be the subject of another blog entry some time. One of these, in 1978, took place when Michael Ramsey, the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, was in residence at "The House," teaching theology and being available for the faculty and students as a colleague and friend. A walk that I took around one of the lakes on the seminary's property, with the good Bishop and a student assigned to help him not to trip (Bishop Michael's eyesight was waning), was memorable. Bishop Michael had remarked how his chaplain was "such a name-dropper." Said I, "But, Bishop, I'll drop your name once I get home." He: "Yes, yes; but just once!"
I see that I never finished this post - it is now December 8, a few days later than when I started. Pressed for time at present, I'll continue the thoughts I put down here some other time. Suffice it to say, I miss John Ruef dearly. I've heard from his widow, Jane, a singularly wonderful and beautiful woman, right after his funeral which took place November 29th in Chatham, Virginia, where they had lived for about thirty-one years. John was Chaplain and Teacher at Chatham Hall there, then retired, having the care of Emmanuel Church, Chatham, and small missions in Gretna and other towns nearby.
There will be more later on. Meanwhile, blessings to the readers of this and wish me luck keeping it up in the future!
December 8, 2016
In re-reading my "profile" on this blog, I see I said there that I was 68. Well, I have to update that: I am now 75. This simply reveals that I haven't added anything for seven years. Shame on me!
The other day at a luncheon for retired clergy in the Diocese of Oregon with our Bishop, one of my colleagues remarked he had a blog. He is a very talented writer and I was glad to hear that he was doing that. I said to another colleague that I "once had a blog called 'Phillip's Fillups'," to which she replied: "That's cute!"
Cute or not, I'm going to continue to write. Some days it will seem like "I'll write, come hell or high water" but I'm going to give it a go. Wish me luck, and if you pray, do that for me.
On this snowy - a bit unusual here in Portland, Oregon - and wintry day that is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception in the Roman Catholic calendar I attempt to write. Btw, it's also the commemoration in Holy Women, Holy Men (formerly Lesser Feasts and Fasts) of Richard Baxter, a Puritan pastor and poet. I read about him this morning when I was reading Matins in my basement oratory. I have loved his, "Christ leads me through no darker rooms / than he went through before." Perhaps I'll write later about that hymn but now, I must close this for now and post it.
Perhaps I will tell more about this blog and they will read the posts. Meanwhile, I wish you well and God's richest blessings, this time of year and always.
In re-reading my "profile" on this blog, I see I said there that I was 68. Well, I have to update that: I am now 75. This simply reveals that I haven't added anything for seven years. Shame on me!
The other day at a luncheon for retired clergy in the Diocese of Oregon with our Bishop, one of my colleagues remarked he had a blog. He is a very talented writer and I was glad to hear that he was doing that. I said to another colleague that I "once had a blog called 'Phillip's Fillups'," to which she replied: "That's cute!"
Cute or not, I'm going to continue to write. Some days it will seem like "I'll write, come hell or high water" but I'm going to give it a go. Wish me luck, and if you pray, do that for me.
On this snowy - a bit unusual here in Portland, Oregon - and wintry day that is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception in the Roman Catholic calendar I attempt to write. Btw, it's also the commemoration in Holy Women, Holy Men (formerly Lesser Feasts and Fasts) of Richard Baxter, a Puritan pastor and poet. I read about him this morning when I was reading Matins in my basement oratory. I have loved his, "Christ leads me through no darker rooms / than he went through before." Perhaps I'll write later about that hymn but now, I must close this for now and post it.
Perhaps I will tell more about this blog and they will read the posts. Meanwhile, I wish you well and God's richest blessings, this time of year and always.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
A Long Time Has Passed
Yes, a very long time has passed since I last wrote here on my blog. I'm not very consistent, am I? Still, I love to write; and just today, wrote to two old friends. One did not have an email so I enjoyed writing to her via "snail mail." That's something I still enjoy doing, although - yes, I know, I know! - it is slower and not as timely as email or twitter or whatever. The other person did have an email that I found on her website (she's a priest in upstate NY) and enjoyed catching her up on my life and doings.
