Exits and endings and how I learned to say goodbye in Kazakhstan

Just after I graduated from seminary in 2005, I visited my brother who was serving in the Peace Corps in Kazakhstan. I could not have found that country on a map before Jay moved there but I was so excited to see his new world and share his journey.

Kazakhstan was full of new experiences. Some of it seemed drab and strange, like the gray and sad-looking Soviet-era buildings that dotted the capital Almaty or the warm camel milk we bought to drink at the city's bazaar. Some things were wonderful, like staying with the host family where Jay lived for the first three months of his training (his home at the time was farther north, where he would spend two years teaching English).

This host family welcomed us warmly, though they spoke no English. Jay communicated with them in Russian and translated for me. We spent days hiking in the village, visiting other friends, working with the family in their garden and I made bread with the women. On the day we left, Jay's host mom gave me a beautiful white linen handkerchief and told me to save it for my wedding day (the family was somewhat alarmed that I was in my late twenties and unmarried!)

Before we left, Jay told me about the leave-taking rituals in Kazakhstan. Before house guests could leave, it was important to sit down together, have some tea and bread and to thank the hosts for their hospitality. So we did just that before we got on the bus to our next destination. It felt like a fine, fitting end to our week with the family. It was a ritual, it was something to do and it felt good.

Since then I've said many goodbyes, moved a few times, made many exits and endings. Who hasn't? To leave, to exit, to end is part of the journey, essential to do before beginning a new.

Humans have long put rituals to their endings, as the Kazakh family did. We have graduation ceremonies, good-bye parties and blessing and sending rituals at church. In her book Exit: The Endings That Set Us Free, author Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot explores the way we say goodbye and the need for ritual around the endings we all experience.

In an NPR interview with Lawrence-Lightfoot earlier this year, she talked about the importance of marking our endings: "I think that one of the things that I discovered through doing this research is that exits can become very defining moments, that in our society, we tend to be so focused on beginnings, so focused on launchings, so tilted toward the future that we don't take advantage of those very important moments of paying attention to our departures."

Pay attention to your departures. The author also said that it's good to pay attention to small departures, too, since the way we handle little goodbyes sets us up for the way we handle bigger ones.

I've done a lot of leaving lately and the topic of appropriate endings and rituals is still on my mind.

Since my last blog entry, I've left my call as pastor at Central Lutheran Church here in Anchorage. It was a planned exit and one that I chose but it was still hard. No one in all of my seminary training prepared me for how hard it would be to leave a congregation that I loved. I left for professional opportunities and for a chance to work part-time and stay home part-time with our baby who is due in late August. I wanted to write about the leave-taking many times on this blog but I couldn't find the words.

Since then I've also left the cute, sunny, conveniently-located apartment my husband and I shared in downtown Anchorage and we've bought a house on the west side of town. Another ending, and again, I couldn't find the words.

Perhaps because rituals work better. At Central I had a going-away party and a blessing and sending during worship. In our little apartment, I sat quietly and remembered how so many formative events of the last eight years of my life happened within those walls.

Stories work too, which is what Lawrence-Lightfoot found in her book. I told my husband funny stories of my early days living in the apartment (before we met). I told my friends a host of stories of life and people at Central Lutheran. Now my husband and I are telling stories about our pre-baby adventures, as we approach the end of our duo and the beginning of our trio.

Lots of Biblical stories mark endings and exits, too. People of God have long told stories of our fore-fathers and mothers of faith. Abram moves to a foreign land. Elisha follows Elijah into prophecy. The disciples leave their nets and follow Jesus. Jesus dies on the cross.

Rituals. Story-telling. Naming the ending as such and recalling why the time or experience matters, just like Jay and I did around that little table in Kazakhstan. Maybe that's the best we can do. Exits and endings are everywhere. And so too, are the new beginnings.

I'd be curious to hear about the way you have marked your endings and exits. What helps? How does it work for you?

Named: Yellow Shoe Girl, Child of God (Sermon 2.27.13)

(This sermon was given at Central Lutheran Church in Lent, Wednesday, February 27, 2013. The texts for the day were Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:21-22).

 

When I was in 8^th grade and trying desperately to look cool and fit in with the crowd, I purchase a pair of yellow sneakers. I thought they were pretty cool but the truth was - I wasn’t. I was shy, nerdy, wore thick glasses and in band. Some kids tried to cheat off my tests and I tried to cover up my high marks when someone asked. My tiny Iowa school had grades 7-12 in the same building, and I lived in fear of the juniors and seniors, especially the popular ones. You can imagine my horror when, one day while wearing those yellow shoes, a junior named Jason Katcher noticed them and started calling me yellow shoe girl. This was not exactly the attention I had hoped for. His buddies started laughing. Over the next year, I would occasionally hear that taunt as I walked by, “Yellow shoe girl!” Now there is flirty teasing and there is mean teasing. This always felt like the latter and definitely not the former. I had been named and the name stuck.

