Poor neglected blog

Time to say goodbye... goodbye to this stonewall my father made over many years, goodbye to the house where I grew up, the home my parents built in 1953, before my time.

My summer and fall have been spent moving my parents, and then cleaning out a house-load of sixty years for its sale. My siblings have also been a part of this endeavour. Compa has been absolutely stellar in her efforts to clear out the house.

Consequently, this poor old blog has suffered, missing out on photos of Mission Farm in the summer, of my veggie garden, of fall foliage, of the CATS — the clowder now includes Pico, my father's cat, and is minus dear, dear Sophia, who joined Agatha in the heavenly catnip patch... Sophia died 26 July. I haven't even had a chance to mourn her.

We baby boomers are all struggling with elder care and, in those cases where they have not down-sized, their stuff. From all accounts, their generation saved stuff. A lot of stuff. Enough stuff to be equipped for Armageddon. I have heard of one case where the adult son had filled 19 twenty-yard dumpsters and was still counting. In our case, we are only on the third dumpster.

I will walk out of my parents' house for the very last time ever this Tuesday. Part of my heart still thinks I am floating in some surrealistic sort of dream. However, the sight of certain pieces of furniture in the vicarage reminds me that, no, it is not a dream, it is very real and from Tuesday forward, a major chapter of my life ends. My parents are still alive, in different places, but the house that served as our focal point and gathering place shall cease to exist for my siblings, our spouses, families and me.

Goodbye beautiful stonewall. May the people who move in appreciate it as much as I have.

Closer to fine

After the eighteen months of wandering through the desert (though having moments of hospitality), after eight discernment committee processes, I finally ended up fifteen miles from where I last served a congregation. I considered congregations in MA, CT and even Mexico. And when everything settled down, I landed at the congregation where Anne has been attending since 1994, eleven miles from our tiny house.


The preacher at the service of installation and celebration of a new season of ministry, the Rev'd Gwen Groff, a local Mennonite pastor, said eloquently:

... Which leads me to the last thing that Lee wanted us to focus on. This land. This thin place on the earth. Lee said what she is interested in is "connecting with the land and living in a thin place." The term "thin place" has been used in many ways, but I believe the phrase was originally used by the Celts, whose theology said that there are places on earth where the veil between heaven and earth is very thin, places that serve almost like a portal where you can practically reach through or step through and experience God.

Now I think of those sacred places as destinations, a place you travel to as a deliberate pilgrimage, or stumble upon unexpectedly. Lee's words, that she is interested in what it means to live in a thin place made me think of thin places a bit differently. Because if the psalmist is right, and Basil is right, that God's Holy Spirit is everywhere, then one place isn't more "thin" than another. A thin place need not be a windswept stone circle built on an energetic convergence of ley lines. A thin place is anywhere our hearts are opened to God. God is always here. But in a thin place we are more open to God, we are suddenly made aware of God's constant presence, and we are more likely to take risks of listening and being transformed.

A thin place is not only a place we feel something; it's a state of being where we become more like the God we meet when our hearts are open. A thin place can be experienced in worship. This sanctuary is worn thin by the prayers that have been spoken here. And a thin place can be experienced in action, in working across differences and finding God in the other. [(c) Gwen Groff, 14 June 2013]

Church of Our Saviour, with its long history of farmer priests, its close connection to the land, and its Benedictine tradition all make for a peaceful, peace-filled spot in the Vermont Greens. COS is where the priest truly can live out relational priesthood, come back close to a vocational rather than professional priesthood, live with one foot in the 19th century when this place was founded and the 21st where it lives and reaches out to the local community.

I feel exceptionally at peace here, in a way that I have not since 2008 when I left Northfield. This sense of 'coming down' right was solidified as today I attended a wedding reception of two former parishioners. As I talked with other members of where I last served, I gave thanks again that I am no longer in that stressful place. Somehow COS seems more authentic, closer to the ground, not lost in pretense.

To my delight, I once again have a vegetable garden with potatoes (I no longer remember what types), green, purple and yellow beans, tomatoes and lots of hot peppers. The beans are sprouting as are the 'taters and the peppers and 'maters are coming along. No, I won't be Fr Dan or Fr Heminway in cassock out on a tractor (the church doesn't have one), but in a small way, I can tap into the ethos of the farmer priest which is so much a part of the history of this place.

Now... if any of you have $30K out there, it would go a long way to helping us repair the vicarage chimneys and replace the roof, and shore up a collapsing barn, all of which are on the National Historic Registry (!).

[Blogger ain't wordpress; formatting here is disastrous.]

Whither goest blog?

It has been months since I have written here... many times I have thought of posting something, but life just gets in the way...

The things I would have written in the three months I have been silent:

-- how Ezekiel 37 ('Dem dry bones) so spoke to me this Easter Vigil as I came out of 18 months of unemployment and re-entered parish life, that what had been a personal disaster, a desert time, was finally resurrected with the knowledge that once again I was back in parish ministry... at Church of Our Saviour, Killington, where I have been living since 7 September 2012, but now it is official that we are partners in ministry...

-- my utter awe and gratitude to wake up every morning in such a gorgeous place, knowing how blessed I am to live here for how ever long...

