irene, alfredo and carla

This Sunday I was not scheduled to serve at St Mark’s but I sat in for one of my peers because this is what we do for each other. As I walked into the cathedral nave I saw my friend Alfredo who is serving at St Paul, Seattle but was serving at the Cathedral today, sitting in for a peer. As I walked into the canons’ sacristy I saw Irene and I remembered that she was the preacher for the day.

So there we were, the three of us serving together at the cathedral. The funny thing is that we used to joke about this happening when we were all in the same discernment group together with Jerry Shigaki schoolin’ us about priesthood. I remember myself saying in jest that the place would fall down if that ever happened. And now “by accident” it had happened and the place was still standing. There can’t be a whole lot of churches who could say on a regular Sunday in Easter, with no emphasis on multicultural ministry, that the priest preaching was a Japanese woman, the deacon was a Latino man and one of the assisting priests was an African-American woman.

One of the interesting things about the three of us is that St Mark’s has had a significant place in our formation as lay people in the Episcopal Church and as ordained people. Irene went through CI at St Mark’s and was confirmed there. Alfredo and his family were members at St Mark’s. And then there’s history with St Mark’s. Alfredo and I were presented for postulancy by St Mark’s. All three of us were ordained to the deaconate at St Mark’s. Irene is serving her curacy at the Cathedral. I’m serving as a priest associate there. I find it interesting that the cathedral has had its hands on each of us.

At the same time I appreciate that we are each deeply immersed in our own cultural heritages. We each locate ourselves within those heritages. We each intentionally and consistently draw from them for identity and ministry. I have always loved that we support each other and seek to learn from each other.

…and, oh yes, there are more of us coming.

sunday morning memories

This morning I stirred, stretched and mentally reached for the sermon I was to preach today at All Saints. When my intellectual hand didn’t find it in the usual mental compartment, I became fully awake and realized that I wasn’t at All Saints anymore and that I wasn’t preaching anywhere today. I sat up in the bed and felt a sense of disappointment in the day before my feet even hit the floor.

I’m halfway into my fifth month of life post-All Saints and these Sunday morning moments are still happening to me. I was only there for three years but the bond I formed was (and still is) deep and strong. This is no surprise. I’ve always bonded deeply with the congregations I’ve served, especially where I’ve been the sole clergy. In the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod it was Christ Church and St. Paul in Los Angeles and Good Shepherd in Seattle. In the Episcopal Church it’s All Saints. Those churches turn up in my dreams and their people in my thoughts and prayers and wonderings.

So as I sat in the bed absently petting one of the cats and listening to the deep breathing of my sleeping husband I took a moment to pray. I prayed for All Saints and Good Shepherd and St Paul and Christ Church and Resurrection and St Luke… and St Mark’s.

ST MARK’S??? Oh yea! I’m assisting at the 11am liturgy today. I’d better get going. I need to take my morning walk and get some breakfast and clean up and change and drive to Seattle. Thanks Lord for the cool moment but I’ve got work to do.

a sunday at st mark’s

I had a wonderful Sunday at St Mark’s. I was in the assembly at the 8am liturgy, presided at the 10am liturgy and assisted at the 11am liturgy, preached at the 7pm liturgy and then did “The Priest Is In” before, during and after Compline. If the day had been a baseball game I would say that I “batted for the cycle.”

The day had an interesting moment of symmetry—a way to experience something old and something new. The Opening Hymn for the morning liturgies was “The Spacious Firmament on High.” It was new to me but I instantly fell in love with it and will always connect it with St Mark’s and Rogation Sunday. The Communion Hymn at the 11am liturgy was “Savior Again to Thy Dear Name We Raise.” This was a hymn we sang often at St Philip Lutheran Church in Cleveland at the close of worship. This hymn is forever associated with St Philip.

