Come and be messy…
I believe that everyone in their journey through life has one or two themes that play over and over again—our life themes are constantly resurfacing. One of my life themes is being a mess. Not too long ago, I was loath to admit this. I cleaned up the messy edges as much as possible and pour on veneer… until until.. the mess resurfaced.
Perhaps it comes from being an off the chart “P” on the Myers-Briggs test. Myers-Briggs of course has become the unofficial astrology for those that find themselves on the spiritual left. I’ve tried to integrate my P over the years, but overall I am a perceiving preferenced person—I hate filing papers, I never know where my keys are and its anyone’s guess which drawer I stuck something in.
Yes, life is a mess, but its much bigger than that. Maybe it started in childhood with a messy room and nagging parents. Jumping in mud puddles on Sundays was an act of protest— I didn’t mind going to church, I just couldn’t stomach the idea that God really gave a damn about what I wore to church. It somehow felt asinine to wear a garment that felt like a medieval torture device. I couldn’t express that as a child so I’d simply ruin perfectly good lace dresses.
Is it the graphic-dyslexia? I know second graders with handwriting better than mine. Believe me, I’m not complaining. Or at least I’m not complaining anymore. I’ve somehow reconciled my mess—I am at peace in my chaos. For whatever reason, my theme or vocation or path is a spiritual journey equivalent to that of Charlie Brown’s friend pigpen. I travel around unknowingly submerged in a cloud of spiritual dust, smiling.
Being a mess resurfaced in my adult life. I ended up in Seminary studying theology and becoming an Episcopal Priest. What could be messier than that? Only my father’s profession, I suppose. As a plumber he swam through shit for a living. But so do I quite often-- just a different kind.
Episcopalians in general are criticized for the level of chaos and mess they allow within their church. A Baptist I knew once accused us Episcopalians of having sloppy agape. That’s sloppy love. A large non-denominational church near my home is rumored to offer course on how to talk to and save your Episcopalian friends. Episcopalians are reputed for being somewhat non-doctrinal, believe what you will but come and pray with us. My long time friend Jeff Lee said it better in an All Saints Day sermon a couple years back— “Belief in God is optional. Living together as a community and praying together is not.”
Being a divorced gay woman priest is a lovely mess. Theology, religion, God, liberals, conservatives, people dying, people in transition and pain, babies being born and baptized for grandma’s sake or for the purposes of fire insurance or because of an intentional practicing of Christian spirituality, all coming together in one place, all thanks to good old Henry the eighth and his lovely daughter, Elizabeth.
Yup, the Episcopal church is a mess and so am I.
Blessed be the messiness that I no longer want to hide-- but instead want to revel in-- like Charlie Brown's friend pigpen: I want to walk around in my own cloud of unknowing, smiling... and messy.
I believe that everyone in their journey through life has one or two themes that play over and over again—our life themes are constantly resurfacing. One of my life themes is being a mess. Not too long ago, I was loath to admit this. I cleaned up the messy edges as much as possible and pour on veneer… until until.. the mess resurfaced.
Perhaps it comes from being an off the chart “P” on the Myers-Briggs test. Myers-Briggs of course has become the unofficial astrology for those that find themselves on the spiritual left. I’ve tried to integrate my P over the years, but overall I am a perceiving preferenced person—I hate filing papers, I never know where my keys are and its anyone’s guess which drawer I stuck something in.
Yes, life is a mess, but its much bigger than that. Maybe it started in childhood with a messy room and nagging parents. Jumping in mud puddles on Sundays was an act of protest— I didn’t mind going to church, I just couldn’t stomach the idea that God really gave a damn about what I wore to church. It somehow felt asinine to wear a garment that felt like a medieval torture device. I couldn’t express that as a child so I’d simply ruin perfectly good lace dresses.
Is it the graphic-dyslexia? I know second graders with handwriting better than mine. Believe me, I’m not complaining. Or at least I’m not complaining anymore. I’ve somehow reconciled my mess—I am at peace in my chaos. For whatever reason, my theme or vocation or path is a spiritual journey equivalent to that of Charlie Brown’s friend pigpen. I travel around unknowingly submerged in a cloud of spiritual dust, smiling.
Being a mess resurfaced in my adult life. I ended up in Seminary studying theology and becoming an Episcopal Priest. What could be messier than that? Only my father’s profession, I suppose. As a plumber he swam through shit for a living. But so do I quite often-- just a different kind.
Episcopalians in general are criticized for the level of chaos and mess they allow within their church. A Baptist I knew once accused us Episcopalians of having sloppy agape. That’s sloppy love. A large non-denominational church near my home is rumored to offer course on how to talk to and save your Episcopalian friends. Episcopalians are reputed for being somewhat non-doctrinal, believe what you will but come and pray with us. My long time friend Jeff Lee said it better in an All Saints Day sermon a couple years back— “Belief in God is optional. Living together as a community and praying together is not.”
Being a divorced gay woman priest is a lovely mess. Theology, religion, God, liberals, conservatives, people dying, people in transition and pain, babies being born and baptized for grandma’s sake or for the purposes of fire insurance or because of an intentional practicing of Christian spirituality, all coming together in one place, all thanks to good old Henry the eighth and his lovely daughter, Elizabeth.
Yup, the Episcopal church is a mess and so am I.
Blessed be the messiness that I no longer want to hide-- but instead want to revel in-- like Charlie Brown's friend pigpen: I want to walk around in my own cloud of unknowing, smiling... and messy.
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