tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10095892106551130782024-03-13T17:20:34.010-04:00Jim's Meadville JournalThis blog is a personal journal of my experiences as a student at Meadville Lombard Theological School.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-46723521104433238292013-05-24T23:57:00.001-04:002013-05-24T23:57:45.569-04:00The Last Post (for now)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For three years we
wandered through the desert. Often alone, sometimes together, always with our
eyes turned toward something that we could not quite see. But that unseen
something was our goal; it was what kept us going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">We used various
names at different times to describe it — our calling, our formation, our
deepening knowledge, our developing authority, our burgeoning leadership. But
it was always something “out there,” something just out of reach and slightly
out of focus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">In the midst of
all the trials and travails of the journey, we doubted the thing that we
followed. We did not believe that we would reach it or understand it or become
it. We started to think that the unseen thing was actually just something we
had made up, something that was now standing in the way of the work that was
before us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">And then the work
became the thing. So much work. Painful, back-breaking loads of work. Working
till we thought we could not go on and then working some more. And writing and
reflecting and reflecting and writing. Turning inward. Turning inward again.
Turning inward even more till we tired of ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Somehow we
supported each other. We wept together, laughed together, were homesick
together and then missed each other when we had returned home. We learned to
love each other at the same time we drove one another crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">But one day while
working, while preaching, while listening, while encouraging, while enduring,
we discovered that we knew things we had not known before. We discovered that
the thing that was so distant at the beginning of our journey was no longer so
far away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">In fact, we never
did quite see that unseen thing. But we felt it. We experienced it. We shared
it. What we once carried in the sacred ark of somewhere else now dwelt within
us. And it was in this way that we became vessels of the holy, carriers of
untold blessings, containers, if not masters, of divinity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Here is where the
beginning ends. Here is where opening up begins to move us in the infinite
spiral dance out beyond the known and unknown, with something like a song in
our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-77966209092690024532013-03-27T15:54:00.001-04:002013-03-27T15:54:40.874-04:00Walking through O'HareFinished up my last Meadville intensive course a few days ago. And made my last school-related trip to Chicago--except for graduation in May. I will not miss the traveling very much, but I will miss a lot of other things about these trips: classmates, Lake Michigan, the Chicago skyline, bracing winds, learning and laughter. And everywhere inspiration for poetry and song.<br />
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<br />
Walking Through O’Hare<br />
<br />
Walking through O’Hare airport I start<br />
Silently blessing each person I see: “May you<br />
Be happy. May you have all that you need.”<br />
Thousands of people flowing by — may you be happy —<br />
Face after face — may you have all that you need.<br />
<br />
After a while, I start to notice the light<br />
Around people’s bodies, the light<br />
We rarely see until the moment<br />
We die, a moment when all is light,<br />
When bodies stop mattering, and all<br />
We are left with is a glowing hum.<br />
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Awaken!Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-29037807081519084162012-06-06T18:39:00.000-04:002012-06-06T18:39:38.127-04:00FormationSometime this spring I became a minister. I can't put my finger on a precise moment, but something shifted subtly and has led to a clear change in the way I perceive myself.<br />
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Last fall, as I was starting the second year of seminary--and the first year of my two-year internship--my classmates and I talked and read and wrote a lot about the topics of "ministerial formation" and "ministerial authority." Most of it, frankly, seemed way too speculative and theoretical to be of much interest to me. What I believed then--as I believe now--is that one starts to gain ministerial authority and form as a result of doing actual ministry.<br />
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In fact, I'm pretty sure that my identifying as a minister came about as a result of the work that I have been doing in my internship congregation, which has been a wonderful place to learn and to serve. To be sure, I was quite comfortable with many aspects of the role of minister before I set foot in this congregation. But the work itself has led beyond comfort to a basic change in my self-identity.<br />
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I do remember the first time this change really came home to me. I was offering a pastoral prayer during a worship service when I looked out and realized that I loved these people. It wasn't that I felt I'd won some kind of wrestling match and, as a result, had been awarded ministerial authority or ministerial identity. It was all about the fact that I had come to love these people.<br />
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I've known for some time that I have many of the skills to do the work of a minister, but it's only very recently that I've come to realize that I have the ability to <i>feel</i> like a minister, too. Although it happened in a natural and understated this way, this change is an important one for me.<br />
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And <i>of course</i> it's about love. This journey has been about love from day one. Ministry is my answer (or at least part of my answer) to Mary Oliver's question of "how to love this world."<br />
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There is so much for which I am grateful. There are blessings within blessings, and more yet to be discovered.<br />