One is Melanie, a former colleague in my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education, for the uninitiated) year, 1991-1992 at Abbott-Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis. It was a very intense year for us five residents; Melanie joined us after our first quarter together, and what could well have been disastrous - to have someone enter the program after the rest of us had had three months together - proved to work out all right. Part of that was due to Melanie's competence and willingness to jump right in with us. She also proved to be a dear and trusted friend and colleague. She is ELCA, and I remember her vividly telling us her former parish, "Lord of Life" should have been renamed "Lord of Lie." Previously to my year of CPE residency, I too had served in a not-so-cordial place; so Melanie and I had many notes to compare. I was amazed at her maturity for one so young; after all, I had racked up twenty years in parish ministry and fancied myself somewhat of an "expert," especially in things that could go wrong!
I have Melanie to thank for helping me to keep my sense of humor throughout that year. Working with sick and dying people - and with hospital administrators and bureaucrats - can be a trying experience. I was happy that Melanie and her husband Scott, also an ELCA pastor, were graduates of "my" seminary, Yale Divinity School. (Now, I must confess that I am something of a "stepchild" of Yale, being a graduate of Berkeley Divinity School the year before it affiliated with Yale's divinity school; now it's known as "Berkeley at Yale" and I can legitimately use that as my seminary. Of course, there's some snobbery involved in all of this, but I won't go there right now!) Both Scott and Melanie, he fulltime and she part time, are on the pastoral care staff of a large hospital in Minneapolis, in the suburb of St. Louis Park; I can imagine both are doing great work, too.
I did not pursue the path to become a supervisor as Melanie and Scott did; it was not my vocation, and would have provided me with more than I wanted or needed in terms of angst! So I was happy to do the one year, knowing it would be an excellent foundation for future ministry. I had dreamed of combining hospital chaplaincy with parochial ministry, but that "just wasn't in the cards." Instead, I returned to fulltime parish ministry, first in Michigan, then here in Portland, Oregon.
It was fun to recount this in my letter to Melanie. Writing such things brings to one's mind wheere one has been and, we hope and pray, where one is going, even if one is 69 and "pushing 70" as I now am.
My email to Julie, a former student at Berkeley/Yale, whom I supervised in my Connecticut parish in the eighties, took a rather different tack. I'm glad to say that Julie is a parish priest in Syracuse, is serving half-time there and is the mother of two boys, 11 and 17. I was amazed to read her newsletter online that said she was "approaching 50." What I recall was a young woman, not yet 30, bright, pert, upbeat, finishing her seminary career, engaged to Brian, and suffering many physical ailments through it all, including a hospitalization. She demonstrated a great strength, coping with all of this.
After I wrote my email to her, I noticed in the webpage-newsletter that her younger son suffers from migraine headaches, and that at the tender age of eleven! Julie is the one to be his mom, though, and I'm sure she does more than simply "keep her head above water." It's good to realize that her year with us a St. John's, North Haven, shortened as it was by her circumstances, is part of her story and that I was part of it too.
I shall always remember her mother phoning me at the end of that academic year and thanking me "for all you have done for Julie." This was in Czech-accented English, I believe, and Julie's mother's name was "Dagmar," which I found enchanting. I had to say to Dagmar that I really didn't do all that much to "help" but was just "there for Julie." And that was quite enough. Her father, also a priest, was in Horseheads, NY - I won't go into the derivation of the name of that town, other than to say it's a suburb of Elmira. When I was interviewed at an Elmira parish in 1985, I met him to get his view on the parish and the diocese. I saw there a kind, understanding man who seemed to be "just right" for that very economically depressed area; he was also a psy-chiatric social worker. I've thought since that such a profession would be invaluable in parish ministry, and I rather envied him in that.
So, I'm happy that today I re-connected with these two wonderful persons. Perhaps we all should do this every now and then: put pen to paper, fingers to a keyboard, get into cyberspace or slap a stamp on an envelope, and communicate with old acquaintances. Moreover, it's always nice to hear back from them. It warms an old man's heart! Now I'll cease, lest I get maudlin!
