Life. Love. Liturgy.
  • Gathering place
  • Thealogical Lady: A Blog
  • Thean Psalter
    • Thea House Church
  • About
    • Books
  • Contact

Hand to Hand, Mother to Daughter: Part 1 (Guest Post)

10/7/2017

1 Comment

 
Picture

Keeley Bruner

Keeley Bruner is the mother of two daughters and a devoted, progressive member of the Disciples of Christ Church. In this three-part series, she writes of the challenge of handing on her faith in ways that mirror the best of her own religious upbringing while reflecting the ways in which her faith has matured and widened in adulthood.

Growing up in my home, faith was always a part of my life. It was woven into the fabric of our family through weekly worship services and prayer meetings, blessings before meals, bedtime stories and prayers, and frequent conversations with family members. As I got older, my involvement in church activities increased, and my own understanding of my faith and what was framed as my personal relationship with Jesus Christ grew. I remained cozy in evangelical Christianity throughout my college years, continuing to attend church, engage in daily personal Bible study and prayer, and serve through my college’s Campus Crusade for Christ ministry.

Whenever someone begins a spiritual autobiography this way, the implication is often that something then happened, that some shift occurred to change the trajectory of the expected path. And while these things did happen, I can’t trace it to a single event or even period of time. Maybe it was meeting my husband the summer before my senior year in college, a deeply intelligent and thoughtful man whose own faith had undergone significant dissembling and reassembling in the months before we met. Maybe it was traveling to Uzbekistan on a cultural exchange with my college ministry buddies and experiencing the love and hospitality of people of different, or no faith, there. Maybe it was moving to Cambridge, MA after getting married right out of college, where we experienced a definite cultural shift from our suburban Bible-Belt environment. Maybe it was hanging out with Jesuits, Franciscans, Benedictines, and other Catholics at my husband’s graduate school there, or experiencing the social activism of our Baptist church home in Cambridge. Maybe it was moving to Princeton, NJ and finding our spiritual home at a United Church of Christ congregation in the middle of that small, idyllic town, and witnessing the fire of older saints’ faith which had been forged through decades of practicing progressive Christianity. Maybe it was Obama, and the way he engaged people of all faiths to see the possibility and necessity of using government to care for the least of these. Maybe it was the work of Jim Wallis, of reading issue after issue of Sojourners and seeing the ways that Christians are jumping in and doing the real work of caring for the poor without keeping cost, without needing numbers and conversions to bolster their faith. Maybe it was experiencing pregnancy and giving birth, and realizing the magic of growing a person inside my body and nourishing a baby with my own milk, with my own life, twice. Maybe it was moving to Tempe, AZ and being pulled as if with a magnet to our faith community here, the most ragtag, loving, beautiful bunch of misfits I ever saw, with our hearts open wide to whatever, and whomever, may come through our doors.

It’s possible that the shift had something to do with the guilt of never doing enough in my previous Christian tradition, of always falling short but never fully being able to count on God to still love me or the grace of Jesus to fill the gap between who I was and who I should be. It’s possible it had to do with the bean-counting I found here and there, of how many testimonies shared and how many souls converted when the work of Christ encompassed so much more in my mind. It’s possible it had to do with the boiling down of the broad, deep, wide, incomprehensibly beautiful work of the Spirit into 4 sentences, each illustrated by pertinent cartoons. And most recently, it’s possible the final shift slipped into place with the realization that 82% of my former cohorts used their rights, and privilege, to catapult the coarse, vulgar, greedy celebrity we know as the leader of our land into power.

The fact is that it’s done, that the trajectory has been different than it might have been. While I have faith in God, love for Christ, and a kinship with the Spirit that are true, deep, and meaningful to me on a daily basis, how these are manifested departs significantly from what I might have expected based on my early life. But as I expressed above, I like to think of that conversion as a moving towards something, rather than away from something. I think of it as embracing a much larger God than I had imagined, with a much more expansive love than I had been told and a closer knowledge and presence with us than I had ever envisioned.

While my faith surely remains simply a part of my identity, another reason it matters at this point in my life is my children. Having come from where I did (mark my husband’s beginning at roughly the same place on the spectrum) and having traveled to where I am now (repeat), how do I foster a life of faith in my family in a thoughtful, genuine way? The church we attend has a small and hardy children’s ministry but, as my own mother decided, I don’t want to depend on that alone to impart the beauty of Christian faith to my daughters. I may not want them to grow up in the cradle of Evangelicalism the way I did, but there are many facets of my upbringing I certainly wish to convey to them. So, what is a Progressive Christian to do?
1 Comment

What I'm not teaching my daughters

10/15/2015

0 Comments

 
As I retranslate the Book of Psalms, I come across too many instances in which the psalmist writes something like this:

"Pour out your wrath upon the heathen who have not known you
 and upon the the kingdoms that have not called upon your Name."
--Psalm 79

This usually comes after several lines of lament about how God has become angry at Israel and turned God's face away from them, so that their enemies overpower them. I'm nearly finished translating the Psalter, and I'm shocked at how often lines like these come up. How did I pray the whole Psalter every month when I was a Benedictine Canon (Novice)? How did I let such vengeful words pass my lips?

I suspect the rote character of reciting the psalms daily, combined with the daunting task of chanting the psalm tones correctly, dampened the impact of the words I was praying. In other words, I didn't know what I was praying. Now that I approach these words again, psalm by psalm, line by line, I can no longer gloss over them like I once did. I feel compelled to leave them out altogether. I don't want my daughters to learn that, if things are going badly for them, a) God is mad at them, or b) they have a right to wish God's wrath on someone else. Both of those ideas are completely backwards according to my thealogy.

I'm struggling as I finish this translation to remain true to the text when there's so much that I find thealogically problematic. There are many beautiful, transformative lines in the psalms, like "Create in me a clean heart, O God" (Psalm 51). There are many lines of praise to God, and gratitude for the wonders of creation, the work of God's hands. Those lines are lines that I will teach my daughters to memorize. I may even keep some of the lines that ask God why she has turned her face away, because it's a very human thing to search for reasons for the bad things that happen to us. When things are truly awful, it's natural for one to question God about why it's happened. But I will not teach my daughters to believe that God is wrathful, much less that God takes out her wrath on people when she loses her temper. My Goddess doesn't work like that. My Goddess is a Goddess of mercy, love, and tender care.

I feel a loss as I continue my work on the Psalter--elements of my childhood faith that I accepted without question are now no longer acceptable to me, and I'm having to let them go. I'm even having to rethink the Exodus, because I can't attribute the plagues to God's will. The Judeo-Christian pillars of my faith are failing, and I'm having to reimagine Goddess from the ground up.

Despite my losses, I trust that this book of prayer I'm creating is also revealing Goddess to me, one line at a time.
0 Comments

Priest

10/2/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
When I was a girl, the rule was that a female couldn't be a priest. I embraced that rule right up through my freshman year of college, when I defended the male-only priesthood of the Roman Catholic Church as "sacred tradition."

In the fifteen years since then, I've met dozens of female clergy, Christian and Jewish, who have helped me reimagine who can be a pastor. A year and a half ago, a discernment committee helped me affirm what I had come to suspect: that I, a woman, had a vocation to priestly ministry.

This year, I've embraced that vocation, becoming a house-church priest.

And the other day, I received clergy apparel in the mail.

Can a woman wear a clerical collar?

I'm wearing one. The garb is the outer sign of an inner truth: I am minister, pastor, priest.

It's just clothing. But now my outside matches my inside. I'm humbled by what I see in the mirror, and I yearn to embrace all that that means for me.

0 Comments

93

4/3/2015

0 Comments

 
Thea,
I recounted Jesus' journey to Golgotha today,
and then I lay on the floor, prostrate, arms outstretched.
I was still for so long that my older daughter grew quiet.
If Jesus' crucifixion was indeed a ransom for the sin of the world,
then give me the strength to throw all my sins against the cross.
Remind me that this is the day when we remember
the unjust murder of a man
and teach me to love and protect all the living
with all my heart.
Amen.
0 Comments

Spirit Whispers: Philadelphia 11

7/29/2014

0 Comments

 
Picture
The Philadelphia 11, July 29, 1974
On this Feast of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, another celebration is underway: the fortieth anniversary of the ordination of the Philadelphia 11, the first women to be ordained in the Episcopal Church.

I am grateful for God's prophetic call on the lives of these women. I am grateful for their obedience to God--which manifested as disobedience to the unjust, unholy policies of their church.

I am grateful that these women paved the way for other women to respond faithfully to the call they hear from God without fear.

I am grateful for the first experience I had of Sunday liturgy at St. Augustine's Episcopal Church, at which the first thing I noticed was a woman standing at the altar as an ordained deacon--and no one was rioting. No one even batted an eyelash (except me).

I am grateful that the presence of ordained women is normal in the Episcopal Church. I am grateful that the face of the Episcopal Church in the United States, the Presiding Bishop, is a woman (and one of great wisdom).

I am grateful for this church that perceived its own call to be prophetically transformed after eleven women stood up, risking everything that mattered to them, to respond to God's will.

I am grateful that these eleven icons of Martha made it possible for me to sit more easily, like Mary, at the feet of Jesus and hear what he has to say.

0 Comments

Spirit Whispers: Peace

7/15/2014

0 Comments

 
Last night this news alert came to my e-mail from the N.Y. Times: Israel’s Security Cabinet Accepts Egyptian Cease-fire Proposal.

The war over God-given land rights that's been taking place between Israel and Palestine since the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 continues to escalate. I woke up this morning to another headline: a young Palestinian was murdered after three young Israelis sought a victim to avenge the murder of three young Israelis who went missing last month, whose bodies were discovered a couple of weeks ago.

I received an e-mail from a local synagogue yesterday asking for help in the form of protein bars for special teams of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). Do I support the murder that springs forth from this terror-filled war by helping the soldiers? Do I support murder if I don't help the soldiers? As I scroll through the social network feeds of my Jewish and Muslim friends, I see anger and shame at the failure on both sides to seek peace. I see two controversial Facebook groups, "Israel Loves Palestine" and "Palestine Loves Israel," decrying the hatred and violence.

How long will the fight over this holy land continue? How long will bloodshed reign? How long will terror beget terror?

I am aware that this is not my fight, that I am a privileged, white, Christian American who has little reason to fear for her safety on the basis of borders or religion. But it is my fight, because we are all human, and all the world is the household of God.


Did you read the story about the 16-year old Palestinian boy, Mohammed Abu Khdeir, who was kidnapped and murdered about a week and a half ago by a gang of Israeli young men and boys?

It's this picture of what happened afterward that stands out for me:
Picture
Photo: facebook.com/unify
Over four hundred Israeli mothers came to offer condolences to Mohammed Abu Khdeir's family.

Perhaps it will be women who end this horrific fight. Perhaps it will be women who illumine the way to kindness that knows no boundaries, compassion that transcends religious ties, and self-emptying, hatred-deflating love that witnesses to God's embrace of all creation.

May peace come swiftly--in Palestine, in Israel, and in my own stony heart.

What in me needs to change so that my religion and my nation's borders do not threaten the lives and joy of others? What in me needs to change so that I might become a bright beacon of God's enveloping peace?
0 Comments

Spirit Whispers: Making Miracles

7/8/2014

1 Comment

 
Picture
Every morning, my 13-month old and I race to see who will make it from sleep to wakefulness first. She usually wins.

When we're both awake, I will myself to stand up out of bed, and then I move over to beckon her to stand up in her play-yard, wiggling my fingers and smiling. If she's still sleepy, it'll take her a few moments, but when she smiles back I know she's ready. I pick her up, we move into the bathroom to look at one another in the mirror, and then we go to the refrigerator to fetch her morning milk. I put her in the gated living room and fetch her some Cheerios to nosh on, and sometimes I join her there and sit.

A new element has entered our morning ritual when I join her. She fetches a fistful of Cheerios, toddles over to me, and extends her hand to my mouth, her eyes filled with expectation. The surprise of this gesture doesn't fade. I open my mouth. She places a Cheerio on my tongue, or on my teeth, and I use American Sign Language along with my voice to say "Thank you!" after I've crunched on my little wheaty gift.

My daughter feeds me. My daughter, who hasn't yet experienced the waters of baptism, is Christ enfleshed. She feeds the hungry and breaks open a stony heart as she does it.


I don't know much about my female ancestors, but I wonder if there were women like my daughter among them, women who were bold in doing priestly work, even if they could never take the title of priest. Will my daughter be a priest of Christ and feed those who hunger? Will she be someone more extraordinary and surprising than I can imagine?

1 Comment

Spirit Whispers: Speak up

6/17/2014

0 Comments

 
Picture
If you've never had the experience of participating in a spiritual discernment committee, I invite you to consider it.

After my fifth (and final) meeting with my discernment committee for priesthood yesterday evening, my committee confirmed that they heard my call to priesthood. And that's not even the extraordinary part.

The extraordinary part is that, as I prayed yesterday before my meeting, I prayed for total surrender to God's will, and for the faithfulness not to run if that will was something my ego didn't like. My total surrender granted me total, deep, quieting peace.