Anyone who has ever survived middle school is very familiar with the name game. You get named. Other kids decide who you are and call you by those names. Jock. Nerd. Popular. Pretty. Band geek. Stoner. Loser. There are lots of other ones that I don’t want to repeat here. You know them. Chances are pretty good that you were called a name and/or you called someone else a name when you were young. Sometimes those names stick. We call it bullying now, but just because we name it doesn’t make it hurt less.

Most of us have passed safely out of middle school, but names still stick. We put them on ourselves or others apply them. Music, media and magazines tell us what we should be. We should be sophisticated and cool. We should be muscled and uber-skinny. We should be the perfect parent and spouse. We should be able to juggle it all and have it all. The world around us offers all kinds of names and sometimes, they stick.

That’s one of the reasons we come to church, Sundays and Wednesdays. We need to get those names and labels washed off of us. We come here to remember who we are. We come here to remember our true name: Child of God.

At baptism we are marked with the sign of the cross. We get our name. We hear that we are called by name in the passage from Isaiah 43. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overcome you.” These words may as well be said at the baptism font, for this is what happens. God names us, claims us and calls us.

We’ve talked a lot about vocation at Central over the past year. You have heard this before but I’ll say it again: When we get our name at baptism – Child of God – we are sent out into the world to live our vocation, which is to love God and help others. Because God has a mission to love and save the whole world, we have  a purpose. When we know and celebrate our true name, our true identity, we’re freed to spend our days loving God and serving others. And you never know how God will use you, not just your accomplishments but also your broken places.

About 15 years after the yellow shoe girl incident, while I was in seminary, I was asked to volunteer for the ELCA National Youth Gathering in Atlanta. I was part of the evening dome team, which put together the evening worship services held in the Georgia Dome each night. I spent time moving equipment around, setting up chairs, helping with hospitality for the bands and other menial duties. I also got to speak at the evening worship event. The leaders were looking for a few people to do 2-minute “spots” about faith and life. I was asked to do one of the speeches and I used the yellow shoe girl story. They put me in makeup and gave me a microphone and I stood there for 2 minutes in front of 25,000 people and talked about how even though people give us names, the name we get in baptism is the most important name of all. No one can take it away from us. And our true name that we get in baptism empowers us to love God and serve others.

I didn’t know it until later, but in the audience was my old pastor, from my high school days, who was the first to encourage me to go to seminary. The next year, he preached at my ordination and gave me these yellow shoes. Every time I wear them, I remember that no matter what other names seem to stick, nothing can replace our true identity. When we know our true name, there is only one way to respond: love God and serve others. Amen.

God's GPS

God has a plan, she said over lunch,

soup and potato chips.

I wondered if God

orchestrated these things,

jobs that end and friends who get sick.

What does God think, up there

about us, down here?

Did God plan it all, or let us choose?

Does God smack His forehead,

a heavenly Homer Simpson?

 

Is God the GPS that tells us

without judgment, to make three left turns

when one right would have been easier?

We keep driving, anyway.

We know we’re not alone.

 

(This poem was written in honor of Central Lutheran's youth director, whose last day was January 31, 2013.)

What to do when you grow up (Sermon 1.27.13)

(This sermon was given on January 27, 2013, at Central Lutheran Church, Anchorage, Alaska. The text for the day was Luke 4:14-21, Epiphany 3C).

 

What did you want to be when you grew up? What did you tell people? What did you tell yourself? It's been said that the gifts and skills we exhibit in early childhood may be a predictor of our true calling and vocation. What did you like to do as a child? When I was young, I liked to memorize books and then act them out, so maybe that's not too far off. But I also wanted to be an astronaut, and then the Challenger blew up. Then I decided to be an on-the-earth astronomer, but when I took high school math and chemistry, I realized I didn't like equations. So, oh, well, here I am.

 

Think back on what you wanted to be when you grew up. Think back on how you thought your life would work out. Did everything go as planned? Did anything go as planned? Very few of us would have planned for the sudden death of a loved one, being fired from a job or a relationship ending. We didn't know, perhaps, when we were younger, that life would bring us pain, frustration, boredom, grief, anger, fear or anxiety. We didn't plan for death, stroke, cancer, divorce or depression. I don't know about you, but I have often felt like a cartoon character I once saw who got mad when his fellow actors weren't following their lines. He screamed, “None of this is in the script!”

