over and around the rainbow

I’m starting to get tired of R words (I’ve been preaching on all the really, ridiculously, rich R words: reverence, reversal, remember, release), so I’m on to the next letter in the alphabet. However, I just threw sex in there to see if that would generate some new readers. Gotcha!

I have the following picture hanging in the church office: I love this graphic mainly because of the hand-written note on top of the advertisement. It says: “Styles of 1980 and this is what they call shoes. Someone must have a loose screw in their head.”

Then there is this picture. My good friend from Newton sent me this. I guess this little girl came out to the living room with these heels and asked if she looked like pastor Ruth. Oh dear, I thought. What happens when the pastor is the one with loose screws in her head?  When I was her age I would have NEVER been caught in heels. If it would have been up to me, I would have worn football cleats everywhere I went, including bed. Now I wear heels once in awhile, but I’m not very good at wearing them. (Just ask the Deacons at Bethel College Mennonite Church who once had the privilege of watching me lose a shoe during a communion service.)

Now I live in Kansas City, a city known for its malls, discount outlets and shoppers. In fact, when I announced my intention to leave Newton and move to Kansas City, one woman from the church approached me after the service and said, “Ruth, all I could think about this morning was, “WOW! Ruth is going to LOVE to shop in Kansas City.” Again with the “oh dear.”

I’m trying to tighten the loose screws in my head and be reasonable, and not buy into this materialistic country we live in, whereby a person’s self-worth and status is all wrapped up in shoes and STUFF.

And so I keep this reminder close at hand. It is a quote by Margaret Rose, an Episcopalian priest in New York.

“In a world where buying is synonymous with godliness, where consumption is an act of patriotism, we are called to fasting and self-denial. In a world of sound bites and instant messaging where image is everything, we are called to look inward to meditation and prayer, to spend time in reflection and silence.”

I guess I will return to yet another R word on Sunday. R is for Riches. We will look at the story of Zaccheus. God, help us all!

One more picture just for fun. Ashton Wells, our church office manager, and I showed up with these fun shoes! Now we just need to get a pair for Jim, Rosi and Rachel.

A poem written by my grandfather in the wake of my brother’s death

As we near All Saints Day, observed November 3, I am thinking about loved ones who have entered the Great Beyond.

My brother, Timothy, died when he was 13. He drowned on a hot summer day. It was on a Father’s Day actually. I was seven at the time, so I don’t remember a lot, but I do recall feeling confused during the burial:  How was Timmy going to get to heaven? People told me he was climbing trees with God, a favorite activity of his (and maybe God?), but how was he going to climb to heaven? I was sure a ladder would come down from the sky.

In the years that followed, I would visit Timmy’s grave often.  Sometimes during track practice I would make an extra loop around the cemetery, which was close to our high school track. Maybe I was still secretly hoping to find some kind of evidence of a ladder or rope. Timmy’s grave stone, by the way, is a rock that my dad discovered in the Flint Hills. I can only imagine the grief that he must have felt and continues to feel as he walked through the prairie, looking for that right stone, for such a not-right-seeming-death.

Many years after his death, I came across this poem that my grandfather wrote called “Wings of Stone.” He wrote it in 1987 “in memory of Tim’s Resurrection.” What!,” my grandfather writes. “A stone would fly. Breaking the chains of gravity….Moving, silently rolling–Lightly flooding the dark tomb.”

My Grandfather, who wrote these tender, provocative words died in 2001. I don’t imagine my grandpa climbing trees in heaven, nor did I look for a ladder at his burial. Instead, I was flooded with memories and tears, profoundly sad yet profound grateful for his life among us. He and Timmy are in the Great Beyond. They have broken the chains of gravity. I still sometimes wish for more evidence that there is, in fact, a Beyond. Maybe I’m still looking for that ladder. Thankfully I have poems like this one that keep me wondering, that keep me hoping that Light does and will flood our dark tombs. Maybe that is enough of a ladder for now.

November 1

On this All Saint’s Day, may peace be upon all who doubt, believe and are sad beyond belief. May the Giver of Love shelter us all.

I’m thinking about time this week, partly because we “fall back” an hour on Sunday morning. What is time? How do we experience or measure time? My friend who works for the government said that the one thing she learned during her recent furlough is that time doesn’t always equal energy. She thought she would get a lot accomplished during this time off, but that wasn’t the case.

Time drags on for some people and for others, there never seems to be enough time. And then there is that fiddle song that has the repeating line, “I wish I had my time again…”How we view time, both past, present and future, is so varied.

One book that comes off my shelf often is “The prophet,” by Kahlil Gibran. That’s partly because it’s been used in many weddings that I have officiated. His writing “On marriage,” is one of my favorites.

I actually got this book in college because all the smart kids had a copy, including my soon-to-be-husband, Jesse. I thought by just owning it I would get smarter. I don’t always follow what is going on in some of these writings, but they stir something in me.

I’m especially intrigued with his closing words in his writing called “On Time:”

But if in your thought you must measure time into seasons, let each season encircle all the other seasons,

And let today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.

We will dedicate two children at Rainbow this Sunday, October 27. This is an occasion for us to stand with Jesus and say to our children: You are precious. You are welcome. You are beloved by God.

I  look forward to these dedication rituals, even if I never know if, during the ritual, a child will be asleep, pass gas, yank my microphone off my face (thanks Brett Gaeddert!), pull my hair or earrings, cry or coo. It’s all beautiful if you ask me, assuming I’m not the one passing gas!

Jesse and I don’t have children of our own. Still, we have managed to collect many toys (even if half of them are used presently by our cats) and children’s books. I have also perused the Rainbow library. What a great children’s section!

As I prepare for Sunday, I came across these three gems related to being a pastor, children and church. Enjoy!

