Saturday, December 1, 2012

Advent Sermons



Although I am not blogging this Advent, I am still preaching and writing and teaching and doing spiritual direction, so  I guess I will post my sermons. I had this idea back in September when I took a week for study leave that I would approach each Advent week's readings in monologue form from the point of view of someone not in them, so tomorrow is Mary trying to make sense of the passages from Jeremiah and Luke. Next week will be Elizabeth trying to make sense of her son, John the Baptist. I don't know anymore whether it was a good idea, but it's the one I have. So  . . .  sermon coming up.

Image:
Full of Grace
An Exhibition for Advent 2009

Here

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Anticipating Advent

I know some of you are still poking around here . . . so I posted a link to my old Advent blog above.  In case you, too, are struggling. 
 
And then there's always Tanner.
 
 

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Have a Lovely Holiday Season!


See you all on the other side (January 2, 2013).


 

Friday, November 16, 2012

Young Women (and One Not-So-Young)



On each of the past two days, it's been my great privilege to spend time with a young woman from my children's circle of friends.  Both girls are in the process of returning to school after times of considerable difficulty, and each of them had asked to meet with me for some support and encouragement and advice on how to handle the challenges of the next few weeks.  They are, both of them, beautiful, gifted, and generous young women with, I hope and imagine, brilliant futures ahead of them.
 
As I drove home from one of these meetings at a local coffee shop tonight, I was at first astounded to realize that I have become a mentor to young women, and that I actually have knowledge and wisdom to impart.  When did that happen?
 
And then I was very much touched, that they would seek me out.  I imagined what it would have been like for me, at their ages -- a graduating law student when I was twenty-five, a lawyer when I was thirty -- to have had a woman a generation older than I from whom to seek advice and reassurance.  There was no such person.
 
And so: Something missing entirely from my own life now presents itself as a lovely opportunity from the other side.  Exactly what my experience of mothering has always been.
 
And, a Mystery:  The young ladies at church, the few of them we have, never approach me in this way.  That's been a disappointment and a conundrum to me, as I've always had great relationships with my middle school and high school students.
 
"Mom, you can be an extremely intimidating person," says my son. 
 
I seriously doubt that very much.  But maybe it helps that these young women knew me when they were little girls and I was a mom in jeans and flip-flops, making them PB&J sandwiches and rummaging in the freezer for popsicles. 

Something to consider.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Suicide Prevention Legislation

 
 
Here's the testimony I presented this morning to the Ohio Senate Education Committee in support of legislation that would mandate suicide prevention education for Ohio school teachers, counselors, and administrators.  (I have some more pictures but they are on the phone of my brother, who came up to Columbus to surprise and support me, and I'm waiting . . . ).  My small contribution to a large group effort:
 
Madam Chairwoman and Committee Members:  
I want to thank you for this opportunity to speak in support of House Bill 543, the Jason Flatt Act.   I am a Volunteer Field Advocate for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, which is working with the Jason Foundation to support this legislation in Ohio.  My husband, son Matt, and I are residents of Cleveland Heights in Cuyahoga County; I serve as the pastor of Nankin Federated Church in Ashland County; and my daughter lives and works in Warren, in Mahoning County.  My father and my brother and his family are residents of Warren County; my niece is a teacher in the Little Miami School District in Warren County.  I share those “family facts” with you as an indication of how the consequences of one suicide, that of my son Josh, reverberate across our state.
I hope that the statistics presented to you in connection with this proposed legislation are shocking to you.  They are shocking to me, and I have now lived with the reality of suicide as a devastating and life-altering experience for over four years.
Why am I here today?  I am here for both professional and personal reasons.
·         From a professional standpoint, in the years before I was ordained to ministry, I was an attorney, practicing family law, and an educator, in a Jewish day school for six years, and on and off as an adjunct instructor at the college level.  Never in all of those years, years in which I met all of my continuing education requirements in my fields, some of it in child and adolescent development and psychology, did I receive or know to seek training in suicide prevention.  As a family lawyer, I often served as a guardian ad litem, charged with representing the best interests of children in juvenile and family court.  As you can imagine, many of the children and adolescents whom I served lived difficult and troubled lives. But had one of them attempted or died of suicide, I would have been dumbfounded, as I surely would have recognized no advance warning signs.
·         As an educator, I have worked primarily with middle and high school students and young adults.  Again: no training, no knowledge regarding the signs of suicidal thoughts or plans.  Today I know that treatable mental illness, the leading cause of suicide, knows no boundaries: students across the spectrum in terms of gifts, achievement, income brackets, and family background are victims of what has become a mental health catastrophe. 
·         My friend Jean Reinhold, a gifted enrichment educator with twenty-five years of experience in the Shaker Heights school system in Cuyahoga County, tells me that she has  “seen/heard/known of increasing numbers of students facing insurmountable stresses without coping mechanisms [and that that situation], tied with any propensity toward mental illness, is scary.”   Indeed it is.
My niece, Bethany Beebe, teaches language arts to eighth-graders.  She wrote the following to me last week: “I can't say that any other teacher I with whom have spoken about the issue of suicide and prevention of such has any real idea of how to 'deal' with it. It is something that is always on my mind when I see a student who is going through a hard time. I know I may be more sensitive to it because of Josh, but I could not imagine how I would feel if it were to happen to one of our students. Having the tools to know how to identify the symptoms (for lack of a better word) is crucial.”
We have tremendous expectations of our teachers.  We expect them to teach our children how to write and how to understand algebra.  We expect them to prepare our young people for a fast-paced, multi-cultural, globalized society.  We expect them to grade papers and manage lunchrooms and recess.  Can we also expect them to be mental health gatekeepers?
We already do.  Many of our young people see more of their teachers and school coaches and advisors than they do of other adults in their lives, including their parents.  Young people write papers and create art that reflect their deepest feelings.  Young people often behave in ways that offer clues to what they may be experiencing in the form of sadness, of frustration, of drug and alcohol use, of relationship challenges, of family situations, and of depression and other disorders and illnesses.
How critical it is that we offer their educators and administrators and counselors the tools they need to respond appropriately and effectively to what they, and often they alone, observe!
Now, a personal note: Our son, Josh Williams, died in 2008, the day after his 24th birthday.  At the time, we, his family and friends, believed that there had been no warning signs. We were in a state of complete shock for months, and often likened his death to his having been run down by a train.
·         As the years have passed, however, and we have learned more about Josh and more about mental illness, it has become apparent that the signs were there.  Many of them were extremely subtle, and many would have remained unknown to us had we not found writings and journals of his that indicate that he had suffered from depression for at least two years before his death, and perhaps much longer.
·         You may ask, “How could you not have known?”  You may want to believe that anyone who takes such a drastic measure to relieve his suffering would surely have been broadcasting his feelings and his intentions loud and clear – but in fact, people often conceal depression and its associated thoughts, believing them to be signs of failure.  Young people in particular, not wanting to disappoint their parents, or feeling alone and misunderstood, may fail to reach out to the people who would do anything to help them and to save their lives.
·         However, people contemplating suicide do, in fact, frequently shed clues, leaving them behind like faint and mysterious footprints in the paths of lives unnecessarily destroyed. Clues that might be recognized by a teacher, a counselor, an administrator, a coach, a parent – if any of us but understood what we were seeing.  Clues that might result in action, if those who see or hear them are trained to respond with compassion, knowledge, and courage.
 