The extraordinary part is that, having let go of my attachment to the outcome of my discernment process, I happened to read (during evening prayer) the story in Matthew about the disciples who wanted to know why they couldn't heal the sick on their own when Jesus so easily could. Jesus told them it was because they lacked faith, and that if they had faith even the size of a mustard seed, mountains would move for them. And I realized at that moment that my mustard seed faith was what had moved the mountain of my ego in order to make a straight path for Spirit to enter and dwell deep within my heart.

The extraordinary part is that, despite having a clear sense of call when I walked into the process, my sense of call widened and deepened and became more rooted as the dialogue went on.

The extraordinary part is that, especially in the final two meetings, as I listened to the challenging questions of my committee members, I perceived Spirit doing the asking. And as I offered my vulnerable, open-hearted answers, I perceived Spirit speaking through me. (It's fair to say that I've never experienced God's voice speaking to me so powerfully as I have in my discernment committee meetings, and for a Benedictine who hears God speaking to her through liturgy and scripture and encounters with others all the time, that's saying a lot.)

The extraordinary part is that, despite my Enneagram-three-personality-type's desire to manage a situation in such a way that the outcome is "positive," I was required to relinquish my ability to do that in order to speak plainly and truthfully. I was painfully aware that my deep honesty could at any moment result in the humiliation of my ego, and I spoke anyway. In that total risk of my ego, I realized it was not my ego that spoke, but Spirit.

When I walked out of my meeting last night, I had no idea what my committee members had heard. I didn't know what they would say. My three-ish ability to anticipate the outcome of the process failed me spectacularly. And I perceived in my failure the possibility of God's success--success in finding a way to make use of the quirky instrument that I am.

My committee is passing me on to the next steps of the discernment process, steps that will be challenging in their own ways. What my committee heard may not be confirmed by the next folks I encounter in the discernment process. But what happens next is not my concern.

The most important piece to emerge for me from this discernment process is the profound recognition that my heart--my whole heart--belongs to the one I call God. Whatever comes, I know that I will be faithful to the path God has prepared for me. I won't turn away. This is God's gig, and I am God's beautiful, imperfect instrument.

What song(s) will God choose to play through me for the uplifting, healing, and reconciling of her creation?

0 Comments

Spirit Whispers: Let it go

6/16/2014

0 Comments

 
Picture
Nevermind the missing apostrophe and the muddled graphic, if you can.

I've been pondering the role my ego has to play in keeping me from fulfilling my call, and I've realized over the last week that it could make or break it.

Christian vocation is paradoxical. Without releasing my attachment to the desire to succeed, I won't succeed. Without releasing my attachment to being an outstanding Christian role model, I won't be one. Without releasing my attachment to having things go the way I think God's planning them, I may interfere with God's plans.

Christian vocation requires a release of ego and all its attachments and wants. Christian vocation requires nothing more or less than for me to become an open, ready vessel of extraordinary capability, so God can work God's wonders through me.

0 Comments

Eastertide: Day 10

4/29/2014

0 Comments

 
PictureSt. Catherine of Siena
I am struck by this image of St. Catherine of Siena, whose feast Christians celebrate today. She is enormous. She is standing, looking eye to eye with the beholder from slightly above the beholder. She is bold and magnificent and holy all at once.

Women just aren't portrayed this way often in the Christian tradition.

St. Catherine is considered a doctor of the church. On prayer.forwardmovement.org, she is described this way, "
One tends to think of medieval women as silent and passive dwellers in homes and convents. This was far from the case with Catherine of Siena. She exercised great influence in matters of church and state, and hers was one of the keenest minds of her day."

St. Catherine was a Dominican, and Dominicans have a special charism to preach. She took her charism so seriously that she dared to confront Pope Gregory XI--and she left having persuaded him to see things from her view.

I see in this extraordinary woman a model of bold, faithful, wise, and total devotion to God and God's work. She did not cower away behind medieval expectations of what her role was to be in the world. She stood taller and brighter than all her counterparts, female and male alike, not with self-preoccupation but with a keen vision of the vital part she had to play in the bringing about of God's reign--and God's holy work was done through her. She had the humility to say yes to being extraordinary.

In what ways am I called to say yes to being extraordinary? In what ways do I allow my fear to inhibit me from playing my part in bringing about God's reign?

0 Comments

Living Lent: Maundy Thursday Mystagogy

4/18/2014

3 Comments

 
Picture
"Maundy" comes from "Mandatum," which refers to Jesus' mandate to his friends to wash the feet of others just as he washed theirs at the last supper before his death. The act of washing a dinner-guest's feet was normally reserved for a slave, and it meant coming into contact with whatever a first-century Jewish person in Jerusalem might have stepped in or on--dirt, feces, bugs, waste-water, nettles, anything. The host of a dinner wouldn't make his own hands impure by touching the unclean feet of his guests.

And yet.

Nowadays, folks who are planning to have their feet washed during the ritual enactment of Jesus' foot-washing take pity on those who wash feet. They wash their own feet in advance, maybe even manicure them, making sure every last trace of "ewww" is gone.

I might have done this, too, but in the midst of preparing to sing many new-to-me hymns for liturgy, I forgot.

At my parish, anyone can have her feet washed. As the foot-washing ritual got underway, it looked as though everyone was choosing to do this. So despite my dirty feet, I went forward.

Exposing my feet, allowing the clean hands of another to wash them, was humiliating.
And in my humiliation, a new gateway for grace manifested.

What a gift to receive the blessing of the holy other who beheld my uncleanness and loved me anyway.

Isn't this receiving and giving the entirety of the Christian call?

3 Comments

Living Lent: Powers of Mercy

4/5/2014

2 Comments

 
Picture
As my Benedictine Canon community prepares to engage in a formal discernment process about its future ministries this afternoon, my mind is on spiritual and corporal works of mercy.

"Works" is a loaded word that most folks of Protestant inclinations dislike. "Works" sounds like that dangerous idea of trying to make ourselves look better to God so we can get more grace (which is the notion so unhelpfully espoused in practice, if not in teaching, by the Roman Catholic Church in the Middle Ages). Martin Luther was no fan of this. He, an Augustinian monk, was excommunicated for speaking out prophetically against the notion that we could manipulate God to get God to gives us more grace (mainly in the form of indulgences sold by the church).

There is a long-standing patristic tradition of two kinds of works of mercy: spiritual works of mercy and corporal works of mercy, both of which are worth listing here.

Spiritual Works of Mercy

  • To instruct the ignorant;
  • To counsel the doubtful;
  • To admonish sinners;
  • To bear wrongs patiently;
  • To forgive offences willingly;
  • To comfort the afflicted;
  • To pray for the living and the dead.

Corporal Works of Mercy

  • To feed the hungry;
  • To give drink to the thirsty;
  • To clothe the naked;
  • To harbor the harborless;
  • To visit the sick;
  • To ransom the captive;
  • To bury the dead.