One is Melanie, a former colleague in my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education, for the uninitiated) year, 1991-1992 at Abbott-Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis. It was a very intense year for us five residents; Melanie joined us after our first quarter together, and what could well have been disastrous - to have someone enter the program after the rest of us had had three months together - proved to work out all right. Part of that was due to Melanie's competence and willingness to jump right in with us. She also proved to be a dear and trusted friend and colleague. She is ELCA, and I remember her vividly telling us her former parish, "Lord of Life" should have been renamed "Lord of Lie." Previously to my year of CPE residency, I too had served in a not-so-cordial place; so Melanie and I had many notes to compare. I was amazed at her maturity for one so young; after all, I had racked up twenty years in parish ministry and fancied myself somewhat of an "expert," especially in things that could go wrong!
I have Melanie to thank for helping me to keep my sense of humor throughout that year. Working with sick and dying people - and with hospital administrators and bureaucrats - can be a trying experience. I was happy that Melanie and her husband Scott, also an ELCA pastor, were graduates of "my" seminary, Yale Divinity School. (Now, I must confess that I am something of a "stepchild" of Yale, being a graduate of Berkeley Divinity School the year before it affiliated with Yale's divinity school; now it's known as "Berkeley at Yale" and I can legitimately use that as my seminary. Of course, there's some snobbery involved in all of this, but I won't go there right now!) Both Scott and Melanie, he fulltime and she part time, are on the pastoral care staff of a large hospital in Minneapolis, in the suburb of St. Louis Park; I can imagine both are doing great work, too.
I did not pursue the path to become a supervisor as Melanie and Scott did; it was not my vocation, and would have provided me with more than I wanted or needed in terms of angst! So I was happy to do the one year, knowing it would be an excellent foundation for future ministry. I had dreamed of combining hospital chaplaincy with parochial ministry, but that "just wasn't in the cards." Instead, I returned to fulltime parish ministry, first in Michigan, then here in Portland, Oregon.
It was fun to recount this in my letter to Melanie. Writing such things brings to one's mind wheere one has been and, we hope and pray, where one is going, even if one is 69 and "pushing 70" as I now am.
My email to Julie, a former student at Berkeley/Yale, whom I supervised in my Connecticut parish in the eighties, took a rather different tack. I'm glad to say that Julie is a parish priest in Syracuse, is serving half-time there and is the mother of two boys, 11 and 17. I was amazed to read her newsletter online that said she was "approaching 50." What I recall was a young woman, not yet 30, bright, pert, upbeat, finishing her seminary career, engaged to Brian, and suffering many physical ailments through it all, including a hospitalization. She demonstrated a great strength, coping with all of this.
After I wrote my email to her, I noticed in the webpage-newsletter that her younger son suffers from migraine headaches, and that at the tender age of eleven! Julie is the one to be his mom, though, and I'm sure she does more than simply "keep her head above water." It's good to realize that her year with us a St. John's, North Haven, shortened as it was by her circumstances, is part of her story and that I was part of it too.
I shall always remember her mother phoning me at the end of that academic year and thanking me "for all you have done for Julie." This was in Czech-accented English, I believe, and Julie's mother's name was "Dagmar," which I found enchanting. I had to say to Dagmar that I really didn't do all that much to "help" but was just "there for Julie." And that was quite enough. Her father, also a priest, was in Horseheads, NY - I won't go into the derivation of the name of that town, other than to say it's a suburb of Elmira. When I was interviewed at an Elmira parish in 1985, I met him to get his view on the parish and the diocese. I saw there a kind, understanding man who seemed to be "just right" for that very economically depressed area; he was also a psy-chiatric social worker. I've thought since that such a profession would be invaluable in parish ministry, and I rather envied him in that.
So, I'm happy that today I re-connected with these two wonderful persons. Perhaps we all should do this every now and then: put pen to paper, fingers to a keyboard, get into cyberspace or slap a stamp on an envelope, and communicate with old acquaintances. Moreover, it's always nice to hear back from them. It warms an old man's heart! Now I'll cease, lest I get maudlin!
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