I believe that the passage of the Jason Flatt Act will offer school personnel an indispensable tool in saving students’ lives.  Thank you for your time this morning.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Ministry: Naomi and Ruth



I've been here at my church for a year now.  Earlier this fall, I decided that it was about time to act on some of the specific reasons for which I had at one time believed that I had been called to ministry, and to offer some possibilities for small group spiritual formation.
 
As I looked out over the congregation week after week, I saw a need for some support of the many widows among us.  Eventually that thought broadened to include all those who had suffered major losses, which is everyone, including our few young people.  I've put together a short (four weeks), erratically meeting group called "Contending with Loss."  It's an opportunity for people to share their own stories in light of that of Naomi and her daughters-in-law.
 
As it turns out, six women have shown up: four of them widows, and two who are caretakers for husbands with devastating disabilities.  The first week, we talked about the basics: what happened to Naomi and family, and what has happened to each of them.
 
Yesterday, we got a bit further into the story, trying to imagine all the realities of life which the Bible narrative leaves out.  The question I then posed to our little group was: What are all the other losses associated with the big ones in your own lives, all of the related visible and especially the invisible losses?
 
I'm not sharing my own story in this group; I'm trying to pose questions and listen and keep us on track (a challenge!).  I'm not sure which I'm learning more about:  the universality of the invisible losses, or the challenges of what is essentially group spiritual direction.
 
In a few weeks, we'll meet again to review some of the adventures of Naomi and Ruth, and to talk about the surprising ways in which other people show up and help us contend with the challenges of new lives.  I want to offer some possibilities for optimism to a group of women for whom the holidays are decidedly not a time of joyous anticipation.
 
I'm not unrealistic.  It's taken me four years of intentionality with respect to prayer and spiritual direction to glimpse God working through the people who surround me.  But I hope that these ladies I love will begin to see bits and pieces of their own stories through the prism of Scripture, and to recognize themselves as sisters to these women of long ago.
 
 
 
 
 
Image: He Qi, Ruth and Naomi (1994)

Monday, November 12, 2012

Sight: A Big Thing

Over at People for Others, a Week of Gratitude based on the five senses has begun.   Be sure to take a look at ALL the photos in Jane Knuth's entry today, and read Paul Campbell's on great art and nature as well.

*****

My grandmother lost most of her sight to cataracts and macular degeneration in the last decade of her life.  I'm not sure how much of any of us she could see by the time we celebrated her 100th birthday.  Since she had also lost most of her hearing, it was almost as if she and her radiant mind were entombed in a world of darkness and silence. 

My grandmother taught me to see things both small and large. 
 
Small: We spent time birding together, here in Ohio and along the eastern coast of Florida.  As she began to lose her hearing in her seventies, she had to rely increasingly upon her eyesight.  One of the more bizarre effects of her loss of hearing was that birds often materialized in her field of vision far from where she expected to see them, based upon the seeming origin of song.

Large: She took me to Europe and made sure that I saw great cathedrals and great works of art and great plays.  She took me out west, where she learned to ride a horse so that we could see the wilderness from within and the mountains from the trails. 

Hand-held: My grandmother was a voracious reader, a trait that is apparently genetic.  And she raised huge beds of glorious flowers, a skill that is apparently not.

Ironic: My grandmother was a beautiful woman and created a comfortable and inviting home, but she had little interest in self or home décor, and no flair for either.  She dressed plainly, wore her gray hair in a simple bun, and commented once that the house would probably fall down around her if my grandfather did not point out its needs from time to time.  Almost all of her visual attention was directed outward: to her family, to her reading, to nature, to grand buildings and art and drama, to the whole wide world.

And so, when I ponder gratitude for sight, I am most grateful for the grandmother who shared her vision with me.  And for the Atlantic coast we so enjoyed together: