Long Time No . . .

Chris Monk gave me a hard time the other night at a Worship Team meeting. Wondered why I had been so silent for so long. I don't think I can answer that right away, but I guess that I have to be honest with myself and say that some events from about a year ago still fill me with anxiety, and especially about where I may say what with what level of safety assured. (I mean, sometimes no matter what I say or don't say, things blow up.)

That being (un)said, I want to take advantage of my own thoughts about what this year might entail at our church in Flint.

I wanted to share with our program people in worship and music, lifespan learning and membership some ideas about how I wanted to shape the "liturgical year." ("Liturgy" is about the work of the "li" people, that is, the laity. So it is important that they have a clue where I think we/they ought to take their/our work. Right?!)

I wanted to follow the patterns of the natural year plus the cultural year. So the fall was the time of ingathering and celebration, and also a time to say that, about last spring and summers conflicts, it was now time to make amends.

September--hospitality theme

October--atonement theme

November--gratitude theme

Winter begins a time of bundling, of gathering around the hearth and drawing close to each other. It becomes a place to share the "deep thoughts" of a community, and, when walking under the clear winter sky when the cloud cover is so dispersed, to look at those stars and to imagine what it means to be "the stuff of stars." We also mark the cultural holidays of the season, and anticipate spring.

December--embodiment theme

January--struggle theme

February--forgiveness theme

March--transformation theme

Finally, we rejoice as nature awakens, as sap runs and flowers emerge, as snow melts away and water rushes to green us. We receive energy and share energy and look at things with anticipation of fruitfulness and favor.

April--regeneration theme

May--engagement theme

June--hope theme

The summer then becomes a time of potpourri, a variety of experiences with people coming and going. I try very intentionally not to draw a distinction between "minister's services" and "lay services" because I think I have vocational and professional responsibility for all of them, and, from my point of view, all services are lay services (again, the work of the laity). But, in truth, I am only present for about half the services in the summer, and it becomes a time of greater variety even as the congregation itself has more variety as people leave on vacations, go to the places "up north," etc.

Projecting forward a year has meant that I am more conscious as I study, week by week, of materials which will be part of the future Sunday story of this congregation. I hope it is making me a better minister. It certainly has been a way for me to raise the bar of expectations for myself. I feel far more powerful.

Good to be writing again. I'll try to keep this up. 

Promises to Keep

I slept in the day after Easter, rather wiped out, and then rushed around a bit yesterday. So finally I am up and about . . . and thinking about this profession, this full-time, called and settled ministry that sometimes unsettles me.

I have been thinking about the ordination promises I made years ago. Standing before the church that raised me, the Committee on Church and Ministry that held me "in care" during seminary, and with colleagues in the United Church of Christ and other traditions, I was asked these questions, and I gave these responses:

David Carl Olson, before God and this congregation, we ask you:

Are you persuaded that God has called you to be an ordained minister of the church of Jesus Christ, and are you ready with the help of God to enter this ministry and to serve faithfully in it?

(I am.)

Do you, with the church throughout the world, hear the word of God in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, and do you accept the word of God as the rule of Christian faith and practice?

(I do.)

Do you promised to be diligent in your private prayers and in reading the scriptures, as well as in the public duties of your office?

(I do, relying on God's grace.)

Will you be zealous in maintaining both truth of the gospel and the peace of the church, speaking the truth in love?

(I will, relying on God's grace.)

Will you be faithful in preaching and teaching the gospel, in administering the sacraments and rites of the church, and in exercising pastoral care and leadership?

(I will, relying on God's grace.)

Will you keep silent all confidences shared with you?

(I will, relying on God's grace.)

Will you regard all people with equal love and concern and undertake to minister impartially to needs of all?

(I will, relying on God's grace.)

Do you accept the faith and order of the United Church of Christ and will you, as an ordained minister in this communion, ecumenically reach out to all who are in Christ and show Christian love to people of other faiths and people of no faith?

(I do and I will, relying on God's grace.)

These promises I call to mind virtually every day. I think that's part of being called to ministry. I may need to interpret them through my own skeptical, liberal, modern lenses, yet still, I hold to them, use them to bind me to a people and to a purpose.

Rev. Alma Faith Crawford preached at my service of ordination, and Rev. Raymond Bradley, Jr. prayed. My Dad presented me with a stole, and my sister Donna a robe that she designed and sewed, and for which the whole family found a variety of buttons. When I robe, when I put on my stole, when I preach, when I pray, all of them are present to me in a vital way; and I think of my promises.

Happy that Easter has come, and that spring will find Flint very soon.

Good afternoon.

Smiling and Satisfied

Okay, I promise that this is not a smarmy post-sex post. But I am sitting here smiling and deeply satisfied about weekend activities that left me totally exhausted.