Rather than referring to these fourteen acts as works of mercy, I would prefer to refer to them as powers of mercy. Christians are empowered by baptism to do all these as acts of discipleship to Christ. Our purpose, our mission, is to go out to the world to use our power to act in these ways, because this is this sort of power that Christ bestowed (and bestows) on his followers. The power we are given is radically counter-cultural, noted only rarely by wider society (and then only in people like Mother Teresa of Calcutta) because these powers are embraced in such a lukewarm way by so many Christians (myself included).

Imagine with me a Christianity in which Christians devoted themselves not to the preservation of their own religious status quo, but rather to embracing and exhibiting the powers of mercy bestowed
on them in baptism. Imagine Christian communities taking the lead of Martin Luther in upsetting their own lukewarm faith, emptying themselves of their own chaff that they might make way for the grains of wheat that God seeks to plant in them. What if we Christians allowed ourselves to become living bread, the risen, powerful Body of Christ in and for the world?

2 Comments

Living Lent: Homily, Lent III

3/24/2014

2 Comments

 
Picture
Many weeks ago I was invited by the vicar of St. Augustine's Church to give a homily at both Sunday liturgies for the third Sunday of Lent. Yesterday was the third Sunday of Lent, and these are the words that I shared with my fellow parishioners.

Lent III Lessons: Genesis 44:1-17, Psalm 95, Romans 8:1-10, John 5:25-29

"From the wilderness the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as God commanded. And they camped, but there was no water for the people to drink." This is what we hear from the book of Exodus. God's people had been journeying for a long time. They were hopeful and excited about their newfound freedom from slavery in Egypt. But in the midst of their journey, tired and weary from walking, they found themselves in a place that had no water to quench their thirst. When they got upset about it, Moses got upset at them for being upset. And then God finally relented and gave the people a spring of water. The scripture writer notes throughout the story that God's people persisted in doubt.

There's something strange about this. Why would God bring God's beloved people out of slavery and then leave them out to dry, literally? They're in the wilderness, a place unknown to them, and they're thirsting. Thirst is no insignificant thing. Thirst, if left unquenched long enough, could lead to death. Thirst is such a fearful experience that there are psalms dedicated to it: in Psalm 42 we pray, "As the deer that pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for God," and in Psalm 63 we pray "My soul is thirsting for you, O God, like a dry, weary land without water."

For the people of Israel, a dry land was an unfruitful land. A dry people was a dying people.

And here we are, on the third Sunday of Lent, not quite halfway through our journey in the Lenten wilderness, and we find ourselves parched. My guess is that you, like I, have given up something for Lent (in my case, being the overachiever that I am, I gave up four things). If you're like me, your Lenten fasting leaves you yearning, sometimes bitterly, sometimes desperately, for the familiar comforts you gave up on Ash Wednesday.

This Sunday's lessons are all about water and thirst, and they may be the most important ones we hear during Lent. We think of Lent as a time to honor Jesus' ultimate sacrifice on the cross by making sacrifices of our own, and Lent is that, but Lent also has something far more difficult to teach us.

The harder lesson of Lent is difficult to perceive when our fasting is overshadowed by our certainty that relief is coming. Unlike our voluntary Lenten fasting, for the Israelites wandering in the wilderness, there was no timeline or guarantee of reaching an oasis. Their journey out of slavery in Egypt meant leaving behind all their known sources of refreshment, period. It meant taking the extraordinary risk that they might involuntarily and without warning have to abstain from water--an abstinence that, if prolonged, even for a few days, would have the power to claim their lives.

By leaving Egypt, they weren't just taking their lives out of the hands of Pharaoh; by seeking freedom, they were submitting their lives to the mercy of their God, their sole protector from the dangers of the wilderness. As they found themselves stopping to camp in a place with no water, they were terrified. They were so sick with parched mouths and deep thirst that they were no longer sure that the God in whom they had put all their trust would be willing or able to save them from death. They had already journeyed too far from Egypt to go back. Their lives hung by a thread, and they could no longer save themselves. Only God could. And that scared them.

Centuries later, when Jesus offered living water to the Samaritan woman, he was offering her God's new covenant: the promise that as long as she sought this new living water, rather than seeking water from the source she had always turned to, she would never have to fear dying from thirst the way the Israelites had feared dying from thirst in the wilderness.

The lesson from John's gospel isn't merely a story about the Samaritan woman. It's a story about us. We have been offered this same living water by God in our baptism, and yet what do we do?  We build up storehouses of comfort around ourselves in order to make sure that we never have to rely on anyone but ourselves. Our lives get so cluttered by the comforts we take for granted that when we tear away some of those comforts during Lent, we feel a deep, uncomfortable emptiness. We taste a morsel of the same bitter fear that haunted God's people in the wilderness, and we can't wait to get back to the way things were. In the end, we would rather drink from the well that we've always known than trust in some guy who doesn't even know to bring his own bucket. We might give up what we cling to for a few weeks, but who among us is willing to let our comforts go indefinitely? If I let my sources of comfort die, I risk dying, too.

I'd like to suggest that we ask ourselves what we left behind in order to enter this Lenten wilderness, and whether we're willing to leave behind all the rest. Do we dare to empty ourselves of everything we cling to until all we have left is our aching thirst for God and the trust that God won't let us die? Perhaps, as we enter the second half of Lent, we can risk losing it all--every thing we think we need to be happy, all our enslaving attachments, every shackle of our obsessions--and move forward to the unknown, unguaranteed future. And maybe then, as we go forward bearing nothing but our thirst and radical trust in the face of terrifying dryness, God will lift up for us a spring of living water, and we'll be able to rise from our knees to unfettered, quenching, resurrected freedom.

2 Comments

Living Lent: Feast of St. Joseph

3/19/2014

0 Comments

 
Picture
Today is the feast of St. Joseph, husband of Mary (mother of Jesus). He is widely regarded by Christians as the father who adopted, cared for, and protected the son of God.

This is also the day my mother's father was born. I don't mean my biological grandfather, but the grandfather who chose--with my grandmother--to adopt my mother when she had just been born. They were childless and middle-aged, and they took a leap. Without their leap, which one might regard as an act of exceptional obedience to God's call in their lives, you wouldn't be reading this.

My grandfather honored his birthday patron well, and I can't help thinking of him when March 19 comes around. Below I offer a tribute to my memories of his generosity and love, written in the form of a letter, dated several days after his death. I was a senior in high school when he died.

December 8, 1999

Dear Poppidor,

I never got to tell you all this stuff...because after a while, I stopped coming to your house. I began riding the bus to school, and rarely got the chance to go to the 5 & 10 with your complimentary $2. I stopped sleeping over at your house, and began having my own sleepovers. Every place you took me, every memory we shared, grew obsolete as I grew up. The memories were gems, but I didn't know what to do, with you so sick.