St Philip and St Mark’s are as different as different can be. However both of them can claim the same thing when it comes to me. They were each the first formative communities that I encountered in their respective church bodies. As a result St Philip became the ruler with which I measured the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod even as St Mark’s has become the ruler with which I measure the Episcopal Church. And that’s not all they can both claim in my case. Both congregations can say they raised me up for ordination and hosted my ordination. Clearly both congregations have a special place deep in my heart and I was aware of that this Sunday.

Being Rogation Sunday the grounds around the cathedral campus were prayed over and asperged. I love how this happens at St Mark’s. It is led by the Dean but the sprinkling is shared by the community. The liturgical ministers start it but pass it off to others in the assembly. I took special delight in watching the little ones wield an aspersion branch. And the weather was perfect for a stroll around the grounds.

Being Rogation the Dean’s sermon spoke to that occasion and our “high theology of creation.” I like that phrase. I’ve heard “high Christology” frequently but this was the first time I’d heard “high theology of creation.” His sermon also drank deep from the waters of the reading from Revelation and I look forward to his four part class on the book in the fall.

During the day I was asked a couple of questions that took me back to my first days at St Mark’s. I was asked about how I came to St Mark’s and I was asked why I go barefoot in church. I always forget the power of those two stories until I see the impact that telling them has on people. Once again I was reminded that I must always be willing to tell my story and to hear the remarkable stories that will come to me from others.

After an afternoon walk I returned to St Mark’s for my evening activities. I went to Sunday Evensong for the first time and found it delightful. The singing by the Girls and Boys Choir was so sweet. I was moved by the content of what they sang and by the quality of their voices. There is something about the way children sing that moves me in a way that the singing of adults doesn’t. Not that the singing of adult doesn’t move me, but it does so in a different way. Something about the light in the nave and the attitude of the other worshippers made that time and that office special to me. I intend to add it to my evening ritual on the first Sunday of the month (September through May).

Part of the effect of Evensong was that it settled and centered me for the work I had to do afterward. I preached and presided at the 7pm Eucharist. I had a sermon to preach on change and I was not comfortable with it. I had struggled with it all week and it was going nowhere. Yet when it was time to preach it, it was all there. All I had to do was just say the words.

After that I went over to Leffler for a quick time of fellowship and a little food. Then it was time to do “The Priest Is In.” I never know who will come in during that time. I never know what will happen. Remarkable people walk into that chapel all the time. They come seeking help, advice, assurance, forgiveness, understanding, companionship, compassion, peace. Some come seeking someone to listen to them. Some come seeking someone to speak to them. I give what I can and I’m always amazed by the people who come, the stories they share, the lives they lead, and more than anything else by the grace of God that holds us all.

I drove home tired. My husband was there to greet me as I came in the door. I have a way of dropping my head and walking toward him and laying my head on his chest. He finds that to be endearing, cute and “cat-like.” I find it comforting to feel his arms slide around me. It was obvious that I was tired. He asked me if I was hungry and I said, (to my surprise) “No. I’m full.” And I was full. I was satisfied by what I’d experienced of God and of God’s people. Thus ended a good day.

wednesday at high noon

Yesterday I was the presider and preacher at the noon Eucharist at St Mark’s. I decided that I would approach the preaching task as if the things I was thinking about on Tuesday were things I believed. I approached the preaching task as if I believed that the reach my gift was irrelevant. I set about the work of proclamation as if I believed that the number of people present didn’t matter. I launched into the ministry of preaching as if I believed that my primary purpose for being in the church was to be a walking, talking commercial for God’s desire to turn the world upside down and that my reason for ministry was to be an outstanding example of how does God things backwards from the way we do things.

That put a different spin on preaching. I prepared for this 8 minute message to an 8 member assembly in the same way that I would prepare for a Sunday morning anywhere else. I wanted the gift to do what it does in the building up of God’s people and I wanted the unseen principalities and powers to see God’s generous gift in me, an odd and unlikely recipient. I buried myself in the text and in the preparation for this homily. The intensity of delivery surprised me. I felt this power surge through and out of me during the sermon. When the homily was over I sat down and thought, “What was that?”