On Saturday, I had an all-day-and-into-the-night work "day." A training session for volunteers who make our Sunday morning possible (greeters, ushers, worship associates, office and kitchen volunteers and sound technicians) brought 37 people out. That's over a third of our active members. What a joy! We shared thoughts about what we have been able to accomplish with one another; we found places where we weren't sufficiently communicating with one another; we tried to imagine being more consistenly a welcoming place for newcomers. I think we shared some positive ideas and hope that we are finding a way to work together better.

Then I worked on preparation for the Sunday service. We had our Ingathering to mark the start of the program year. I arranged the Sanctuary chairs into as big a circle as the room could hold, and tried to make it so that no one would attempt to sit in a second row. (Failed at that one, by the way.) Got a large plastic washtub, perched on top of a box, in the center of the room, ready to take water brought by attendees from the many places our families have visitied this summer. Then went to Bordine's Nursery in Grand Blanc township to find some plants on-sale to surround the tub. I was expecting mums, of course, and got them. But also found a nice looking flowering plum (bushy, not in flower, but with pretty purple leaves) and a green and yellow Jacob's Ladder. Brought those back to the church in time to greet the leaders of our Youth Group who were setting up for an overnight lock-in of teenagers. Then met with Pia Broden-Williams, our Music Director, to cement the music for Sunday's service. Then made corrections to the Sunday bulletin . . .

You can imagine that I was pretty wiped by midnight, when I got to bed.

At 5:30, I decided to sleep in a little (choosing not to write) and re-set the clock for 7:00 a.m., when I'd see the glow of sunrise, and be thoughtful for a few minutes before showering and dressing and getting to church to have breakfast with the teens and to cut a CD of special music for the Sunday service.

Our Ingathering was as rich as it ever is. I was touched to hear the simple stories some of us shared; to note the connections people made to each other; to laugh when one member sought the aid of another in pouring a half dozen containers of water from many places; to see the "more than water" sharing of a seashell, or a photograph; to encourage the children to note well what was poured into the common receptacle, and to marvel when little candles were floated on the surface of the water to symbolize our prayers.

Amy Derrick, our Director of Lifespan Learning, carried the theological weight of the morning in reading the story, "Water Dance," and then talking about how water is such a potent symbol for many religious traditions. While her story was directed to our children, it was the message for us all, and I delighted to see this very-pregnant and very-vibrant young woman showing intellectual leadership of the community.

Pia Broden-Williams, our Music Director, sang "Come Down, Angels" and led us in our opening song "Come, Come Whoever You Are," during which I led the spiral dance, and the closing "Bashanah haba'a," which we sing as "Soon the Day Will Arrive." Pia was raised in an African Hebraic home, and marks the Jewish Days of Awe, and added a soaring descant in the last chorus, when she and I switched over to Hebrew for a few lines, and sped the tempo up just a bit. (Thank you Jennifer Howard at the piano!)

A group of our children took the water tub out to our Memorial Garden and poured a libation at its portal and then poured the remaining water on many of the trees and plants in thememorial garden. We started with the double white birch which is planted by the ashes of John Straw's parents (his grandsome Chris and Leonard helped) and then it was up to the children's inspired play that the rest of the water was poured. And then, of course, the tub was abandoned, as was I . . .

Our monthly "pot luck" luncheon was full of tomatoes, and good spirits; plenty of interaction among people about activities in the church and in our lives. I shared coffee and a little fruit, and stopped for a moment to discover that a 5:30 meeting I was expecting to attend had been moved to another time. I checked things in the Sanctuary, made sure my study was locked up, and left to go home to fall asleep on the day bed upstairs.

I did stop to check in on Lucy Mercier and her boys (Linda Campbell, who had been up all night with the teenagers had gone to bed), and was pleased to be offered a little oven roasted chicken and some potato salad as the boys ate McDonald's. Jennifer Howard stopped by, too, and Lucy and I made arrangements for our weekly Minister and Moderator meeting . . . and then, finally, I went home.

I woke up at 5 or so, considered, for a minute or two, getting up and cutting the grass. But I let that pass, and allowed myself as much sleep as my body would take. Watched a DVD in the early evening (Arlington Road, what an amazing pre-9/11 anti-terrorism movie), and then finally hit the sack at 11.

And rose this morning smiling and satisfied. Watered the transplants and the new plants waiting to be put into the garden. Moved some variegated ivy out of the window boxes and porch urns and into a space at the edge of a maple tree where not much seems to grow. Watered my herbs, again, and the very late gladioli. Tossed old watermelon rind into the cuttings and leaf pile (not managed anough to be a real compost pile!). Then came to work to start the day a litttle early.

Overcast, cool, invigorating.

Good morning.