I was frightened.

There was so much I didn't know about you. Even though you fixed my knees when I scraped them on the gravel, gave me Squirt from the basement when I was thirsty, let me play on the ivy, gave me rides in the car with the blue interior, and gave me lots of bread for the ducks at the park, all I knew of you was the grandpa side. When you took me and Jasmine to the monument and got us hamburgers to quiet our stomachs, you were the wonderful grandpa, but did I know you? When you were there for my Confirmation, standing as my sponsor, you were kind and patient, but did I know you?

And when you read that article in the newspaper about me, talking about what I'd done for Hoops for Heart in ninth grade, you were so impressed that you gave me my wish, a second thought I'd thrown in during the reporter's interview. You bought the computer that I type on now, that I've cherished so much....

You only bought the computer--you didn't help in its selection. You were afraid with all of us that you would buy the wrong thing--that we wouldn't be happy. There was only one exception--the exception you made for me. Was it my fourth or fifth birthday? when I received the stuffed clown, the one I named Pepper, the one who rules among all my Barbie dolls and stuffed animals. Pepper was the best gift I'd ever received, because it was the only one you dared to give. And it was perfect.

Those butter cookies are getting stale. The oyster crackers are drying out. The V8 might last a little longer, but not forever. Your offerings of food and drink will never sate me again. The davenport will grow dusty, as all the rooms did. I won't sprawl my sleeping bag on the dented green carpet in the living room, with my red-print nightgown and Care-bears. I won't touch the nightlight. I won't play with the lovely dancer on the shelf. I won't climb on tiptoe to see the mirror.

All these things, even the ones unmentioned, will become dimmer in my mind as time continues its path. Tears will trickle down my cheeks as I struggle to remember all those things....

But in the meantime, I will watch, listen, and learn. There were many things about you I didn't know. You were more than a wonderful grandpa--you were a wonderful person! I want to know that person. Maybe, if I learn more about that person, I will learn more about myself--or at least have something to aspire to. 

I hope you have listened, and filled in the blanks where I forgot.

I love you.

Your granddaughter,


Michelle

0 Comments

Living Lent: International Women's Day

3/8/2014

0 Comments

 
Picture
In honor of International Women's Day, I was invited to offer a feminist, Christian reflection on the story of Jesus and the woman at the well. I invite you to read my reflection below or at the original post on the Sophia Network.


I remember growing up with the story of the woman at the well: the woman was 'bad' because she had five husbands, and Jesus decided to save her from her sin by offering her living water, which was obviously the water of baptism.  Pretty straightforward: she changes who she is, accepts baptismal water, and she’s saved from her sinful ways.

Something niggles at me when I hear this story these days. Questions crop up all over the place, and I’m ready to accuse Jesus for daring to approach her the way he does. Why is Jesus, a Jewish man, talking to a non-Jewish woman? Isn’t this act of intimacy just as scandalous to any observer’s eye as the woman’s five husbands are? Jesus’ act would have been like a man of European descent approaching a woman of African descent during the 1950’s in the Deep South of the United States. It simply wasn’t done. And if it was done, anyone who saw it would immediately ask why. Why is Jesus risking his reputation to talk to this woman? From a different angle, one might ask why Jesus is exercising his power over this woman in this way (for he is indeed in a position of power over her)? He could compromise her at any moment and probably get away with it, because he is a clever man living in a patriarchal world. I find myself angry on the woman’s behalf, that Jesus would presume to talk to her as he does, risking her reputation further. He could be any man with any intention, as far as she knows.

I imagine myself in the woman’s position for a moment. I look at the foreign face of this person who stands at the place that quenches my thirst and the thirst of those whom I love, and I wonder why he’s in my way. Why is he talking to me? Is he going to try to take something from me? Am I safe? I am nervous and I am prepared to run if he tries to touch me.

Instead of reaching toward me in power or gawking at my feminine figure, he looks at my face. Recognition alights in his eyes. If he’s like the others, he will regard me as nothing, a piece of flesh, an unholy other. I wait, preparing to make my hasty retreat, wondering if my bucket can help me fend him off if he tries to attack me. He doesn’t move. He continues to look at my face, as if I am the living well and he is refreshing his parched lips and mouth with the story of my life. He takes time, setting aside his ego to make space for my story—and then he tells it to me as he has perceived it.

It is strange, because no grown man has ever made the effort to learn my story. It is always the man’s story that matters, that needs to be told. I am a woman, and therefore I am a thread in a man’s tapestry—many tapestries, in my case. Why is this stranger bothering with me? What does he want?

Again, the threat of harm puts fear in my heart, but still, he takes nothing from me—not even my bucket for claiming a drink. He offers me a gift instead—no favors required.

As I become the woman in this story, I am able to ask the myriad questions that lead to greater understanding about Jesus - the Christ. I perceive that this Christ is one who offers rather than takes; this Christ is one who silences his heart in order to hear the stories buried in the heart of a complete stranger.

Is this what the follower of Christ is called to, then? To take risks, to cross boundaries, to silence egos? To listen so I might learn from this other who has almost nothing in common with me, religion and societal rank included?

0 Comments
    Picture

    Rev. M. Kate Allen

    Thean. House church priest. Published author. Mother and wife. Vocal feminist. Faith-filled dissenter in the face of the status quo.

    I address G-d as Thea more often than not.


    Welcome!

    Archives

    January 2020
    December 2018
    April 2018
    January 2018
    November 2017
    October 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    February 2017
    December 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012