-- dealing with elderly cats and parents...

So there I am... so much, too much to the point of being on overload.

Where is God in this all?

Last night after sending off yet another round of answers to a parish discernment committee, I had an strong sense of sadness. I needed to go back and look at like answers from 10-15 years ago when I was in other searches with congregations to pin down exactly what caused my malaise. What I saw confirmed what I felt: the preponderance of questions nowadays concern the institution, the administration and running of a congregation and no longer ask things such as: what authors do I read, who inspires me, what my core values are, what is my theological understanding of the sacraments, who is Jesus for me, and questions of that nature. Fair enough, a congregational discernment committee wants to know what sort of administrator I will be, how I will manage their finances, and how I will help the church grow (I cannot stand the current trendy phrase, 'to grow the church;' it sets my teeth on edge). I am OK with this; it is just that I miss discussion of the other things. That discussion eventually comes out in an interview if one is lucky, but as the initial introduction, the practical shows up first.

Several of the questions from the Office of Transitional Ministry focus on the doing rather than the being of a priest in community, though one certainly can weave in one's theology and core values:

Describe a moment in your recent ministry that you recognise as one of success and fulfillment.
Describe your liturgical style and practice.
How do you practice incorporating others in ministry?
How do you care for your spiritual and emotional well-being?
Describe your involvement in either the wider church or geographical community.
How do you engage in pastoral care for others?
Tell about a ministry project that exists because of your leadership. What was your role in its creation? Who are its contacts?
How are you preparing yourself for the Church of the future?
What is your personal practice of stewardship and how do you utilize it to influence your ministry in your worshipping community?
What is your experience of conflict involving the church? And what is your experience in addressing it?
What is your experience of leading/addressing change in the church? When has it gone well? When has it gone poorly? And what did you learn?

Congregations submitting their form answer this set of questions:

Describe a moment in your worshipping community's recent ministry that you recognise as one of success and fulfillment.
How are you preparing yourselves for the Church of the future?
Please provide words describing the gifts and skills essential to the future leaders of your worshipping community.
Describe your liturgical style and practice for all types of worship in your community.
How do you practice incorporating others in ministry?
As a worshipping community, how do you care for your spiritual, emotional and physical well-being?
How do you engage in pastoral care for those beyond your worshipping community?
Describe your worshipping community's involvement in either the wider church or geographical community.
Tell about a ministry that your worshipping community has initiated in the past 5 years. Who can be contacted about this project?
What is your practice of stewardship and how does it shape the life of your worshipping community?
What is your worshipping community's experience of conflict? And how have you addressed it?
What is your experience of leading/addressing change in the church? When has it gone well? When has it gone poorly? And what did you learn?

As you can see, most of the questions overlap. They are fine questions; they invite reflection and conversation since priest and congregation basically answer the same things.

But when do we get to talk about God? Jesus? The Holy Spirit working in our lives? Oh, they can and should be woven into an answer, but the focus of the question does not always permit a full exploration of these aspects of our faith.

Then parish questions follow the same line of thinking (the questions below are a composite of some of the questions I have answered in the past seventeen months):

Of the work you have done during the past year, what single thing has been the most satisfying to you, and why?
What intrigues you and what challenges you about St. Swithin’s profile, and why?
What beyond your current resume and OTM portfolio do you think is important that we know about you, and what isn’t in our profile that you would especially like to know about us when we talk?
Describe your experience in developing a multi-year plan for a church where you have been the Rector.
What is in our Profile that is of particular interest to you? Why?
Describe a recent accomplishment and a recent challenge in your ministry, and how your leadership affected the outcome?
What potential benefits and drawbacks would you anticipate in a ministry at Saint Swithin's?


What intrigues me is a focus on 'success' and 'satisfaction' with whatever ministry one has done. Should we be emphasising a notion of success in ministry? Does success overshadow service? And are success and satisfaction one and the same? If I encourage some sort of ministry, am I doing so to guarantee success or is it because I am trying to live the words of Jesus? Do we do what we do because we are trying to be faithful to the Gospel message of hope and reconciliation?

Perhaps my angst comes from knowing what life in a small congregation is compared to life in a large congregation, where ministry is more hands-on with fewer layers of committees and hierarchy. Part of it might also come from knowing that more and more congregations can no longer support a 'professionally' trained priest; that a full-time position in this part of the country is going the way of the dinosaurs. More and more of us will have to become bivocational priests, finding alternative sources of income while engaging in ministry. That, in turn, can invite more people into ministry. Perhaps some of my reaction comes from the total sense of uncertainty the institutional church faces across the denominational board. The institutional church occupies a very different place in society than it used to; we can no longer count on civic religion to carry us; we need to get back to basics, the gospel.

This post is a bit rambling because I am still trying to figure out just exactly what is triggering these thoughts. Maybe others can kibbitz and help nail it down. Am I off-base for wondering where have gone the conversations about theology, God and our love of Jesus? I ask myself what I always ask of others: 'What else is going on here?'

That answer is for another post, another time.