 In the gospel lesson for today, Jesus returns to his hometown, Nazareth, and news of his fame goes before him. He had been teaching throughout Galilee and everyone was impressed. Perhaps it was his strong speaking voice, his deep and soulful gaze or his astonishing grasp of the Torah and Jewish traditions. By the time he got to Nazareth, any number of people were already expecting what Jesus might do when he “grew up,” that is, what he might accomplish. Perhaps he'd be a wise and inspiring rabbi that reassured them of their status as the chosen ones. Maybe he'd become political force to overtake the Romans. There were so many things Jesus might be and people had plans.

 Jesus had plans, too. He had his own ideas about what his life would look like, about his life's work. These are Jesus’ first words in the gospel of Luke and it’s a sort of inaugural address. Here’s what you can expect in the coming years, here’s a vision. Jesus walks into the synagogue at Nazareth and reads from Isaiah. When Jesus sat down, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Perhaps the people were thinking, “Well, that's nice. Can't argue with Isaiah.” The eyes of all were fixed on him. Then he said, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Hmmm. What does he mean, the crowd wondered? Does this mean he is the Messiah? Is he the powerful leader we hoped for?

 Our story ends here, for the week. You'll have to stay tuned next week to hear what Jesus says next and how the people react. Here's a teaser: the people are not too happy about Jesus' next words.

 Let's stay with the words Jesus speaks here. He's quoting from two different portions of Isaiah, chapters 58 and 61, and references Leviticus 25, regarding the Jubilee year. His words aren't just quoting scripture; Jesus is telling us what he's going to do when he grows up. He's telling us what his life and work will be about. He'll bring good news to the poor, give sight to the blind and release the captives. He'll do this in myriad ways throughout the gospel of Luke. Jesus may have gotten inspiration from Isaiah, but his words are similar to his mother's vision of what God's world could be. Mary's song, the Magnificat, echoes these same themes. Hmmm. Maybe mother really does know best.

Jesus' whole life and ministry will be about proclaiming the good news. And who is the good news for? The poor, the captive, the blind and the oppressed. Did it say anything in there about the middle class Norwegians? People who are doing just fine? People who have a lucrative stock portfolio, a secure job or plenty of savings? What about people who take can care of themselves, thank you, and don't want to bother anyone? Is the good news for them?

 The thing is, the good news is really only good news when you realize you truly need it. Before the gospel can be good news, it's terrible news. And the news is this: we all either have been or are experiencing poverty, blindness, oppression and captivity. We may be physically or spiritually poor. We may be literally blind or blind to the needs of others or the way God is present in our world. We may be oppressed literally or we may be overwhelmed by our work or family circumstances. We may be held captive literally or we may be captive to depression, anxiety, self-doubt, holding on to grudges, lack of motivation or life circumstances. Before we can hear the good news of the gospel, we have to see the truth own pain, longings and doubt. This is not the kind of truth we like to hear. One of the reasons Jesus was killed was because he spoke the truth.

 But when you've accepted the bad news about yourself, you're freed up to hear the good news. God is good. God comes to you. God is for you. God gives you comfort. God never leaves you alone. This is very good news indeed. And when you've really received the good news and comfort from God, you can give it to others, freely, and without holding back.

This brings us to today, to this place in time. Jesus wasn't what the people expected, and our lives aren't always what we expect, either. Our life as a congregation doesn't always go the way we had planned. Many of the events, changes and heartaches of ministry that I have experienced were not ones I expected or planned for in seminary. The events of last Sunday's annual meeting were not exactly in my plan. As most of you know, due to budget restraints, the congregation voted Sunday to eliminate the position of the youth and family minster, effective the end of this month. I confess I'm still upset and I'm really sad. Things do not always go the way we had planned.

 And yet. And yet. The good news comes to us right in those places and it does not leave us there. We do not emerge unchanged from an encounter with God. An encounter with the good news gives us comfort but it also sends us out to be the body of Christ, not just to the world but also to each other.

 Paul writes in 1 Corinthians about dissension within the body. That was true for the early Christians in Corinth and every congregation since. It is even true, at times, for us. And yet. And yet. We are still the body. We are still the ones called to carry on Jesus' mission of bringing good news, release, sight and liberation. What’s our inaugural vision for Central today? What hopes and dreams do we have for this congregation this year? How do we join in Jesus’ mission and live out his vision?

A few requests: Please be extra kind to each other over the coming weeks. Please be extra attentive to the gifts you have that can contribute to the body of Central Lutheran. Please be extra willing to say yes when one of the pastors or members of the youth committee asks you to help, or asks you to share your faith story during Lent. Please be extra conscious of the fact that when you don't think you need to be here at worship, we need you. We need each other.

 Please know that the God who gives you comfort and peace has also entrusted you to the task of caring for others. Please know that your vocation – your purpose that goes beyond your job – is grounded in our common faith and life. Please know that when you were baptized into the body of Christ, you received your first and true calling: child of God. Please know that it is here that you are empowered to go out do all those things – big and small – that you were really meant to do when you grew up. Amen.