    Categories

    All
    1 John 4:16
    2015
    2018
    26 June 2015
    2 April 2014
    4peregrini
    750words.com
    Abide
    Absence
    Abstinence
    Abuse
    Accountability
    Acedia
    Aching
    Addiction
    Adoption
    Adults
    Advent
    Advent Journeying
    Adventure
    Affectionate
    Affirmation
    African American
    Age
    Agency
    AIDS
    Alive
    Allegiance
    Alleluia
    All Shall Be Well
    Allusions Of Innocence
    Alms-giving
    Amdg
    America
    Amok
    Anam Cara
    Anastasia
    And Every Stone Shall Cry
    Angel
    Angelus
    Anger
    Animating
    Anniversary
    Anoint
    Answer
    Anxiety
    Apology
    Apple
    April
    Archbishop Desmond Tutu
    Arizona
    Arms
    Arthurian Legend
    Artist
    Ascension Day
    Ash
    Ash Wednesday
    ASL
    Aspects Of The Heart: The Many Paths Of A Good Life
    Audience Participation
    Augustinian
    Aurora Chapel
    Author
    Authority
    Autobiography
    Ave-maria
    Awareness
    Awe
    Baby
    Bad
    Baggage
    Baking
    Balance
    Balm
    Baptism
    Bear One Another's Burdens
    Beauty
    Beginnings
    Behold
    Belief
    Bell
    Beloved
    Beltane
    Benedictine
    Benedictine Canons
    Benedict XVI
    Benevolent
    Bible
    Bible Belt
    Birth
    Birthdays
    Bishop
    Bishop Kirk Smith
    Bitterness
    Blame
    Blessing
    Blogs
    Blood
    Blossom
    Body
    Body Of Christ
    Boko Haram
    Bold
    Book Of Common Prayer
    Books
    Boundary Crossing
    Bouquet
    Boy Scouts
    Brainguys
    Brave
    Bravery
    Bread
    Bread Of Heaven
    Break For Beauty
    Breath
    Bridge
    Bringbackourgirls
    Broken
    Brother
    Brush
    Cab Calloway
    Cake
    Call
    Call For Submissions
    Calm
    Camping
    Candlemas
    Candles
    Canon
    Canvas
    Care
    Carols
    Caryll Houselander
    Catechesis
    Celibacy
    Chant
    Chanukah
    Chapbook
    Charity
    Cheerios
    Childhood
    Children
    Chocolate
    Choices
    Chrism
    Christ
    Christian
    Christianity
    Christians
    Christmas
    Christology
    Chrysalis
    Church
    Cleaning
    Clergy
    Clericalism
    Cleveland
    Cloth
    Clothing
    Cloud
    Cloud Of Witnesses
    Clover
    Codependency
    Cody Unterseher
    Coffee
    College
    Collegeville
    Coloring
    Colors
    Common Good
    Community
    Communityofstpeter
    Community Of St. Peter
    Compassion
    Competition
    Complacency
    Confidence
    Conflict Resolution
    Connections
    Constitution
    Context
    Contraindicated
    Control
    Conversatio
    Conversion
    Conviction
    Cool
    Corn Dog Mama
    Corporal
    Corporations
    Corruption
    Countenance
    Counter-cultural
    Courage
    Covenant
    Crafty
    Crawling
    Creation
    Creativity
    Creed
    Crimson
    Critic
    Cross
    Crowdfunding Campaign
    Crucifixion
    C S Lewis
    Cultivation
    Culture
    Cup
    Cursing
    Cyril Of Jerusalem
    Dance
    Dancing
    Daniel 9:3-10
    Darkness
    Dark Night Of The Soul
    Daughters
    Dawn
    Deacon
    Deadly Sins
    Death
    Deception
    Deep Within
    Defenders
    Delight
    Demons
    Denise
    Depression
    Desert
    Desire
    Despair
    Detachment
    Deuteronomy 32:11
    Devotion
    Dialogue
    Diamond
    Difficult
    Diocese Of Cleveland
    Dirt
    Dirty Word
    Disappointment
    Discernment
    Disciples
    Disciples Of Christ
    Disobedience
    Distress
    Ditl
    Divine Feminine
    Divinity
    Divorce
    Dl-smith
    Doll
    Dominican
    Dom Virgil Michel
    Doubt
    Drama
    Dreams
    Dry
    Dust
    Dwell
    Ears
    Earth
    Earth Day
    Easter
    Easter Friday
    Easter Monday
    Easter Saturday
    Easter Thursday
    Easter Tuesday
    Easter Wednesday
    Ecmasu
    Ecstasy
    Editing
    Ego
    Egypt
    Elizabeth
    Elizabeth A Hawksworth
    Embers
    Embrace
    Emmanuel
    Emotion
    Empowerment
    Empty
    Encounter
    Endings
    Endurance
    Enemies
    Energy
    Engagement
    Enneagram
    Enslavement
    Enslaving
    Enveloping
    Epics
    Episcopalchurch
    Episcopal Church
    Eucharist
    Evening Prayer
    Evil
    Excommunication
    Exodus
    Expectation
    Exposed
    Extraordinary
    Eyes
    Face
    Facebook
    Facets
    Failure
    Fair Trade
    Faith
    Faithful Word Baptist Church
    Familiarity
    Families
    Family
    Famine
    Father
    Fattuesday
    Fear
    Feast
    Feast Of Martha Mary And Lazarus
    Feast Of St. Joseph
    Feast Of The Annunciation
    Feeding
    Feeling Good
    Feet
    Fellowship
    Feminism
    Fertile
    Fetters
    Fever
    Fey Publishing
    Fight
    Fingers
    Fire
    First Communion
    Fish
    Flame
    Flannery O'Connor
    Flourish
    Flowers
    Following The Path
    Food
    Football
    Footprints
    Footwashing
    Forgiveness
    Fortitude
    Fragrance
    Franciscans
    Franciscan Sisters Of Pepetual Adoration
    Freedom
    Friends
    Fruitful
    Full Moon
    Funeral
    Furies
    Future
    Galatians 6:2
    Game
    Gardening
    Garment
    Gary Dreslinski
    Gathering
    Gaudete Sunday
    Gaza Strip
    G D
    G D
    Generosity
    Generous
    Genius
    Gentleness
    Genuine
    Gift
    Gifts
    Girls
    Girl Scouts
    Glass
    Glass Ceiling
    Glow
    God
    Goddess
    Godmother
    Gold
    Golgotha
    Good
    Good Friday
    Goodness
    Goodness Is Stronger Than Evil
    Good News
    Goodreads
    Gospel
    Gospel According To Kate
    Gospel According To Luke
    Gospel According To Mark
    Grace
    Grandfather
    Grandmother
    Gratitude
    Green
    Greenville
    Grief
    Grin
    Guest Post
    Guilt
    Gulabi Gang
    Habit
    Haiku
    Halloween
    Hands
    Happiness
    Happy
    Happy Feet
    Harm
    Harmony
