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On Chaos, Control, and Connection…

18 Thursday May 2017

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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ambiguity, chaos, control, frustration, God, parenting, relationship, sacred, schedule

Stressed_businesswoman_kieferpix_Fotolia_large

Photo credit:  https://consumeraffairs.com/news/lack-of-control-in-a-high-stress-job-could-cause-you-to-die-younger-101716.html

Last week, my husband went away for five days for a family member’s graduation.  I was thrilled he was able to go, but I always get a bit nervous when I am alone with the children for several days straight.  Part of the anxiety is that managing two children is always tough.  Mornings and evenings are chaotic – just when you think everyone is settled, one child starts screaming.  When you have tucked in the youngest so you can read to the oldest, the youngest keeps getting out of bed.  Even with my husband around, the chaos often feels unmanageable.

The first couple of days after my husband was gone, things went as I suspected.  The children were loud, crazy, and frustrating.  There were lots of timeouts, lots of deep breaths, and lots of lost tempers.  But by day three, I slowly began to loosen up.  I began to realize that there was no way I was ever going to get the children to behave exactly how I wanted, when I wanted, and where I wanted.  And so I started figuring out how to pick my battles, I gave up on my own rigidity around “the schedule,” and I figured out how to shift from toleration to acceptance.  By day four, I was no longer stressed out or anxious.  I was being firm, but having fun; I was letting go of what I couldn’t control; and I was able to appreciate this sacred alone time with the girls.

Part of what took me so long to make that shift in behavior and perspective is that I am someone who likes a sense of control and order.  I get irritated when things do not go as I planned, and I get impatient when things do not happen in a timely, organized manner.  And while some may call it stubborn, I have thought through things and selected what I believe is the best course of action; so, when kids do not want to comply, I get frustrated.  These are, obviously, not the best traits for a parent.  Parenting involves much more agility, creativity, and comfort with ambiguity.

I have begun to wonder if my revelation about my own tendencies and behaviors with my children might also be true about my tendencies and behaviors with God.  How often have I wanted God to behave in a certain way, and could not seem to get God to comply?  How often have I been impatient, frustrated, and irritated with God?  How often have I been rigid in my expectations with God?  This week, I am taking a cue from my children, remembering how much more meaningful, loving, and fun our relationship can be when I let loose of my desire for control.  I suspect the same may be true of my relationship with God too!

Sermon – Luke 2.41-52, C2, YC, January 3, 2016

06 Wednesday Jan 2016

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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childhood, Christ, Christmas, family, impetuous, independence, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, parenting, self-sufficiency, Sermon, struggle, surprise, teenager, transition, village, wise

I learned pretty early on to adopt the model of a village partnering with me to raise my children.  We have never lived close enough to parents or siblings who could take our children for the afternoon or in an emergency.  Instead, we learned to lean on babysitters, friends, and parishioners.  And because both my husband and I found fulfillment working, we relied on teachers and daycare workers to support us during working hours.  Though we are our children’s parents, there is an entire village who is helping us to raise our children.

Though not all parents subscribe to that model of parenting, that is certainly the model in Jesus’ day.  Families stick together – but “family” has a much broader definition.  Your extended family and your family’s friends are your village – so you have a lot of moms, pops, grandmas, and aunties watching over you.  That village is the reason Mary and Joseph can travel for a day’s journey without noticing their missing twelve-year old.[i]  In the village, much like at Coffee Hour or a Pancake Breakfast at St. Margaret’s, the watching of children happens in community.  Mary and Joseph have no worry about Jesus because they know that the other moms, pops, grandmas, and aunties will keep him in line and safe.  And Jesus knows his role too – to follow instructions and to stay with the village.

Much like we should not be surprised that Mary and Joseph do not notice missing Jesus for a full day, we should also not be surprised that they are angry with Jesus when they find him.  They have journeyed a full day out of Jerusalem, rushed the day-long journey back to Jerusalem, and have scoured the City for three more days to find their missing child.  When they finally find Jesus, Mary lets Jesus have it.  “Child, why have you treated us like this?!?” she scolds.  But as exasperated as Mary and Joseph must be, I imagine they are furious with Jesus’ response.  I can hear the preteen annoyance and flippancy in Jesus’ words[ii], “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  I am sure Luke edited out Mary’s response, “Excuse me?!?  Who do you think you are to talk to me like that?!?”

The interaction between Mary, Joseph, and Jesus is the story of every family experiencing the transition from childhood into adolescence.  I am convinced that the commandment to honor one’s father and mother is rooted in the adolescent-prescribed struggle between family and independence.  In fact, that transition from preteen to teenage years is probably the most difficult of parent-child transitions.  This is the time when parents transition out of being the primary teachers and forces of influence on their child’s life.  Meanwhile, peers transition into being the primary teachers and forces of influence in a child’s life.  That time is a liminal time when the child is no longer solely dependent upon the parent but also is not yet totally independent.  So although the child may want to shed his or her old way of life, he or she is not fully prepared to live parent-free.  The child struggles, but so do the parents.  I remember one of the pieces of advice I received early on as a parent.  The seasoned parent told me that my number one goal was to help my child become self-sufficient.  But the parent warned me:  the preparation was the easy part – the teaching, the modeling, the cheering on of each successive milestone.  The hard part is when self-sufficiency is actually attained.  Feeling no longer needed or an active part in the child’s life can leave a parent feeling bereft or abandoned – whether that happens at twelve or twenty-one or forty.

That is where Mary and Joseph struggle today.  They have been preparing Jesus his whole childhood to be self-sufficient.  They have cared for him, protected him, and taught him.  But they have yet to let go of Jesus.  They are surprised by Jesus’ defensive response – partially because Jesus’ response is a bit rude, but partially because they have boxed Jesus into a role.  Jesus is their child who is to follow their rules.  Not only have Mary and Joseph forgotten that Jesus is growing up, they have also forgotten that Jesus is the son of God, the Messiah for God’s people.[iii]  What is probably the most annoying about Jesus’ response to his parents is that Jesus’ response is also partially true.  No one likes to be reprimanded by their twelve-year old.

What the encounter today between Jesus and his parents reminds us of is that we too can put Jesus in a box.  With a lifetime of hearing and learning about Jesus, we feel like we have a pretty strong grasp of who Jesus is and what Jesus is about.  But the danger in that kind of comfort with Jesus is that we put Jesus in a category as a known, unchangeable entity.  But if we remember, Jesus was not particularly known for doing the predictable.  Jesus was always surprising those closest to him.  He would even sometimes say one thing and do another.  Clearly Jesus’ parents thought they had him figured out.  The disciples fell into the same practice too.  They were constantly suggesting a plan of action they thought was in line with Jesus’ way of doing things, only to be shut down by Jesus himself.

We fall into the same trap.  Being followers of Christ, we sometimes think we can speak for Christ.  I have heard people argue that Jesus would have been a democrat or a republican – an argument that clearly is setup to satisfy a need for self-affirmation.  Our question, “What would Jesus do?” is also a dangerous one, as the question tempts us to put words into Jesus mouth that have never been there.  The conundrum is easy enough to see – how can we make a two-thousand-year-old Middle Eastern Jesus relevant to a twenty-first century American?  Truthfully, as a preacher, I am the most at risk because my whole job is to make Jesus relevant to our lives.

A couple of years ago, I stumbled on a quote from Steve Maraboli.  He said, “Want to keep Christ in Christmas?  Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done unto you.”[iv]  In many ways, we have all we need to know about Jesus.  He taught and showed us how to live.  Our questions about what Jesus would do or what party affiliation he would have are distractions.  We know how he lived his life.  We also know that he was constantly surprising those around him.  Our antidote to falling into the same trap of keeping Jesus in a box is to live the life he called us to live, but also to always expect to be surprised.  I imagine when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love our enemies, and do unto others as we would have done unto us, we will find that Jesus shows up in all sorts of surprising ways.  And like Mary and Joseph, we may find sharp, annoyed responses from Jesus to our questions.  His response is the same to us today, “Why were you searching for me?  Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?”  Did you not know that I would be with the hungry, the guilty, the unwanted, the ill, and the enemy?   Jesus sounds like an impetuous teenager at times.  But he also sounds like a wise a teenager at times.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 167.

[ii] William J. Danaher, Jr. “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 164.

[iii] Danaher, 164.

[iv] Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience.  Quote found at http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/476284-want-to-keep-christ-in-christmas-feed-the-hungry-clothe on January 2, 2016.

The last moment of goodness…

19 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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breastfeeding, children, failure, God, grace, joy, parenting, relationship, success

The last bottle of expressed milk

The last bottle of expressed milk

In the last couple of weeks we have seen quite a lot of change in our infant.  She is finally getting up on her knees to crawl instead of doing her “commando drag.”  She is pulling up to a standing position and happily standing for a while.  She is trying and enjoying new solid foods, showing much more dexterity and ability than I had imagined.  And this week, she is slowly easing off of breastmilk.  After some early problems with weight gain, the doctors had me start giving her expressed milk to encourage more consumption.  Once that began, she quickly decided she liked bottles better.  And so for the last year I have been expressing milk for her to eat.

Many people have shown shock when they realize I put up with pumping that long.  What I knew from our first child is that, in some ways, producing milk has been the one expression of parenting that has felt purely good for me.  In all my other parenting efforts, I regularly feel like a failure – not being a consistent and effective disciplinarian, not being creative and fun-loving enough, not knowing how to answer the hard questions.  But producing milk, which luckily my body does quiet easily, was the one thing that I could do that was good and pure, and to me, felt holy.

Looking back, I know my feelings are a little irrational.  My ability to produce milk for a year does not make me a better parent any more than my challenges make me a bad parent.  The truth is that producing milk for so long is probably the only thing that I will ever be able to control when it comes to parenting.  Once that contribution is over, the rest of my journey with my daughter is going to be a series of wonderful successes and terrible failures.  And that is the nature of relationships between parents and children.

In many ways, I suppose that is how our relationship with God is too.  We have very little, if any, control over the relationship, and most of the time we will feel like failures in the relationship.  It will be messy, hard, and sometimes discouraging.  But there will also be wonderful moments of grace, joy, and laughter.  The trick is agreeing to stay in the relationship, even when we do not feel like we are very good at it.  And quite frankly, God has that whole unconditional love thing down way better than most of us as parents or children do.  So hang in there, keep up the good work, and don’t take it all too seriously.  Happy Lent!

Both/and…

11 Wednesday Jun 2014

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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and, blessing, both, Christ, maternity, parenting, priesthood, tension, vocation, work

Courtesy of http://www.vineyardusa.org/site/articles/both-and

Courtesy of http://www.vineyardusa.org/site/articles/both-and

I was fine until my older daughter’s teacher saw me without the baby, realized I had dropped her off at nursery school, and then asked if I was okay.  I really was fine.  But as soon as I tried to tell her how fine I was, my eyes moistened.  I kept my response short for fear that my eyes would overflow.  The truth is that I was not really fine.  I was sad:  sad to lose those moments of just gazing into my infant’s eyes; sad to lose that new experience of trying to get smiles out of her – especially since now her smiles are also accompanied by her whole face scrunching up in joy; sad to lose those moments of quiet rest, her warm body totally relaxed against mine, with no one else around to distract her.  Though there have been many periods of utter exhaustion, most of these weeks of maternity leave have been filled with the joy of the miracle of new life.  I have been thrilled to have the experience of having a newborn one more time, and I have been trying to soak up every moment.  And so, yes, I am sad for that time to be over.

And, I am also thrilled to be returning to work.  I use the word, “and,” and not, “but,” because I feel these emotions simultaneously.  I am sad to be ending maternity leave and my time with my newborn.  And I am happy to be returning to my work.  My work gives me such joy, meaning, and satisfaction.  It challenges me, makes me stronger, teaches me, and blesses me.  It is a tremendous privilege to serve as a priest – one that I am even more aware of having taken time away from it.  Though there are days that drive me crazy in my work, I cannot imagine living out any other vocation than my vocation as an ordained minister of the Church.  My love of being a mother to two wonderful girls does not negate my love of being a pastor to a community seeking, serving, and sharing Christ.

And so I am intentional these days about avoiding the word, “but,” when talking about my feelings about my two callings.  Instead, I am using the words, “both/and.”  I both grieve the loss of time with my children and I rejoice in being able to return to the other work God has given me to do.  Obviously some days the balance of “both/and” happens more smoothly than others.  But that balance is also the fullness of all the work God has given me to do – the work of being a priest, a mother, a wife, a friend, a sister, a member of the community.  My prayer for the coming weeks is that I can resist those moments when the “but” tries to sneak its way into my language, and hold dear to the “both/and” that is the blessing of my life right now.

Sermon – Luke 19.28-40, PS, YC, March 24, 2013

25 Monday Mar 2013

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Uncategorized

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Holy Week, Messiah, Palm Sunday, parenting, passion, prophecy, Sermon

palm-sunday-australiaWhen I was in third grade, I had one of those classic rite-of-passage moments.  The day started out simply enough.  At school, my friend, Buffy, who normally sat right behind me, was out sick that day.  On the way to lunch, another friend, Holly, lamented how much she missed having Buffy there.  I agreed, but casually mentioned that I was getting more work done because Buffy was not distracting me by talking so much.  The comment was a rare, blatantly honest comment about how, although I loved my friend Buffy, Buffy did tend to talk a little too much.  That moment of rare, brutal honest cost me dearly.  That night, Holly called to tell me how upset Buffy was that I said she talked too much.  I was devastated and embarrassed.  I could not believe Holly had betrayed my confidence and told Buffy what I said.  Now I was forced to call Buffy and figure out how to meaningfully apologize.  This was a tall order for a third grader.

What I remember most about that interaction is the presence of my mother.  Before I got up the courage to call Buffy to apologize, I came to my mother weeping.  I was weeping out of remorse, I was weeping out of embarrassment, and I was weeping because I felt like I had no legitimate excuse for my words.  How could I keep Buffy as a friend with her knowing how I felt about her talking habits?  My mother stood by my side, encouraging me to face my fears, assuring me that everything would eventually be okay.

As I look back at that day now as a parent, I can only imagine how my mother must have felt.  She must have felt awful for me, knowing how painful removing one’s foot from one’s mouth can be.  She must have known that this kind of grievance would take a long time to forgive, and that I would have to maintain a tone of repentance, without the assurance of forgiveness.  She must have anticipated how difficult my apology would be and how vulnerable offering that apology would make me.  But my mother must have also known that all of those experiences are a part of growing up and being in relationship with others.  She could not navigate my mess for me.  She could not take away my discomfort.  She knew I just needed to go through the experience, and would be transformed in the process.  I remember my mother being infinitely supportive; but years later, I imagine my mother must have felt impotent and helpless as I navigated the realities of growing up.

In some ways, I think that Holy Week leaves us with that same sense of impotence and helplessness.  We would love nothing more than to finish our worship today with Jesus’ story on that blessed Palm Sunday.  Everything is there.  The prophecies are being fulfilled:  Zechariah already foretold of how the Messiah would come triumphantly, but humbly, riding on a donkey.[i]  Everyone is already singing those words from the Psalms, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”  There is no mistaking that the pieces of the puzzle are all present – Jesus is the long awaited Messiah and the people finally get it as they lay down their blankets and celebrate their king.  We should be able to say, “The end,” today and all go home, ready to celebrate again next week.

Unfortunately, we do not get off so easily.  Like a mother who wants to shield her children, we want to shield Jesus and ourselves from the pain that will come this Holy Week.  We want to skip the Passion Narrative – or at least save the narrative for Good Friday – delaying the inevitable.  But our liturgy today does not let us avoid the uncomfortable remainder of the story.  I have long been told that the reason we read the Palm liturgy along with the Passion Narrative is because so few church-goes actually attend Holy Week services.  But I think there is more to today’s liturgy than cramming everything into one Sunday.  I think we hear the Passion Narrative with the Palm liturgy because the Palm liturgy can only be understood in light of the Passion.  If we try to claim victory today with our palms, we miss the work of the Messiah.  We forget the rest of prophecy if we stop with the palms.  The palms simply mark our acknowledgment of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah.  The Passion gives us the consequences of Jesus’ identity as the Messiah.

Using the parenting lens this year has helped me with my normal disappointment in Palm Sunday.  Normally, Palm Sunday makes me feel like a failure.  Here I am in one moment singing, “All Glory, Laud, and Honor,” joining the festival procession with my palms, and the next moment shouting “Crucify him!”  This liturgy has always made me feel like a failure.  But the parenting lens changes things for me.  If I think of this day not as a failure on my part, but as the experience that Jesus must live through in order to free us from our sins, somehow I feel less impotent.  Somehow I am better able to sit with Jesus today, knowing that I cannot change his journey, but also knowing that his painful journey will lead to greater things.  Without the recognition of Jesus’ identity in the palms liturgy, and the shameful death of Jesus in the passion narrative, we cannot get through to the other side – to the Easter resurrection that awaits us.

So today, we take on the role of supportive parent.  We sit in the kitchen, pretending to read a magazine, while intently listening to the painful journey of Jesus.  If we are good parents, we let the drama unfold as the drama needs to unfold.  But we also keep watch, waiting to be called into the fray to offer our love and support.  We cannot control Jesus’ journey, and in the end, that is for the best – because the end of Jesus’ story is much better without our meddling ways anyway.  Amen.


[i] George W. Stroup, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 152.

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