I was not sure what anyone else thought of it. I found out afterward that the little assembly was as stunned as I was. That little homily was one of the best things that’s ever come out of my mouth. And all I can do is to sit and marvel at God. There was a sense of God drawing near in the homily and in the Eucharist that followed that was intimate and frightening (if that’s the right word) to me.

I’ve had similar experiences when God seems to draw near. The Spirit is thick in a place and the veil between the realities is thin. The sense of love can be overwhelming. For me such experiences are often also accompanied by something that is like fear but isn’t. It’s more awe than fear. I get a sense of my own smallness but that sense of smallness is swallowed up by the love. I’m humbled that God would draw near like that. And Wednesday was one of those experiences.

So now it’s Maundy Thursday. I’m relieved that I’m not preaching or presiding tonight or anywhere in this Triduum. I have spoken all that I need to speak, I have led as much as I need to lead. I am ready to do the work of listening and participating today, tomorrow and Saturday. On Sunday morning I will praise God. On Sunday evening I will attempt to speak again.

dear God, i have a question that i don’t want to ask you

At the Chrism Mass yesterday, while I was in the midst of all my mixed feelings the Word of the Lord was read. It felt like God addressed a question that I’ve had but have been afraid to ask out loud. It was really a set of questions about one of the gifts that God has given me. When I’ve looked at my peers I’ve observed that most of them are gifted in several ways. I, on the other hand, have only a couple of gifts but one is particularly outstanding. I have wondered why have I been given this gift if I can’t use it widely? Recently I’ve questioned the wisdom of giving a gift for preaching to an introverted black transwoman who will never have a large audience. Wouldn’t it have been a better idea to give this gift to someone who has more exposure and a higher profile and can reach more people?

The second lesson for the day was from 1 Corinthians where Paul is saying that the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of humans. He goes on to assert that God has intentionally chosen what many would call “the wrong kind of people” in order to subvert the human way of seeing things. God is busy turning things upside down. He suggests that by doing things backwards God is seeking to get the world’s attention. God has chosen the unimpressive, the powerless and the marginalized in order to make us all stop and say, “This is unexpected. What’s this about? Maybe I should pay attention.”

I tried to apply this to myself and now I find myself wondering. What if my life and ministry is not so much about how many people I will touch? What if my life and ministry is not primarily about the reach of my gift or how widely it can be used? What if the focus for my life and ministry is now to be an icon for the foolishness of God? Am I a walking commercial for God turning things upside down? What would that mean for my future? How would that influence the way I pursue my work in ordained ministry?

I’m not saying that I believe the answer to the above questions is “yes.” I’m not convinced of anything right now. I’m just wondering. I’m letting the Word of the Lord lead me into a conversation with God about ministry. This is a different way for me to look at myself, my gift and my work. Let’s just see where it goes and how God leads.

at the chrism mass

It was hard for me to be at the Chrism Mass on Tuesday. I was struggling through most of that service. The service had a three-fold purpose. 1) to consecrate the oil that will be used for baptism and for healing for the next year, 2) for ordained folk to reaffirm their ordination vows and 3) to incarnate the Call to Common Ministry agreement between the Episcopal Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Each of the three presented me with at least one difficulty.

The consecrating of the oil was a lovely ritual. It used color, movement, aroma, silence and even the act of breathing to communicate the seriousness and the beauty of the action. It spoke to me of seriousness and beauty of baptism. It reminded me that my first and greatest call is to the work I have by virtue of my baptism, the ministry I share with all who call on the name of Christ.

The difficulty came in that I knew what was going to happen with that oil after the liturgy. I knew it was going to be put into jars and given to clergy to take back to the place where they will baptize folk. It reminded me that I have no such place right now and that my life is empty without that.

