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18 de Abril 2009
I used to think
working for the CIA would be a real chore... and getting the job would be even worse.
But now I think it is probably a lot like getting ordained PCUSA.
I didn't realize how funny it would be (and by funny I mean ironic) for me to live this life i live now:
to fly down to cali just for a meeting with my committee, wow them with my honesty and self-aware self-expressive answers to their very normal questions, then fly home that evening to my charmed life in Seattle, wake up the next morning, present a poetry series on Pneumatology to my Systematics C class and then give a two hour reading for an intimate little group of fans at the little local coffee shop where I am a serious regular.
but that is what happened. and if I told you the whole story there would be an interlude about a good friend explaining that she slept with this really cute boy twice in one week because she just really didn't want it to be a one night stand.
and I would tell that I just couldn't sit by and watch the performance art presentation of one of my Theology classmates as she attempted to toss back 250 single serve, communion-to-go shots of grape juice and wafers to prove a point to herself and to us about how lonely Holy Communion can be. So I conspired with my neighbor, and as I rose from my chair to help her eat all that Jesus, I was so nervous about participating I missed the look of overwhelming gratitude on her face but my co-conspirator did not.
Thursday I met with the Committee that will authorize my candidacy for ordination in the PCUSA. I felt nervous and afraid of them. I thought that they would take one look at me and decide to ask harsh questions. I was afraid they would assume I had an inverted reading practice and ignore the larger context and conversation of my life.
I told myself to give them the benefit of the doubt and sat in shock as they gently probed, asking very normal questions about the story that had brought me to their table. They were putting together the puzzle of facts and their feelings, tying up the loose ends in their minds and I think I saw wonder and admiration in their faces as they did so.
It was not the normal intake interview--I have that on good authority. They asked questions they have asked of others who have hoped to come under their care but I could tell by their reactions that I was not giving the answers they expected. I was accidentally asking them to reorder even their kindest perceptions of me and it was causing them to make note that what is important to me might differ from what is important to them, if only slightly, but in impactful ways.
The best explanation I have for the way the interview went was written down weeks ago in the notes from my Reading Practices class: "When we begin to create meaning around the biblical text we say, "these are the things that matter." As they listened to the story of my call to seek ordination, the committee seemed to follow all the rules we set out for treating any text with dignity and curiosity.
They wondered if their reading of my story took context into consideration: theirs, mine, and ours. They acknowledged the breadth and depth of my impact on and interaction with the larger community. They let my story disarm other stories they had heard. They found a way for my, very particular story to fit within the broader framework of the text of professional ministry. They saw me as human and speaking of the human experience and as I worked to explain the inner coherence of my story, they graciously sifted together the anecdotes and short answers, matching large answers to small questions. I am not sure if their understanding of God's person was enlarged but only because I think they were working with a pretty big God and assuming that even though the process seemed like law, they were ready to show grace wherever possible.
There would also be a part in the story of this week about the impromptu dance party after the reading at the coffee shop, and the break dance lessons and the lecture I got from a friend who just couldn't believe I didn't warn him about a zit on the side of his nose because I just didn't care about the zit on his lovely face because it didn't make it less kind, less fuzzy, less laughing or less helpful, in fact it made it a lot more human. Brenda used to say that when you really love someone you look at his face and say, "woah, what a cool zit!" and she won the Guggenheim Fellowship and everything.
watch this and listen for the second piece about custody battles... it will explain so much about me.
that was how she looked when she had just finished running my life for a couple years.
I have that book, you know, you can look at it, if you want but you can't borrow it because i can't really bear to part with it. i bought it for one of her classes and didn't have the nerve to ask her to sign it even though i love it very much and she probably saved my life once or twice i never told her that. she explains how she was working out a feminist geography right after reading the custody battle poem and how she named her car caliban, like the character from shakespeare... how could you not lover her annoying little voice?
tonight we go to see Swan Lake, and the 32 fouettes and I am feeling really a lot like all the deciduous and ornamental fruit trees, with all their new leaves just peeking out from between certain blossoms, looking a little awkward, the way I do, when Spring is happening inside me but I am not sure it is time to let it show.
I used to think I had to ask for respect for my tiny accomplished life, now I think I have to ask for presence and the respect will follow; if I invite you in, there is a chance you will come respectfully
and I have to
take that
chance.
just in case | By crymytinyflood | 10:17 AM