    Harvest
    Hate
    Hatred
    Healing
    Healing Through The Dark Emotions
    Health Insurance
    Healthy
    Hear
    Heart
    Heartbeats Voices Against Oppression
    Hearth
    Heart Talks With Mother God
    Heat
    Heathen
    Hebrews 10:9
    Hegemony
    Heidi Chapel
    Hell
    Hen
    Henri Nouwen
    Here I Am
    Heresy
    Hermeneutic Of Suspicion
    Hiatus
    Hiding
    Hild
    Hildegard Of Bingen
    Historicstpeterchurch
    Historic St. Peter Church
    Hobby Lobby
    Holidays
    Holy
    Holy Is His Name
    Holy Land
    Holy Orders
    Holy-saturday
    Holy-week
    Homage
    Home
    Homer
    Homily
    Honeycomb
    Hope
    Hospice
    Hospitality
    House
    House Church
    Humanity
    Human Trafficking
    Humiliation
    Humility
    Hunger
    Hurt
    Husband
    Hymn
    Hymnal
    Hypocrisy
    Icon
    Icons
    Identity
    IDF
    Idol
    Ignorance
    Illumination
    Images
    Imagination
    Imagine
    Imagining Argentina
    Imminent
    Importuning
    I'm Sorry
    Incarnation
    Incense
    Indie-press
    Indifference
    Indulgences
    Infant
    Injustice
    Insiders
    Insight
    Inspiration
    Instrument
    Integrity
    Intention
    Intercessions
    Internationalwomensday
    International Womens Day
    Interview
    Intimacy
    Intuition
    Invitation
    Invitatory
    Iraq
    Islam
    Israel
    Israel Loves Palestine
    It's Amazing
    Jacob
    Jax Goss
    Jealousy
    Jean-janzen
    Jem
    Jericho
    Jerusalem
    Jesuits
    Jesus
    Jewish
    Jews
    Job
    John 1:29
    John-1516
    John-4129
    John Michael Talbot
    John O'Donohue
    John Of The Cross
    John The Baptist
    Joseph
    Journals
    Journey
    Joy
    J R R Tolkien
    Judge
    Judgment
    Julia Cameron
    Julian Of Norwich
    Julie Fowlis
    July 29 1974
    Justice
    Justice-ruth-bader-ginsburg
    Keeley Bruner
    Kenosis
    Key
    Kickstarter
    Kidnapping
    Kindness
    Kiss Of Peace
    Knock On The Door
    Knowing
    Knowledge
    Kristen-duvall
    Labor
    Lady
    Lady And The Tramp
    Laetare Sunday
    Laetare-sunday
    Lake Effect Voices Of Toronto
    Lake Pleasant
    La La Loo
    Lamb-of-god
    Lamentation
    Lamp
    Landscape
    Last Supper
    Latkes
    Laughter
    Laundry
    Lawrence-thornton
    Layer
    Lazarus
    Leadership
    Leaving
    Lectio-divina
    Lectionary
    Lent
    Lent I
    Lent II
    Lent III
    Lent III
    Lent IV
    Lent V
    Letting Go
    Leviticus
    Lgbt
    LGBTQ
    Liberation
    Liberty
    Lies
    Life
    Lifeblood
    Life Love Liturgy The Book
    Light
    Limbs
    Limits
    Lincoln Logs
    Listening
    Litany
    Liturgical-calendar
    Liturgical Renewal
    Liturgy
    Liturgy Of The Hours
    Living Lent
    Living Water
    Living-water
    Lj Idol
    Locked Rooms
    Logos
    Loss
    Love
    Luke 14:26
    Lullaby
    Lumen Christi
    Magnificat
    Magnificent
    Majesty
    Man
    Mandala
    Mandate
    Manger
    Mardisgras
    Mardis-gras
    Marginalized
    Marigold
    Marion Zimmer Bradley
    Marriage
    Martha
    Martin-luther
    Martyr
    Marvel
    Mary
    Mary Magdalene
    Masterwork
    Matthew 25:23
    Matthew Fox
    Matzo Ball Soup
    Maundy Thursday
    Maycrowning
    May-day
    Medieval
    Meditation
    Memories
    Memorization
    Memory Stands Still
    Men
    Mend
    Menorah
    Mercy
    Messiah
    Metanoia
    Michael Bublé
    Middle East
    Midwife
    Mighty
    Milk
    Mindfulness
    Minimum-wage
    Ministries
    Ministry
    Minnesota
    Miracles
    Miriam
    Miriam Greenspan
    Mirror
    Mission
    Missionary Cenacle Volunteers
    Moist
    Mommy Blog
    Monastic
    Monsoon
    Moon
    Morning Pages
    Morning Prayer
    Moses
    Mother
    Mother-angelica
    Mother God
    Mothers-day
    Mother-teresa
    Motivation
    Mourning
    Movement
    MRAs
    Multiplication
    Multi Religious
    Mummy
    Murder
    Murmuring
    Muse
    Music
    Muslims
    Mystagogy
    Mystery
    Names
    NaNoWriMo
    Narrative
    Nature
    Nausea
    Navy
    Need
    Negation
    Neighbor
    Nephews
    News
    New Testament
    New Year
    New-york-times
    Nicola-griffith
    Nicola Slee
    Nigeria
    Night
    Night Prayer
    Nina Simone
    Nine-months
    No
    Noach Dzmura
    Noonday Prayer
    Not-for-sale-campaign
    Not-for-sale-campaign
    Novel
    Novice
    Novitiate
    Nrsv
    O Antiphons
    Oasis
    Ob-audire
    Obedience
    Obsessions
    O Clavis David
    Odd
    O Emmanuel
    Ohio
    Olives
    Olive Trees
    Online
    Ontario
    Open-letter
    Oppression
    O Radix Jesse
    Orange
    Orange Blossoms
    Order
    Ordinary-time
    Ordination
    Ordo
    O Rex Gentium
    Original Sin
    Orlando
    O Sapientia
    Osb
    Other
    Out-of-the-depths
    Outsiders
    Pagan
    Pain
    Painting
    Palestine
    Palestine-loves-israel
    Pall
    Palm Fronds
    Palm Sunday
    Pancakes
    Parables
    Parents
    Parentwin
    Paschal-troparion
    Passion Sunday
    Passive
    Past
    Pastor
    Pastoral Care
    Path-ethic
    Pathways Of Grace
    Patriarchy
    Pattern
    Peace
    Pelagius
    Penance
    Pentecost
    Pentecost-season
    Pentecost-season
    Perfection
    Pericope
    Permission
    Persecution
    Personhood
    Pet
    Pharaoh
    Philadelphia 11
    Phoenix
    Phonetic Alphabet
    Pilgrimage
    Planting
    Play
    Playlist
    Poetry
    Polished
    Poor
    Pope-francis
    Possibilities
    Potty Training
    Power
    Practice
    Practice-makes-perfect
    Praise
    Prayer
    Prayer Book
    Prayer-requests
    Preaching
    Pregnant
    Prejudice
    Presence
    Present
    President Barack Obama
    Presiding
    Presiding-bishop-katharine-jefferts-schori
    Presiding-bishop-katharine-jefferts-schori