Before the liturgy of the table began the clergy who were present were invited to renew the vows of ordination. I stood with my peers and renewed those solomn vows. I appreciated the chance to revisit those promises and remember those vows. It was a delight to call to mind the day and place where I first took them–August 6, 2009.

The difficulty came in that I was forced to face a question. How do I exercise all those vows when I’m not in a position to do so? On a good day that question is puzzling. On a bad day that question is downright frustrating.

At that liturgy about half of the crowd was from the ELCA. Also the bishop of the Northwest Synod was the preacher for the service. I like the fact that our Lutheran brothers and sisters were there with us. I only knew two of them. I don’t interact with them but I appreciated their presence as a way of reminding me that we are in an agreement to walk and work together called A Call to Common Ministry.

The difficulty came is that being with my Lutheran sisters and brothers reminded me of my experience as a Lutheran pastor. Granted it was in a different Lutheran body (the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod). However, though I’ve made significant strides in my own healing from the end of that experience, there is still a tender place in my heart. As a result I tend to pull back from things Lutheran and run up closer to my peers in the Episcopal Church. That sense of pulling back doesn’t feel good to me. I walk out with my mixed feeling and brought them home with me.

palm sunday (warning–this is a long post)

There are times when I say to myself, “I got it. I got this Christianity thing!” And then something happens and I realize, “Opps, I don’t got it.” Today was on one of those days.

As I went to church I was doing two things that might seem contradictory on the surface but both stemmed from the same trunk. First I was throwing a little bit of a pity party for myself. And at the same time I was patting myself on the back for being humble at the start of Holy Week. I wasn’t in the building 10 minutes before God called me on my crap in both circumstances. The answer to my pity party was a reminder (courtesy of one of the people at church) of what incredible blessings I have right here and now. The answer to my self back-patting was the unmasking of my own arrogance in the light of some of the very blessings I was being reminded of.

It was as if two explosions went off in different places of my brain at the same time. It felt like God saying, “Now that we’ve cleared the ground and I’ve got your attention, are you ready to listen?” By the grace of God I was able to say yes and then a lot of thigns lept to life for me in today’s liturgy.

The reading of the triumphal entry from Luke’s Gospel hit me. The last thing Jesus says in that reading is, “If they were silent, the rocks would cry out.” God can makes rocks speak, Carla. So drop your unhealthy pride over your ability to speak. so I need not be so proud of my ability to do so.

The opening hymn (All Glory Laud and Honor) drew me into a vision of Palm Sundays from my childhood and youth. It opened a doorway that allowed me to lay down this picture of myself as professional-worship-leader-watching-worship and enter into the experience of worship for worship’s sake. I wasn’t even aware that I had taken on the role of professional-worship-leader-watching-worship until I was laying it down.

Then came the first reading. I heard the first verse:

The Lord GOD has given me
the tongue of a teacher,
that I may know how to sustain
the weary with a word.

I said, “Yes, that’s me.” And then the reading continues to say:

Morning by morning he wakens–

and your expect to hear, “wakens my voice or my tongue.” But instead we hear:

wakens my ear
to listen as those who are taught.
The Lord GOD has opened my ear,
and I was not rebellious,

Words for me to take to heart. I think it’s true. The Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher that I might sustain the weary with a word.” However that makes it more incumbent on me to listen and to listen well.

The next thing that grabbed me was the Psalm of the Day. With its first person narrative of suffering it called out for me my own personal suffering (past and present) and, since we were all chanting it together, it called out for me the sufferings (past and present) of everyone in that church–most of the sufferings I’m completely unaware of. This created something rare for me; a sense of shared experience around suffering.

When I think about my own suffering that tends to make me feel separate from a group. I think of the suffering I have to deal with as a result of racism or trans-mysgongyn. I think of how my suffering is different from the suffering of others. However today I was able to experience suffering as individual and (oddly) unifying.

Then came the second lesson. It was the reading my Philippians that is about Christ emptying himself. I know that lessons well. I committed that passage to memory long ago. Today what got me was that the reason he is highly exalted is because he humbled himself not because he demonstrated some great power or ability. It hit me again that if I want to walk with Jesus the road to the glory I desire leads through humility and not accomplishment. That is so un-American.

Yes, I admit it. I want to be great in the kingdom of God. There! I said it. I’ve got ambitions and I want to reach them. And God seems to be saying that there is a way to greatness but it’s through servanthood and the greatness you seek might not be the greatness God wants for you. The road to Easter leads through Good Friday. I know that but I keep wanting to jump to Easter and skip Good Friday.

Then came the reading of the Passion. For the first time in years I didn’t have a voice in that reading and I didn’t have to say anything after it. Thankfully what was on my mind was to simply listen. As it was read I found myself weeping and weeping and weeping. The story hasn’t touched me like that in years. It was a mercy to have that opportunity.

The sermon was right on target. The Dean talked about the liturgies of the week. He said that this week is not about being an audience watching actors up front. He spoke of the liturgies as our work for the week. He pulled no punches. He said it’s hard work and it won’t be fun. At the same time he made it clear that going to church or not going to church doesn’t change God’s love toward us. We can’t earn more of it or lose any of it based on our church performance. I really appreciated his sermon.

The Eucharist gave me time and context for absorbing all of this. I had a chance to begin to sort all of this. And I needed it.

As communion was ending we sang “O Sacred Head Sore Wounded.” I couldn’t even get through verse one. It’s such an intimate hymn. All I could do was listen as the assembly sang and I melted. I was thankful for the chance to leave is silence. I was full. I couldn’t talk to anyone if I wanted to. I was also thankful that my husband wouldn’t be home when I got back from church because I couldn’t have talked to him either. I needed to be by myself.

Now it is two hours since that liturgy ended. I’m just now getting to a place where I am ready to talk to another human being again. If the heavens are silent and God doesn’t say another thing all the rest of the week, I will say this was one of the most remarkable Holy Weeks of my life.

entering holy week

Yesterday my husband asked me about my schedule for the coming week and was surprised to find that Holy Week was about to start. It snuck up on him this year because of my lack of reference to it. He said that I haven’t talked about Holy Week at all. And while in years past he could see me ramping up for it, I was particularly un-energetic and quiet about it this year.

I told him that I’m not ramping up for Holy Week because I don’t have much to do. He then asked me, “Is it a relief to have so much less to do this year?” I told him it wasn’t and that I was finding it harder not to have stuff to do than it was to have lots of stuff to do at this time of year. I told him that I miss everything, even the printing and copying of the worship folders for Triduum.

At that point he made an observation that struck me. He said that when you’re destined to do a thing you find even the grunt work interesting. That was certainly the case for me.

So as I sit at the start of Holy Week, it still feels odd to have so little to do (comparatively speaking). With the NCAA basketball tournament happening, a comparison suggests itself. For the past three years Holy Week for me has been like being the head coach and the point guard and leading scorer of a team making a Final Four run–an amazing rush and an E ticket ride, This year I’m not the coach, nor am I the point guard or the leading scorer. This year I don’t even feel like I’m in the game.

However I know that my feelings are not an accurate reflection of reality. I am in the game but my chief role this week is witness. My major work is to listen. It is to let go of my previous roles and to empty myself of that set of self-expectations. My work is to listen to what God is saying to me in this time.

I have to keep reminding myself of that because if I don’t I will find myself slipping back into mourning the loss of a role and missing what God might have to say to me in this moment. This is one of those rare times in my adult life when I find myself in Holy Week with no other focus than the intimate relationship between me and God. There is no church to take care of. There are no other people for me to minister to. It’s just me and God, nose-to-nose for the next 7 days.

blackness and a salad at popeye’s

I was reading one of my favorite blogs (A Black Girl’s Guide To Weight Loss) when I caught the following comment from a black woman who was writing in response to the author’s post:

I was recently approached with the comment that my exercise regimen and eating habits were a form of assimilation as well. It was really disturbing because I am seriously striving for a healthier life. To have my ‘blackness’ questioned because I’d rather have a salad than some Popeye’s (and yes… that was the exact situation) hurt. I guess veggies and the stair master make me ‘Euro-centric’ but whateves.

Excerpted from “From Retouching To Plastic Surgery: Minorities and Assimilation”

I was taken aback by that. This woman’s blackness got questioned because of a salad. As one who has had to defend her blackness on numerous occasions, I was stunned. Then I got mad (Wait a minute. If I got mad doesn’t that make me an “angry black woman” and thus authenticate my blackness? You say, “No, that’s a stereotype.” Really? Being black is so confusing. I remember the good ol’ days when being black meant you were a descendant of an oppressed, formerly enslaved, people who came from Africa but I digress…).

This is something that we as black folk are going to have to get over. We must drop the idea that certain behaviors can be labeled “black” or “Euro-centric.” Am I Euro-centric when I dance to Celtic music? Am I black when I dance to R&B? Am I Euro-centric when open and read the Greek New Testament? Am I black when read and recite my favorite poet Langston Hughes? What am I when I listen to the didgeridoo or to Salish drumming? Am I Euro-centric when I eat a salad? Am I black when I order fried chicken? This is silly.

A more intelligent question to ask might be why am I doing whatever it is that I’m doing? A more fruitful conversation might happen around how various cultural pieces are melding, mixing, clashing, or staying separate in our individual experiences.

Demanding that I fit some image of “blackness” is a vain pursuit. The socio-economic milieu I live in no longer affords me the luxury of retreating in mono-culturalism in the name of saving blackness. The idea of standing in a place where some alleged ideal blackness exists and then critiquing people from that place of ethnic/cultural pureness is no longer tenable. It can’t be done with any sense of intellectual integrity.

There was a time in the black community when the accusation of “acting white” was a powerful deterrent. There was a time when not toeing the cultural line came with a huge price tag. However those days are over. Too many of us are no longer going to sit still for that. People who say things like what was said to the sister at Popeye’s can live in their own narrowness if they wish but we don’t have to live in there with them. The job of racial referee is not needed. We don’t need anyone running around and watching us and then throwing penalty flags at us (“I got illegal blackness on the offense that’s a five yard penalty, repeat first down” or “Holding—onto the wrong color man on Carla, 15 yard penalty and she is ejected from the game.”).

Instead of that racial/cultural dead end, I’m working on something else. I’m seeking to know my own heritage heritages and to embrace them and to be grounded in them as I relate authentically to other people and other heritages.

So to my sisters and brothers let me say this: If you see me at Popeye’s eating a salad, order an extra serving of open-mindedness and hold the criticism.

already? that was fast

I went to church today determined to listen. It is part of my stance as I move toward Holy Week. Today this is what I think I heard for God.

The Isaiah lesson said that God is doing a new thing and I have to let go of the past in order to see it. The Philippians reading was a clarion call for me to strain with high effort to move forward and heavenward and to seek Christ in the things to come. Then came the Gospel. In it Christ called me to pour it all out in his service. The call was to empty the vessel that is full of a costly and valuable substance, even if others might think that the gesture is extravagant.

So I will apply some of this immediately. First I have determined that I will pour it all out when it comes to my use of the gift of preaching that I have to offer. I will give me all on Wednesday of Holy and Easter evening and Easter Thursday—top drawer exegesis, top flight message, top of the line presentation.

Another point of application has to do with how I am approaching my future as an ordained person. I have from time to time been plagued with questions of my employability. In the back of my head is a voice saying, “Who is going to hire a black transgender woman as a priest? No one, that’s who.” But today I have a new voice saying, “God is doing a new thing. Perceive it. Strain ahead toward it. Reach with the hand of faith for it. You’re a part of it.”

All-in-all today I experienced how much God will speak if I will just shut up for a minute.