Several weeks ago, my seven year old niece helped me move some of my things into the church office. At one point she asked me if I was a teacher.  Hmmmm, I thought. I said something like, “well, I’m a pastor and I hope I teach too.” She thought a minute and then asked, “Do you own the church?” Again, with the hmmmmm. “Does a teacher own a school?,” I asked in response. She didn’t know the answer to that question and she quickly changed the subject.

Her question has stuck with me.  To be clear, in no way do I think that I own the church. In fact, I try not to refer to Rainbow as “my church.” We are church together, as pastor and as congregation, as those who have come before, who are here now and who will come in the future. If it was just me it would be a pretty pathetic Rainbow.

That is why I hope this blog isn’t just about me, but us together. This leads me to ask: Any volunteers out there willing to take me around the church building in the coming weeks? I want to start photographing things I see around the church and hearing your stories.

One more thing: Since the pastor’s office is number 107, I decided to read Psalm 107. Wow, what a psalm. Read it when you have a chance. Together, may we yearn for that spring of water, that river in the desert, that plentiful vineyard, and yes, that beautiful Rainbow.

When I’m up in front preaching or leading worship, I sometimes find it hard to look at my husband, Jesse. That’s because I’m afraid he’ll make one of these gestures to the left, and well, I might start to giggle. Jesse makes me laugh a lot. In fact, I’ve been told that I’m a lot funnier (which isn’t saying a lot) when Jesse is around. Jesse is an illustrator. You can see his work at www.jessegraber.com. When he isn’t drawing, you will find him playing one of his many instruments: fiddle, banjo, ukulele, musical saw, guitar, mandolin, etc.(People also tell me that I sing and play guitar better with Jesse by my side.)  Jesse makes a great pastor’s wife.  However, I do need to be careful because I have been known to refer to Jesse in my sermons when I meant to refer to Jesus. I guess Jesse was related to Jesus right? It’s something involving a shoot and a stump. Jesse is good for me in that he has convinced me more than once to put down my theological books and read fiction instead, at least from time to time. If it wasn’t for Jesse, I probably wouldn’t have ever read Dune (500 pages +) or Sandman by Neil Gaiman.   

I love our cats Pepper and Helo

Best of all, Jesse has convinced me that cats aren’t all that bad, and that,actually, they can be sort of the best thing ever, so long as you aren’t allergic to them. Someone once told me that they would never own a cat because they are “too mysterious.” Helo and Pepper aren’t exactly mysterious, but they are strange. They kind of do what they want to do except if they are scratching our new furniture. One thing I do need to warn you about is that Helo (grey and white)did come with me on a pastoral care visit once—without me knowing, of course. Ask me about it if you are curious. It’s a pretty funny story. Afterwards, he (Helo, that is) didn’t make eye contact with me for two weeks.

Stones can often seem cold and lifeless; far too many are used for throwing and harming.

Not these stones.

The Deacons at Bethel College Mennonite Church presented me with this gift: a basket full of joy, wisdom and strength stones. I like to think of Deacons as those who embody these gifts. Not perfectly, of course, but by the grace of God, they are pillars of sorts, sturdy like stones.

When I become anxious, sad, irrational, angry, lazy, or lethargic, I will take one of these stones, massage it, and pray to the Good Lord for these same gifts of joy, strength and wisdom to shine through Rainbow and my ministry here.

I’ve had the song “Getting to know you” from The King and I in my head all week. I actually sang it as I strung these slips of paper along the window in the church office.

Sing it with me: Getting to know you/Getting to know all about you…/Getting to feel free and easy/When I am with you/Getting to know what to say

This getting to know you process is an interesting one between a congregation and pastor, especially in an urban setting where we are spread out geographically (and theologically!).

This blog, of course, is an attempt to help this getting to know you process along. Another project has been reading the worries, hopes, celebrations, fears, dreams and visions that many of you wrote on these colorful slips of paper pictured here.

I have taken my time reading these. And I will continue to take my time reading them because it provides an interesting window into Rainbow’s personality. Speaking of personality, Frank Ward, former pastor of Rainbow Mennonite Church, told me that congregations change personalities every 5-10 years. He said that in a couple months he would be eager to hear me describe Rainbow Version 2013.

It’s too early to say anything definitive, and I hope the same is true about your opinion of me! Getting to know one another and building trust and rapport will take time.

For now, I will take a summary of comments to the Deacons. I’ve also selected a handful to use during staff meetings. In other words, these hopes, fears and dreams are not for my contemplation alone! I hope to find ways to reflect back to the congregation what was written.

For now, I’ll share one of many gems:

This is my celebration: “I think it should be a celebration because a girl pastor will be different.”

This past Sunday, October 6, we celebrated World Communion Sunday. In my sermon, I talked about communion being a time not only to remember or recall the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, but a time whereby we join God’s work of re-membering. That is, when we gather at The Common Table, we are enacting God’s promise of mending or restoring that which has been divided or torn apart. We come to The Table to remember and we come to be re-membered.

When I walked back to my office following Sunday school, this chalice/Holy Grail caught my eye.  I bought this in Belfast, Northern Ireland, when I was there for three weeks in the summer of 1998.

I held this cup for awhile and wondered about the kids I met during my time in Belfast. Many of them would now be in their 20s. Are any of them gathering regularly at the Lord’s Table?  Are they safe? How do they think about peace and restoration having grown up in a region of the world where there has been such conflict and division? How have they felt dis-membered and perhaps re-membered?

Then, I took the leftover communion juice from our communion service at Rainbow, walked outside to our church park, poured the juice out in the shape of a cross and prayed again, “Lord God of Peace, re-member us. Re-member all who come and go out of this park.”