    Prestige
    Pride
    Priesthood
    Princess Amanda
    Prior
    Prison
    Privilege
    Profession
    Progressive
    Proper-15
    Prophetic
    Prostration
    Protect
    Protest
    Psalm 1
    Psalm 10
    Psalm 100
    Psalm 105
    Psalm 106
    Psalm 107
    Psalm 109
    Psalm 116
    Psalm-118
    Psalm-121
    Psalm-130
    Psalm-136
    Psalm-138
    Psalm 139
    Psalm 141
    Psalm-143
    Psalm 144
    Psalm22
    Psalm 23
    Psalm 24
    Psalm 25
    Psalm 26
    Psalm42
    Psalm-44
    Psalm 51
    Psalm63
    Psalm-67
    Psalm 68
    Psalm 78
    Psalm 79
    Psalm 94
    Psalms
    Psalter
    Public Ministry
    Published
    Pulse
    Puritanism
    Queen
    Queendom
    Questions
    Quiet
    Quiz
    Radical
    Rain
    Rape
    Rape Culture
    Reading
    Realization
    Rebecca-longbow
    Rebellion
    Reb-zalman
    Reconciliation
    Red
    Reflection
    Refuge
    Rehearsal
    Reign-of-god
    Rejection
    Rejoice
    Relief
    Religion
    Religious Extremism
    Religious Formation
    Religious-right
    Remember
    Repent
    Repetition
    Reproductive-health
    Resentment
    Resistance
    Resolution
    Rest
    Restless
    Resurrection
    Retreat
    Revbobmarrone
    Reveal
    Revelation-56
    Revenge
    Review
    Rhythm
    Richard-rohr
    Ritual
    Ritualizing
    Ritual Stories
    Robert-pirsig
    Roman Catholic
    Roman Catholicism
    Root
    Rose
    Rosyfingered-dawn
    Royal
    Ruach
    Rubrics
    Rule
    Sacrament
    Sacred
    Sacred Body
    Sacred Rebels Oracle
    Sacrifice
    Sad
    Saint-catherine-of-siena
    Salome
    Salvation
    Sapling
    Sara Bareilles
    Sarnia
    Savior
    Scotus
    Scripture
    Second-coming
    Secret
    See
    Seed
    Seek And You Shall Find
    Selfawareness
    Self Awareness
    Self-emptying
    Self-emptying
    Self Sacrifice
    Serenity
    Servant Leader
    Sex
    Shackles
    Shade
    Shadow
    Sheep
    Shekhinah
    Shelter
    Shepherd
    Shepherdess
    Shiloh Sophia Mccloud
    Short Fiction
    Showing Up
    Showing-up
    Shrovetuesday
    Shrove-tuesday
    Sickness
    Sign
    Silence
    Silhouette
    Simplicity
    Sin
    Singing
    Sister
    Sister-act
    Sksm
    Sky
    Slave Labor
    Slavery
    Sleep
    Slippery-slope
    Sloth
    Slow
    Slut Shaming
    Social-networking
    Softball
    Softness
    Soil
    Solarwyrm-press
    Solarwyrm-press
    Solomon-21013
    Song
    Sonoran Desert
    Sons
    Soothe
    Sophia
    Sophia-network
    Sorrow
    Sound
    Space
    Spark
    Sparkle
    Spider
    Spirit
    Spiritual
    Spiritual Companioning
    Spiritual Direction
    Spirituality
    Spirit Whispers
    Spring
    Spring Equinox
    Sr-joan-chittister
    Srkate
    Sr-kate
    Sr-thea-bowman
    Stability
    Stars
    St-augustine
    St. Augustine Episcopal Parish
    St. Augustine's
    St Benedict
    St. Brigid's
    Stephanie-hogan-weber
    St-james-chapel
    St. John's School Of Theology
    St-johns-school-of-theology-seminary
    St. Mary Of The Annunciation
    St-mary-of-the-annunciation-benedictine-canons
    Stories
    Storm
    Strawberry Moon
    Strength
    Struggle
    Stubborn
    Stumbling
    Success
    Succulent
    Suffering
    Suicide
    Summer
    Sun
    Sunday
    Sunset
    Support
    Surprise
    Suzanne-farnham
    Suzanne-toolan
    Sweetness
    Swimming
    Symbol
    Synchronicity
    Table
    Taized97da0e93b
    Taking-sides
    Talking
    Tamara Woodbury
    Tamora Pierce
    Taste
    Teaching
    Team
    Tears
    Tempe
    Tenacity
    Tenebrae
    Terror
    Terry Pratchett
    Thanksgiving
    Thanksgivukah
    Thea
    Thea Koinonia
    Thealogical
    Thealogy
    Theanism
    Thean Psalter
    Thea Press
    The-artists-way
    The-call
    The-casa
    The Chronicles Of Narnia
    The Leukemia And Lymphoma Society
    The Lord Of The Rings
    The-miracles-of-santa-fico
    The Mists Of Avalon
    The-name-of-the-rose
    Theotokos
    The Reed Of God
    The Rev Dr Gil Stafford
    Thesis
    The Song Of The Lioness
    Thessalonians-27b8
    The Way
    Thirst
    Thomas-merton
    Threads
    Three
    Threshold
    Thunder
    Thurible
    Thursday-night-community
    Tiffany Aching
    Time
    Tired
    Toilet
    Tomb
    Torn
    Toronto Newsgirls Boxing League
    Touch
    Touch The Sky
    Tradition
    Tragedy
    Transcendent
    Transform
    Transition
    Translation
    Transparency
    Tree
    Trees
    TreeSisters
    Triduum
    Trinitycathedral
    Trinity-cathedral
    Troop
    Trope
    Truest-singing
    Trust
    Truth
    Ts-eliot
    Turning
    Twitter
    Umberto-eco
    Unclean
    Understanding
    Unexpected
    Unfruitful
    Unholy
    United Church Of Christ
    Unity
    Universe
    Unworthy
    Ups
    Upset
    Valentine
    Valley-of-the-sun
    Value
    Vase
    Vatican-ii
    Vicar
    Victim
    Victory
    Vigil
    Violet
    Vision
    Vocation
    Voice
    Voices
    Vows
    Vulnerable
    Waffles
    Walking
    War
    Watched-pot-never-boils
    Water
    Weaving
    Website
    Wedding Day
    Wedding-party
    Wedding Preparation
    Weed
    Welcome
    What-emotion-are-you-guided-by
    When-it-comes-to-healing
    Whims
    Whoopi-goldberg
    Wicked
    Wife
    Wilderness
    Will
    Window
    Wine
    Winter
    Wisdom
    Witchcraft
    Withdraw
    Womanatthewell
    Woman At The Well
    Womb
    Women
    Wonder
    Word
    Works
    Works-of-mercy
    Works-of-mercy
    World
    World-community-of-christian-meditation
    World-day-of-vocations
    Worry
    Worthy
    Wound
    Wrath
    Wreath
    Writers-block
    Writing
    Wrongdoing
    Year Of Prayer
    Yes
    Young-people
    Zechariah
    Zen-and-the-art-of-motorcycle-maintenance

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.