Bold Gestating Heart of Goodness

Later this week I will participate in a panel called, "Women of the Cloth." It's part of a series of events at Montclair State University celebrating Women's History Month. (For the schedule of all events, see p. 4 of the Women's Center newsletter.) Among the questions panelists are asked to prepare are these: Does God have a gender? Does being a woman influence your answer?

In an effort to get my creative juices flowing, I went to a webpage that I also visit when my prayers (personal or professional) are becoming lackluster. The webpage 25 Million Names for God, which actually has 25,411,681 names for God, is part of the site for Seekers Church. (The church is located in DC. I only know it through the website, but it's worth taking a look at the creative things they do in worship, especially regarding inclusivity.)

So I generated a few names for God while I was there. My favorites tonight are "Bold Gestating Heart of Goodness" and "Hidden Blessing Seamstress of Patience."

Bold Gestating Heart of Goodness. It's perfect, isn't it? It's incomplete, as all names for God are, yet full, warm, and encouraging, too. How safe I feel to know that God is still gestating, still creating, still at work on the world and the creatures in it. It makes me think of the expectant mother in my yoga class who still stands on her head at 6 months pregnant and glows with a calm joy.

And Hidden Blessing Seamstress of Patience. Not "tailor," mind you, but seamstress. How perfect for "Women of the Cloth" preparations! I think of God who sometimes likes to work behind the scenes, but is careful and caring enough to hem me in with blessings tailored to the moments when I need them. And Seamstress God knows I need the patience some days!

While I am in need of ideas (or at least words to articulate some of the ideas I have about God), I trust that praying to the Bold Gestating Heart of Goodness and then drifting off to the world of dreams where God and I often communicate is a good way to do some of my preparation.

(Note that the image here is by Deborah Koff-Chapin and is from her Touch Drawing website. She's one of my favorites for adding images to my prayers and personal reflections.)

Please, anything but that!

More than a few days ago now I was (in not so many words) called a name that is still ringing in my ears. I've thought it over, and I can't imagine being called anything more insulting--or more shocking, for that matter! It was not malicious, but it was defensive on the part of the name-caller who obviously didn't know me very well. What on earth was this terrible name?

Biblical literalist.

I continue to hope that I did not actually look as horrified as I was in that moment when I nearly fell out of my chair, but I can't really be sure how much of that showed on my face.

In a conversation that had gotten far off topic, the issue of giving to the church was being discussed. A life-long church goer insisted that his Bible didn't tell him to give anymore than he was currently giving. I told him (gently, of course) to take another look at his Bible. I reminded him of stories like "The Rich Ruler" and "The Widow's Offering," then I suggested that we could look at these together. That's when he responded, "No because we'll just argue about interpretation. I don't understand the Bible literally the way you do..." He continued, but I was in too much shock to really catch the rest of his words.

My feeling insulted at being called a "biblical literalist" is problematic. It brought new awareness to a deep us/them divide in my mind. It called attention to my assumptions that the biblical literalists are over there, far away from me and those who think like me over here. What's in some ways worse still is that, on this matter, the man was correct. I do not think that Jesus' stories about giving are metaphorical; I believe that faithful followers of Christ are literally expected to sell everything that they own and give the proceeds to the poor. I believe we (if you're like me and have not yet done this) would understand a lot more about scripture, the nature of Christ, and love if we got some distance from our consumerism. I think we would surely learn something about accepting people and overlooking faults and problems if we had such serious problems of our own as finding a safe place to sleep and enough food and clean water to survive. I think we would better understand personal sacrifice, and perhaps we would be in position to glimpse the love that prompted divine sacrifice.

My own consumerism is troubling me more and more these days as I keep turning over in my mind the passages of scripture where I am a biblical literalist. So I continue to ponder what it means to be grouped with those people, those literalists. If "they" are consistent with their literal interpretations, then we have more in common than I thought. Perhaps I need to seek out a literalist or two and find out what else we agree upon...

Passing by the Tomb of Jonah

More than seven years ago now, when I was in the belly of a whale (though for very different reasons than Jonah), a dear friend gave me this Carl Sandburg quote. I recite it often and have shared with many people in fish bellies and tombs since then. I believe Sandburg's words.

If I should pass by the tomb of Jonah
I would stop there and sit for a while;
Because I was swallowed one time deep in the dark
And came out alive after all.
from Carl Sandburg's "Losers"

Last weekend I passed by the tomb of Jonah. This was hardly my first passing-by, but it was the first time in quite a while that I stopped to sit. Almost as soon as I paused I found that tears flowed freely, memories raced wildly, and I felt like I was in the whale belly all over again. Such things should be expected, I suppose, especially since my work takes me by many tombs and asks me to spend some time in the dark.

My work as pastor calls me to spend time with people in dark times and around tombs. My particular ministry is to be with those who grieve. The very nature of this work means that I am a passerby of many tombs and a spelunker of fish bellies by choice in order to check on those who are still waiting to be spit up onto the shore. I want to be sure that they, too, will "[come] out alive after all."

As the result of re-entering that belly only days ago (just to peek around and remember in some very real ways) and giving thanks for having come out alive, I begin this journey of shared reflection.