A month later

It now has been more than a month since Agatha died. I keep her ashes, fur, paw print, heart and candle in the gold bag in which they arrived when I picked them up from the vet. They sit on the window sill to my desk so that when I look out to the little shed, I see the bag knowing what it contains. It is not that Agatha spent time sitting in front of me, but she did sleep in the baskets that were on either side of me. To add to the collection, I have a little shrine, half serious, half silly, for her.

A friend gave me the little Saint Gertrude statue. I had no idea she was the matron saint of cats. So she watches over Agatha and the two are on a little knitted prayer rug from another friend's congregation. The photo of Agatha is when she was still feeling well (April 2009) and looking her imperious self. But, oh, we still miss her.

However, life goes on.

This is what I see most mornings: August in my face as he stands on my chest ready to lick my forehead (I think I must have an invisible 'M' that most tabby cats have) or, worse, my eyes.

This 1817 house has heaters that are just the right height for making cat nests. These two are sleeping on top of a box that still has kitchen utensils in it. No matter, under the ratty towel is a pillow and the two bask in the forced hot air heat. I suspect Aelred (Orange Guy) was there first.

The evening after August killed a vole in the kitchen, I decided to let things settle down in there so shut them out of the back part of the house (dining room and kitchen). When I came downstairs, they rushed to the door so I had pity on them and let them in. Always a stampede.

Meanwhile, I occasionally have reason to drive around Vermont. This photo shows Killington/Pico taken from Rte I-89, heading south in Randolph. I still struggle with the idea that I am going to have to leave these beloved mountains.



And here is Camels Hump taken from Rte 2 in Burlington.

Vermont got off easy with the blizzard of 2013. We got the usual 12-14 inches. The town plows create cement walls that are tough to shovel or snow blow one's way through; I did penetrate the walls on Saturday and my shoulders are still complaining.

Mission Farm Road on Saturday 9 February. It used to be Rte 4 but now is a tranquil side road, perfect for taking walks (one mile long).

The Guest House at Mission Farm and breezeway between the GH and vicarage. We cleared away a bay in the shed so I could get my car in there. It is a tight fit, only an inch on either side of the rear view mirrors and it doesn't completely protect the car but it is an improvement from having a car turned into a blob of snow. This photo was before I started working on the driveway and walkways.

I live here (loving it), now in my fifth month, but there is such provisionality to it that I haven't unpacked and am trying hard not to settle in. It has been almost a year since I moved out of the rectory. And frankly, life has not been secure since I left Northfield  in November 2008. Security is illusory, for sure, but sometimes it can seem steadier.


I occasionally have to remind myself that I am still and always will be a priest (photo taken at the cathedral before a RHE for a colleague last month). I passed my 19th anniversary two weeks ago and find myself in my 20th year still unemployed. I supply on Sundays so at least I am connected that way with an aspect of priesthood. To an outsider it probably looks as though I am doing nothing but I have been wrestling all this time with the distinction between the vocational and professional priesthood. It seems to me that as churches diminish in numbers, size and income, those who serve congregations will be forced to return to a vocational priesthood in which the main source of income no longer comes from the congregation but from another job. The priesthood, the esse, will be part of the individual but the individual will not have the luxury (or challenge depending on how one looks at it) of spending all of his or her time within the confines of the church. Twenty years ago, this sort of priest was called a tent-maker or bi-vocational priest. Call it what you may but for those of us who wish to stay in the northeast where churches are many, congregations are small, this looks like the future. My problem is age and experience... for a struggling congregation calling a priest at the top of the pay scale (my diocese's pay scale tops out at twenty years and then it is just a percentage added on) is not optimum.

So what to do? Where to go? How to live this vocation out? During this desert time of discernment, I keep trying to figure out what priesthood means to me and how I am being called to live into it. I know that a vocational call is one that is impossible, persistent, good for all and one that others see for you, and that is well and good. But what about the interior landscape? I still don't know other than the idea of leaving the only diocese I have really served (all but ten months of ordained ministry) is unappealing. However, the options truly are running out.

Sometimes the only thing I can do is meditate or, in this case, pray with the General Ordination Exam readers as we gather in community for compline.



So, things are quiet. I just don't have a lot to say. [Nor do I have the patience to figure out the oddball formatting here.]

Dear, dear Agatha

Dear Miss Agatha Birch Funky Paws of many other names departed this life for the greater life on Thursday 3 January 2013 at 6.00PM in the presence of her loving human can openers, a respectful vet tech and gentle vet. She is now fully once again her feisty, imperious, opinionated self, ready to put any young whippersnapper into shape.

Saying goodbye is always heartbreaking, especially when the one to whom you are saying goodbye is so utterly trusting. But I think the Grey Lady was worn out and had a sense that it was time. She did not put up any fight and went peacefully.

So, goodbye, little one. This is one of the last photos I took of us together before we made the final trip.

I am sure this little kitty is more handsome than this photograph... the day that Agatha left us, a friend in El Salvador adopted her first kitteh and asked if she could name him in honour of Agatha. Knowing that agata in Spanish is 'agate' or 'marble,' I said certainly. This little six month-old Siamese's name is AGATHO. When I get a better photo, I will post it.

It has only been six days.

My heart still aches.