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<br />Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-25510256922494421352012-05-18T17:29:00.001-04:002012-05-18T17:29:51.976-04:00A Prayer for May<br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">As we take
this moment to enter into stillness together,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">We sense how
very difficult it is to be here in this moment,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Just as we
are, just as the world is, just as everything is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">All that is
real and alive exists in this moment alone,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">All that is possible
and beautiful is present only now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Each slender
thing that slouches and each big thing that booms<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Can only be
felt and seen and heard and held in the container<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Of this
fleeting moment that soon ends but somehow never ceases.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">As the
church year winds down, as the school year comes to a close,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">We don’t
quite know how, but things have gotten ahead of us:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">It’s not yet
summer, but already we have begun to plan for fall,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">It’s not yet
summer, but we have felt the sweltering heat of the sun,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">It’s not yet
summer, but we have known the chill of death in our midst.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Let us hold one
another as this moment holds us—securely, tenderly,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">With great
care and great affection, with profound regard for what is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">And let us
hold this moment, let us heed this moment and praise it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">Let us offer
ourselves up to this moment, knowing that all we have is now<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">And each
other and the love that is shared through us and around us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;">May it be so
now. And now. And now again. Amen!<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-11580544151202889892012-05-09T14:26:00.000-04:002012-05-09T14:26:10.243-04:00An Open Letter To the Meadville Lombard Class of 2012 TouchPoint™ Students<br />
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Dear Friends:</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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First and last, I want you to know how much I love and
respect you. I have greatly appreciated the opportunity to be a fellow student
with each of you and to have shared so many meaningful, harrowing,
humorous, moving, strange and wonderful experiences with you over the past
couple of years.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You have achieved a lot in relatively little time. You have
been pioneers—the first group of students to graduate from Meaville’s
TouchPoint™ program! As such, you have smoothed the way (sort of) for those of us
who are following closely in your footsteps. You have navigated an often messy,
sometimes chaotic and confusing path and have done so with something resembling
real grace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Although I know there was a certain amount of private
moaning, groaning, kvetching and complaining about the challenges you faced at
Meadville (and beyond), I was aware that you, as a group, chose not to get lost
in bitterness or despair. Instead, you chose to make the best of it, to keep
moving forward, and to help each other and the rest of us along the way. Thank
you!<o:p></o:p></div>
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This January and March, while sitting in classes that
included many of you, I found that it was always easy to spot the 3<sup>rd</sup>-year
students as you were the ones who were asking the questions that made the most
sense—the questions that had the most to do with real life and how to apply our
learning. You were the ones who were moving from theory to practice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am grateful for your leadership and for the hand of
collegiality that you have extended to those of us following you. I look
forward to working with you as fellow ministers in the years to come.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Love and respect to you all!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jim<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Next January, we'll be missing those of you who are graduating!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-27967199563432570672012-01-25T09:01:00.000-05:002012-01-25T09:01:53.553-05:00A Mammal Views the City from on High<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUalsb59Z3tEakFfIGR7mbypQq1WeoIU-BFez3e_q85Z1QgEob_nAJkI7PfqJeFuI8UoMyhBK7VqNhOUY9XVniXqHQs2EztVzH-b-vzx4vrQ_WtSpteErUEVpAdbLbkbEO6PHZVA_SJtr/s1600/009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUalsb59Z3tEakFfIGR7mbypQq1WeoIU-BFez3e_q85Z1QgEob_nAJkI7PfqJeFuI8UoMyhBK7VqNhOUY9XVniXqHQs2EztVzH-b-vzx4vrQ_WtSpteErUEVpAdbLbkbEO6PHZVA_SJtr/s400/009.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Up on the 27<sup>th</sup> floor of the apartment building</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Across the way, in the corner window stands a dog.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">She is perched atop a couch, attentive, gazing intently</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">At Chicago’s winter streets so far beneath her wet nose.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">What does she see? What can a dog know of a world</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">So distant, composed almost entirely of made things?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">And yet the lights of the cars and buses streak like blood</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Through the city’s arteries, like water through streams,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Like sap feeding the trees that here are skyscrapers— </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Larger than life oaks and willows, ramrod pines, barest</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Burches iced and lit up, windows twinkling like fireflies.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">As far as we have come from nature, here from this high place,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">It seems that the city imitates the natural world despite itself.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Here from this high place, where airplanes circle like hawks</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">And trains rumble like bears, a dog stands at attention and regards, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 125%;">Just beyond all these things, the frozen stillness of the lake.</div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-3893463915751093622012-01-22T11:47:00.000-05:002012-01-22T11:47:30.850-05:00Minister as Educator<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDYsoqfrqQClCJzTtyurxyHA2Os46d56bXZJuOn6xAXEykJQKfWe6OoLcYQPxoJcLQqlTqmzAPhQxqTMpVumOwD50exuwt-y2goVBcLIVISTu6VFn6ZtPgIqxrLadE5eNmynyR6PbcbJd/s1600/0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDYsoqfrqQClCJzTtyurxyHA2Os46d56bXZJuOn6xAXEykJQKfWe6OoLcYQPxoJcLQqlTqmzAPhQxqTMpVumOwD50exuwt-y2goVBcLIVISTu6VFn6ZtPgIqxrLadE5eNmynyR6PbcbJd/s320/0011.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>Throughout most of my ministerial formation process to date, I have been thinking of the minister as Pastor, Prophet and Priest, and I have felt myself growing into each of those roles. This week, in Mark Hicks' "Religious Education for a Changing World" class, I was given the opportunity to think of the minister as Educator.<br />
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In some ways, it seems obvious that ministers are called to work as educators, but it is important to make sure that we are aware of the ways in which function as educators. It's not just in teaching religious education classes, but in everything we do that we are functioning as educators.<br />
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And when I talk about being an educator, I'm not thinking of someone who is a static transmitter of information, but rather one who creates an environment in which people can learn. If our congregations do not function as communities of learners, then I believe that we are not being very effective in our work.<br />
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For me this week reinforced the idea that everything we do teaches some lesson or another. Or, even if it doesn't teach a lesson, that fact in itself is instructive.<br />
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I really want to bring to any congregation I serve the notion that we are hear to learn from one another--and that, as ministers, we are both teachers and learners engaged in a process of change that is, as a matter of faith, rooted in education at every step along the way.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-33126868011770720092012-01-16T21:10:00.001-05:002012-01-17T07:12:27.950-05:00Chicago Skyline at Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was a blustery night for a walk last night, but we were rewarded by a breathtaking view of the city:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l-1ntwbIAiqmX0TkdtLVTU5s9GMRxclhMM6RFjJCK3LBu46Mgq_fFtUJa7WI2kVEl3Go1l1oq8vYkWqtK2z7-w6auEqGJw8q1IAbMlwy_IaxsaVDXkW37lJ1S_q3tiV5JvYP2KQQ2Txn/s1600/012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5l-1ntwbIAiqmX0TkdtLVTU5s9GMRxclhMM6RFjJCK3LBu46Mgq_fFtUJa7WI2kVEl3Go1l1oq8vYkWqtK2z7-w6auEqGJw8q1IAbMlwy_IaxsaVDXkW37lJ1S_q3tiV5JvYP2KQQ2Txn/s640/012.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-17875030416709072912012-01-16T21:06:00.000-05:002012-01-16T21:06:03.974-05:00UU Polity in Snowy Chicago<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I returned to Chicago a few days ago, I found that some snow had fallen. So it seems that winter has returned to the Windy City of Big Shoulders, my kind of town. The view from my window:</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEc75iNtd2snG598QG-NLLAdWUFvHMMxbNYU1Lxw5aZwkdYjdvOJZL0iaVutFMa1CzaWPb6iJf_G82BJ78sdfmyEyOod-o5xNz4aFgPHz_arV2F1vj-jQkWrgk4mfuOvuNpmwFx3PJAKWk/s1600/008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEc75iNtd2snG598QG-NLLAdWUFvHMMxbNYU1Lxw5aZwkdYjdvOJZL0iaVutFMa1CzaWPb6iJf_G82BJ78sdfmyEyOod-o5xNz4aFgPHz_arV2F1vj-jQkWrgk4mfuOvuNpmwFx3PJAKWk/s400/008.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And I got to spend two days studying UU polity with the Rev. John Morehouse. My short take on polity?</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On one hand, what’s not to like about congregational polity? Essentially, it is a structure that empowers people to love one another in committed communities that value real democracy and believe that each of us has something to give and to receive from one another. Congregational polity gives shape and structure to the idea that empowered individuals in empowered communities can thrive and resist the corruption, apathy and cynicism that are inherent in larger, hierarchal systems. So, my overall view of congregational polity is that it is great, and I can’t imagine seriously wanting to affiliate with any other system. On the other hand, I do think that we need to be mindful of two pitfalls of congregational polity: polity as a way of maintaining dysfunction and polity as means of losing our significance in the larger culture.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Most UUs do, I believe, understand that real love for one another does <u>not</u> mean putting up with the tyranny of the few who will have their way only because others will not challenge them (for fear of not having every voice heard). But this danger is present in every congregation and in every meeting where democratic principles are held as dear. Also, the love of endless debate (in the service of this same democratic ideal) can also become normative within our congregations. In other words, sometimes the idea of congregational polity itself can become idolatrous and prop up an endless cycle of dysfunction.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And, in relationship to the dominant culture, those of us who are in covenantal communities can sometimes view ourselves as separate from the larger systems of injustice and oppression, without seeing the ways in which our sense of separateness serves to perpetuate these larger systems. For congregational polity to make sense in the larger world, I believe we need to remember that the covenant that calls us together is one that is larger than our congregations, larger than our faith tradition, larger than our nation. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At the same time, if our congregational polity serves as a stumbling block to reconciliation—which I see as central to any larger covenant—then if does not serve us well. As faith communities, we need to be more than microcosms of the ideal that we hold up to the rest of the world. We need to be arteries that supply the blood that nourishes the world’s muscle and the world’s heart. The extent to which congregational polity helps us become open channels for this lifeblood determines how relevant and vital we will be to the rest of the world. </span></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-75734508560317694322012-01-11T17:02:00.000-05:002012-01-11T17:02:34.053-05:00Between Trips<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOGFUdAGvKjQ-3OCrZdzqJvSadU5kq9p6KpvSphyphenhyphenQPZLjombULY6VfD5H7_nDnBR36BbyutcVxOEuYs6wBe-XFXlIH_aDBBfFOb5a5SV4BcTuu8-P9_F-0m90N7GrowFQMmJbS5BqxJ7D8/s1600/LakeMichigan010512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOGFUdAGvKjQ-3OCrZdzqJvSadU5kq9p6KpvSphyphenhyphenQPZLjombULY6VfD5H7_nDnBR36BbyutcVxOEuYs6wBe-XFXlIH_aDBBfFOb5a5SV4BcTuu8-P9_F-0m90N7GrowFQMmJbS5BqxJ7D8/s400/LakeMichigan010512.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Chicago was beautiful when I was there last week for Meadville's January Convocation. Temperatures in the 50s (in January!) will give way to something rather chillier by the time I return to Chicago at the end of this week, but it was fun to see people strolling by the lake in their shirtsleeves at this time of year. It was also fun and comfortingly familiar to see my classmates again. I look forward to seeing many of them when I return in a few days.<br />
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It is odd to be headquartered in downtown Chicago (smack-dab in the middle of the Loop) rather than in Hyde Park. The larger scale of everything is difficult for me to get used to. And, while the city is beautiful, it lacks the charm of some of the little neighborhoods surrounding the University of Chicago.<br />
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Having said all that, I am pleased that Meadville has found a home for the next little while. And, while the physical surroundings are very different, the heart of the seminary is still there, beating strong. To be sure, there is a great deal of turbulence surrounding this move and the many other changes that have taken place, but I still can't think of any other school where I'd rather be.<br />
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One of the highlights of convocation for me was being in conversation with so many teaching pastors--those ministers who are serving as our mentors and internship hosts. What a terrific bunch of people they are. Our conversations are definitely enriched and expanded as a result of their presence among us. Meadville's practitioner-oriented program really depends on the wisdom and patience of the teaching pastors, and they seem very much up to the task.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-55074637101470731482011-11-09T12:50:00.000-05:002011-11-09T12:50:28.248-05:00Blessing for a Dearly Departed MouseWritten on the occasion of the death of Sarah, my daughter's pet mouse:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGD_3ovfY86ht2zodal2nXhPjhWkyUhzxBOIfse1QvrCI1S4la9OX_pCEc0IeJpVRb6vYMyFfTv_4Y8sl95uYMmq6PcKhWsvYk3URz_YweQU5wVCTXeDQ9hg2HASUFg5cwTNF5ddoPBLb/s1600/white+mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGD_3ovfY86ht2zodal2nXhPjhWkyUhzxBOIfse1QvrCI1S4la9OX_pCEc0IeJpVRb6vYMyFfTv_4Y8sl95uYMmq6PcKhWsvYk3URz_YweQU5wVCTXeDQ9hg2HASUFg5cwTNF5ddoPBLb/s200/white+mouse.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Spirit of all that is and ever will be, we are grateful for the life of this mouse Sarah, who brought us joy and laughter. While she was not with us for very long, she was a cherished member of our family and one that we will miss very much. She helped remind us that even the littlest and least of earth’s creatures is important and worthy of our respect. We will carry her memory with us always, and when we remember her, we will know that we are blessed to have known and loved her. Blessed be the life of Sarah. Blessed be all those who live and die. Blessed be those who mourn. Blessed be.</span></span>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-23666406759691969742011-10-27T16:46:00.000-04:002011-10-27T16:46:00.978-04:00Why Every Seminarian Needs a ChildNot long ago, I overheard a conversation between two prospective seminarians who were wavering about taking the plunge into the madness that is divinity school. As they were both parents of young children, one of their concerns was how they would manage doing all the necessary work to get through school while still managing their parental duties.<br />
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What I told them--and what I'll tell you--is that I don't think I could get through seminary <u>without</u> my child. My daughter keeps things real, keeps things light and keeps things moving. Having a young child gives me the opportunity to live my faith in intimate, meaningful ways even while I am in the midst of the ministerial formation process. At the end of the day, it's good to have a reminder of what is truly most important--otherwise, the liminal nature of the seminary experience can seem dizzyingly disorienting.<br />
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And, more than anything else, I find myself in need of constant invitations and opportunities to play, to explore and to create. I'd like to think I'd be able to come up with these opportunities on my own, but, without a child to lead the way, I'm pretty sure I'd just be bearing down harder and harder, with little thought about the importance of play.<br />
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At the same time, my daughter is being given the opportunity to witness me pursuing a heartfelt calling and working really hard to realize my vision. In other words I am, at my best, modeling what I believe are some of our most important human characterstics: perseverance, curiosity and risk-taking.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk_Z5SAflRirldSWYrQY3I52uc30K436kZGYbjpr_rO6kQDYwImncE5YQgMHen1khyphenhyphenrGhMcttAEyS579NMeUfp0S50RWlkpDft6bWxHY3Z5_l8RMF-Mcs2ezDoWy5I4uRyWLALXYfUhgw/s1600/011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk_Z5SAflRirldSWYrQY3I52uc30K436kZGYbjpr_rO6kQDYwImncE5YQgMHen1khyphenhyphenrGhMcttAEyS579NMeUfp0S50RWlkpDft6bWxHY3Z5_l8RMF-Mcs2ezDoWy5I4uRyWLALXYfUhgw/s320/011.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>While I'm not seriously advocating the idea that everyone in divinity school should have a child, I do believe that my experience of seminary is greatly enhanced by being a parent, and my experience of being a parent is great enhanced by being a seminarian.<br />
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Today my daughter Ella turns seven, an auspicious occasion and a good time for me to remember that, without her presence in my life, I probably would not be doing what I am doing. For all these gifts, I am grateful beyond words.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-80506085745035611412011-09-26T16:32:00.000-04:002011-09-26T16:32:15.641-04:00"I Can't Believe We're Actually Doing This" (again)Since I began seminary last year, I have been having these "I-can't-believe-I'm-actually-doing-this" moments on a fairly regular basis. It happened when I was working at the homeless shelter last year, and when I was working as a hospital chaplain last summer, and it happened again this past Sunday as I stood before my internship congregation.<br />
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I was excited because my teaching pastor (the senior minister who is supervising me) Deb had given me the responsibility of writing and reciting a short chalice lighting for the start of the service. Deb welcomed everyone, I sounded the bell, Deb read a beautiful Rilke poem. And then I pulled from my pocket my painstakingly written . . . to-do list for the weekend. I had grabbed the wrong piece of paper from the table as I dashed out of the house that morning.<br />
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"This is it," I thought to myself. "Here you are, and there <u>they</u> are. Let's see what happens <u>now</u>."<br />
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So, rather than say to the congregation: "Fold laundry; buy salad stuff; change cover on couch . . .", I recited the chalice lighting text from memory -- which, as it turns out, was not all that difficult to do as it was very short and based upon a poem I had written just a few weeks ago.<br />
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And later I started thinking that this experience is what congregational life is really like. You work on something, you become a part of a community, you lovingly prepare something to share with others, you practice -- and then, when things go wrong (as they so often do), you improvise. And, almost always, things turn out alright.<br />
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What's most exciting to me as I have begun this two-year period of learning in an real-life congregation is the fact that it's actually happening. My seminary classmates and I have taken yet another leap into the unknown, trusting that, while the world may be dangerous, it is also a place that calls us to act in faith.<br />
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And, as much as we might prepare for something -- even agonize over it sometimes -- I have a feeling that it is this faith that, in the end, will be of most importance to us.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1gdx_kLFtzjOLORfqJnHtzFnMO79J8y_3mfMkoPe7khhsVzrzW6zpKBC3ZQe5eSWHEdjOOwGgceIjZeuGT1znOC5dcV870jGrusqZosK_b5f2AfOsSexCEf77M3vZUwGkaJ-bY52Y6Ct/s1600/Prophet_Elijah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx1gdx_kLFtzjOLORfqJnHtzFnMO79J8y_3mfMkoPe7khhsVzrzW6zpKBC3ZQe5eSWHEdjOOwGgceIjZeuGT1znOC5dcV870jGrusqZosK_b5f2AfOsSexCEf77M3vZUwGkaJ-bY52Y6Ct/s320/Prophet_Elijah.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>In his beautiful novel "The Fifth Mountain," Paulo Coelho writes, "Fear reaches only to the point where the unavoidable begins; from there on, it loses its meaning." I believe that each moment, as it presents itself to us, offers us that encounter with the unavoidable. I pray that we may face it faithfully and with whatever grace might be given to us.<br />
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(And, just in case you're wondering: Yes, the laundry did get folded, the salad stuff was purchased, and the couch cover was changed . . .)Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-17606666694918960512011-09-03T22:17:00.003-04:002011-09-04T11:58:47.698-04:00Late Summer Light<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDc4ppFadwMjhZnvffpIRYP8BmvCDfdHxxgzBxEzASNuC5AJe3r_A3d4_S1fELhwJzi1U_tvqgJ5r2YOgraK0CJr3IVAXDQQ1452PevNr4YDbtJ7wV32_Ch8isBjnhzoBYsozgHjntA7q/s1600/010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDc4ppFadwMjhZnvffpIRYP8BmvCDfdHxxgzBxEzASNuC5AJe3r_A3d4_S1fELhwJzi1U_tvqgJ5r2YOgraK0CJr3IVAXDQQ1452PevNr4YDbtJ7wV32_Ch8isBjnhzoBYsozgHjntA7q/s640/010.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Late summer light on the lake</div><div class="MsoNormal">reminds me of the thinness</div><div class="MsoNormal">between seasons, between</div><div class="MsoNormal">bodies in motion and at rest.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lying on the ground, I feel</div><div class="MsoNormal">the stillness of the water,</div><div class="MsoNormal">the heat of the sun and the</div><div class="MsoNormal">great fullness of the earth.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Falling now more like particles</div><div class="MsoNormal">than waves, the light weighs</div><div class="MsoNormal">heavily on the yellow-tinged</div><div class="MsoNormal">leaves. With them, I breathe,</div><div class="MsoNormal">yearning to burst into flame.</div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-70146781954793842572011-09-03T22:16:00.000-04:002011-09-03T22:16:23.038-04:00Meadville Convocation 2011: Congregational StudiesI am very grateful to be back in Chicago, where I re-connected with classmates and faculty for a 2-1/2 day convocation to kick off our congregational studies sequence. What a joy to see these folks after an absence of more than 5 months! And what a pleasure it was to meet some of the first-year students and to interact again with the third-year students--really an outstanding assembly of caring, committed people.<br />
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One of the greatest pleasures of convocation was being able to share our clinical pastoral education experiences with each other, both formally and informally. Some had better experiences than others, but it was for all a summer of great transformation and deepening and broadening of our understanding of what it means to be a minister.<br />
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This year will be a challenging one, but I am excited about the possibilities that it holds for me and for my classmates. The world has already been changed by us in ways, large and small, and I believe that we will begin living even more fully into our potential during this year. If we love and nurture our congregations in the same way we do each other, all will be well.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8yLVcO8x9dvvPqOMhQX6BOsXbm81Dak-2rCvBoxHRgGcbyDqPBXlhleqkXFGyIf20VcIS4zNdTv3bxFZnwYUQxT8bsNY6bhVWm26ujtYYGhfNyqkywI5zcWuBOjQCooYMtxMhXDYWu5a/s1600/MeadvilleGroupSept2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8yLVcO8x9dvvPqOMhQX6BOsXbm81Dak-2rCvBoxHRgGcbyDqPBXlhleqkXFGyIf20VcIS4zNdTv3bxFZnwYUQxT8bsNY6bhVWm26ujtYYGhfNyqkywI5zcWuBOjQCooYMtxMhXDYWu5a/s640/MeadvilleGroupSept2011.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-57291078073918014642011-08-13T09:58:00.003-04:002011-08-17T17:18:49.711-04:00CPE: I found God . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzdyNzwckUqtTPnjLRz-gdIX9A5_rgMdqXfTV96g0Np5ehkmU57lDAm-NUZ_6Y1tCxn9i7dQOqbY3IcDzQ32GEsV9sR3E67jyu093fEKlnehakFv8N21JYibWKVsFrF4HYWo0N1eqDg2g/s1600/I+found+God.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzdyNzwckUqtTPnjLRz-gdIX9A5_rgMdqXfTV96g0Np5ehkmU57lDAm-NUZ_6Y1tCxn9i7dQOqbY3IcDzQ32GEsV9sR3E67jyu093fEKlnehakFv8N21JYibWKVsFrF4HYWo0N1eqDg2g/s640/I+found+God.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
For our closing worship service, my CPE intern group led an exercise in which all the chaplains who were gathered reflected on where they had found the sacred in the hospital. People were encouraged to write and draw where they had found God in their work there. I loved all the responses people came up with. Mine was as follows:<br />
<br />
I have found God<br />
in the hands of<br />
the nurse who rubbed<br />
the back of a grieving<br />
mother for hours in<br />
the middle of a long<br />
night in the ICU.<br />
<br />
I remember that night as I sat and stood in the room with a large group of family members who were watching their beloved 18-year-old son/brother/cousin die and saying their goodbyes. The mother was inconsolable, and I'm pretty sure that almost nothing I said (which was very little to begin with) made it through to her. It seemed as if the only thing that kept her from dying of grief in that moment, the only thing that kept her anchored in the room was the nurse who stayed right there with her and, for maybe 2-3 hours, never let go of her.<br />
<br />
After the young man died and the family had gone, I walked back across the hospital and chanted quietly, "Om, shanti, shanti, shanti . . ."Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-82477490067893162222011-08-07T17:06:00.000-04:002011-08-07T17:06:31.753-04:00CPE: So Little and Yet So Much<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">When I was beginning my summer of clinical pastoral education (CPE), I was somewhat intimidated by those who had already been through CPE and said that it taught them how very little anyone can do in these acute care situations, how anything and everything we might do falls well short of what is needed, and how CPE dispels any notion that we as pastors might actually be able to make much of a difference to people who are suffering.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvbb4MUhllrCs8mKW8JxAghiOB0wCpNn7EXVOISDp6V3pIsDpMr4AGWL38nrVNYduRUOUHSnQwKGdW69VQIPvjKImOZcuH5Wp6ffwc_5CLb1nyVPyIFmZjAMuJvEWU-r6pEFT0thosWPb/s1600/All+I+can+do.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="77" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHvbb4MUhllrCs8mKW8JxAghiOB0wCpNn7EXVOISDp6V3pIsDpMr4AGWL38nrVNYduRUOUHSnQwKGdW69VQIPvjKImOZcuH5Wp6ffwc_5CLb1nyVPyIFmZjAMuJvEWU-r6pEFT0thosWPb/s200/All+I+can+do.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">While I do agree that the CPE experience is humbling in many ways, I have come away feeling amazed at just how much we <u>can</u> do in these challenging situations and how much difference even the slightest bit of pastoral care can make. While I have not cured or healed a single person this summer, I do believe my presence has been meaningful to many of the people I have seen at my hospital.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Maybe it was less traumatic for me than it has been for others because I had fewer unrealistic notions about my abilities going into CPE. At age 50, I don't have a whole lot of youthful fantasies or delusions about what I can and cannot do, and I have never held myself in such high esteem that I thought I could single-handedly turn someone's sorrow into joy -- nor have I ever believed that I might make the lame walk or cause the blind see.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And, without a doubt, I was blessed to have a CPE supervisor who follows a collegial educational model, rather than believing that CPE students should be treated rather like soup ingredients that must be thoroughly chopped into small pieces before they can be of any use. While I did feel challenged, I did not feel belittled or disrespected at any time during the summer.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And, when all else is said and done, I am left with a number of crystalline moments that I am not likely to forget. Over the last 10 weeks I have been present at more than 20 deaths, a couple of dozen severe traumas, and more heart-wrenching moments of suffering and painful decisions than I can name.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What amazes me more than anything else is that people have welcomed me into these most intimate of moments in their lives, have allowed me to be part of this experience that they might share only with close family members or, in some cases, with no one else at all. What a great gift that is!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Pastoral care is exhausting and difficult work, but I believe that, as a result of this experience, I have begun to see how compassion works in situations that are difficult almost beyond imagining. And I am reminded of the difference between mere empathy and compassion. As Matthieu Ricard has written:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"A way to deal with this challenge effectively is to cultivate unconditional love and compassion toward the suffering person. This is much more than merely resonating emotionally with the suffering person. . . Compassion is nothing else than love applied to suffering. Such love and compassion can override the feelings of distress and powerlessness that empathy alone generates and lead to constructive states of mind such as compassionate courage.”</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Compassionate courage is a great gift of pastoral care work. It may not look like much from the outside, but I believe it is one of the most powerful forces in the world. I pray that we all might be courageous bearers of compassion in the face of suffering, that we all might be witnesses and bringers of the love that will not let us go.</span>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-54387057489989883682011-07-16T12:14:00.002-04:002011-07-16T14:22:28.618-04:00Outside the Women's Hospital<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A woman who is holding a teddy bear sits in a wheelchair in front of the hospital waiting for her ride home. About 10 feet away from her sits another woman in a wheelchair, also waiting for a ride home, but this one is holding a newborn baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In our hospital, women who lose a child—either through stillbirth or infant death—are given a teddy bear. The bear is not in any way intended to take the place of the baby, but rather is something to hold, something to serve as a small comfort in a time of great pain. It is also a reminder that their loss is real.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The woman with the bear glances at the woman with the baby, and I see tears form in her tired-looking eyes. I step over to her and say, “My name’s Jim. I’m a hospital chaplain. May I wait with you?” She nods.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I kneel beside her and take her hand while, with her other hand, she still clutches her bear tightly. We weep together in silence for about five minutes until her husband appears with their car, in which I see a very new and very empty baby seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">As I help her to the car, the woman squeezes my hand and says, “Thank you.” I turn to go back inside, and I notice the woman with the baby still waiting for her ride. But now she is crying, too. She says, “Did I hear you say you were a chaplain?” When I answer “yes,” she asks, “Would you say a blessing for my daughter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="color: black;">“Of course." </span>I hold the woman’s hand and place my other hand on the sleeping baby’s beautifully round, soft, bald head.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">“Spirit of life and love, we give thanks today for this child. May she be happy and healthy and a blessing to all who know her. We do not understand the great mystery from which each of us emerges and to which each of us returns. But we pray that, while we are here together, we might all be angels for each other, bringers of peace and grace and love. Bless this child, bless this family and bless all who know joy and all who know suffering. This we pray now and always. Amen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqryn0xE0Wgj5il477uj9RUoioP43xCZjemm3ZGXwhB32oPKSKRy0uA4vVcTlkb099IR5zu_ZRUA0vPGHc2v2vDlb879N_BN44KZ4lDaFqwpMFdhcj65hvWeWJ54FgnZL-lEQrwwR8-yM/s1600/priestly+blessing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqryn0xE0Wgj5il477uj9RUoioP43xCZjemm3ZGXwhB32oPKSKRy0uA4vVcTlkb099IR5zu_ZRUA0vPGHc2v2vDlb879N_BN44KZ4lDaFqwpMFdhcj65hvWeWJ54FgnZL-lEQrwwR8-yM/s1600/priestly+blessing.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-36510468127520285712011-07-11T15:35:00.002-04:002011-07-12T17:26:46.482-04:00CPE: What To Do When Everything Is a Crisis<div class="MsoNormal">For my clinical pastoral education, I am serving as a chaplain in a hospital that is a major trauma center, which means that ours is a crisis-driven department of pastoral care. As chaplains, we prioritize our calls as follows: (1) deaths; (2) traumas; (3) codes (generally called when someone’s heart or breathing stops); (4) urgent support; and (5) routine support.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During nights and weekends, when there is only one chaplain to cover the entire hospital complex (some 800 beds), we rarely have time to do anything but respond to deaths, traumas and codes. At these times, literally <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything with which we are dealing is a crisis</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And what are we charged with doing during crises? Several things:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoJ4YYUR_ClFwBp_UZKmqkL7Bh59tB3SVJxnJpn82yrS-QFzb3o9WMBD-Asy4gFOqC31gopBDtsHUTzj0WQG2enUqKexwcpmKa13YQMCcCAEi6068LQoXRN2QeJhzwpX787jyzVDG9zBi/s1600/calm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJoJ4YYUR_ClFwBp_UZKmqkL7Bh59tB3SVJxnJpn82yrS-QFzb3o9WMBD-Asy4gFOqC31gopBDtsHUTzj0WQG2enUqKexwcpmKa13YQMCcCAEi6068LQoXRN2QeJhzwpX787jyzVDG9zBi/s200/calm.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">1. Be the calmest person in the room. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say *seem to be* the calmest person in the room. Simply having an apparently non-anxious presence can be a real gift to people in the middle of a situation that is wholly and madly chaotic. Being such a calm presence is certainly easier said than done, of course—especially when there is so much screaming of orders on the part of the medical staff and wailing pain and grief on the part of patients and their families. Still, I have found that at least the pretense of a calm demeanor is actually possible in most cases, and it gets easier as one gains experience in these situations.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. Serve and advocate on behalf of patients and their families. In our trauma bays, chaplains are the ones who draw the privacy curtains, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity for those who are laid out on the examination table, often bruised and bleeding, with their clothes cut from their bodies. And we are the ones who often remind medical staff that there are family members in the waiting room who need to know what is going on with their loved one. And we are the ones who fetch the doctor when the answers they have given to family members are confusing, misleading or incomplete. We are the ones who take the family from the emergency waiting area to the intensive care unit, who show them where the restrooms and cafeteria are, who ask them if there’s anyone else who needs to be called.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiu_u7fmqa0chBXm1yjV0j3igEHgFFKFW4Qr6Gy06yh3d1PVv5Ie1XIZi7IEVLaXo1qa6XRMd3n0LYuP339MDxww1Bn3G1a9PPtSDewXG6IIAULm7pP9sLgAmJwDEyb68DK4ebm7zzRgj/s1600/praying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfiu_u7fmqa0chBXm1yjV0j3igEHgFFKFW4Qr6Gy06yh3d1PVv5Ie1XIZi7IEVLaXo1qa6XRMd3n0LYuP339MDxww1Bn3G1a9PPtSDewXG6IIAULm7pP9sLgAmJwDEyb68DK4ebm7zzRgj/s1600/praying.jpg" /></a>3. Pray when requested and as needed. I’ve had to learn how to pray <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> people as I never have before. As chaplains, we are asked to pray in nearly every imaginable situation in the hospital—at births, deaths, just before surgeries, at times of great despair and loneliness, at times of confusion and misunderstanding, at the times when life-and-death decisions are being made, and—every now and then—at times of joy. I have changed from being a person who almost never prays (unless you count the many times I’ve said, “Please, God!” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sotto voce</i> over the years) to being a person who is praying all the time—both at the hospital and when I’m away from the hospital.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, during on-call shifts (and much of the rest of the time) we get to see a lot of blood, raw pain, unedited grief and, occasionally, astonishing moments of grace. These last moments often come about only after hanging in there through all the other stuff.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s a reason why these “crisis shifts” at major trauma centers are mostly staffed by intern and resident chaplains who are serving for fixed periods of time. The intensity of the experience can be a source of awe and can also be thoroughly exhausting. Over time, such work takes its toll, even if one is the best self-nurturer in the world. As for me, I am grateful for my CPE experience and for the work of the many people who minister to those who are in the midst of crisis.</div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-75949003128837939772011-06-25T22:24:00.001-04:002011-06-25T22:40:24.278-04:00CPE: Learning by LeapingThe other day, I had another one of those moments where I found myself thinking: "If you'd told me a few years ago that I would be doing this, I would have said, 'No way.'"<br />
<br />
In this case, I was standing in a hospital room surrounded by a large Spanish-speaking family, holding in my arms a beautiful, dead infant girl, whom I was anointing and blessing. The child's mother lay across the hall in the surgical intensive care unit, very near death herself after a terrible car wreck that occurred as the family was on their way to the hospital to deliver the baby.<br />
<br />
In that room, at that moment, there was immense, raw pain. The pain of hopes dashed, loved ones lost, dreams shattered. <u>And</u> there was love.<br />
<br />
I had hoped that I might get through my summer of Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE), without having to deal with an infant death. But there I was, and there was the baby who died before she could be born, and there was the family, seeping pure grief from every pore.<br />
<br />
With the help of an interpreter, I spoke with the family for a while. But, aside from the anointing and blessing, I had little to offer to these people other than my presence. I have no idea if my being there was any help or not, but I do know that I felt privileged to have been a witness to this moment of stunning sorrow.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtnIrnKv41QaQKBYJlJHkjuWTXkL3C1QgNZKfbQ_yAR8PB2d6iwOEpbcGQMixDbNjoKRJdWqAlSLuYLMGZFR8Z_SxvBkaq8-3HoD_6GawK98VK_tMJSMPqIeQEeD3SVEjuooDOIUgrvew/s1600/anoint2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLtnIrnKv41QaQKBYJlJHkjuWTXkL3C1QgNZKfbQ_yAR8PB2d6iwOEpbcGQMixDbNjoKRJdWqAlSLuYLMGZFR8Z_SxvBkaq8-3HoD_6GawK98VK_tMJSMPqIeQEeD3SVEjuooDOIUgrvew/s1600/anoint2.jpg" /></a></div>As awful as this scene was, it was also a great gift to have been allowed to be with these people at this time. And there was no doubt in my mind that this moment was holy. At least for a little while, their great sadness was also mine, and together we lifted up what was lost, blessing all that might have been and all that has come to pass.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-42733142827492457522011-05-30T10:16:00.001-04:002011-05-30T13:31:14.867-04:00Singing the Names of God<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXM4tUNyaZR37E8WxdPysA8gTuUkhgNxn5Oa8BWXru4l8tVC00ECipqGaaD7ffFpjZ0AaEmjv5dWY2fHQW9mUgSmbBJUzRBr17Aa1W3oJdY2Sk_U1KqwOmRS7u_I8Ps8TVGAewULIj8zo/s1600/021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXM4tUNyaZR37E8WxdPysA8gTuUkhgNxn5Oa8BWXru4l8tVC00ECipqGaaD7ffFpjZ0AaEmjv5dWY2fHQW9mUgSmbBJUzRBr17Aa1W3oJdY2Sk_U1KqwOmRS7u_I8Ps8TVGAewULIj8zo/s200/021.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>To mark my 50th birthday, I made a pilgrimage to the Satchidananda Ashram-Yogaville in Virginia to sing with Krishna Das, who is a leading voice in the world of devotional chanting. His call-and-response songs are based on traditional Hindu kirtan but often with new melodies and new instrumentation. KD accompanies himself on harmonium (a small reed organ with hand-pumped bellows), and his band includes a violinist, two hand drummers, electric bassist, and finger cymbalist.<br />
<br />
The evening began with a video of the ashram’s founder, Swami Satchidananda (who died in 2002) talking about the nature of sound and how it relates to yoga and meditation. He put forth the idea that sound is the highest or most refined form of matter. And the sound that one reaches toward is a universal hum: Om, Amen, Amin are all expressions of this same hum. The most basic and the most difficult to attain essence comes down to this hum.<br />
<br />
He also talked about the Ramayana, the great epic Hindu poem, and how Ram (an incarnation of the supreme being Vishnu) had to wait for a bridge to be built to go across the sea to rescue his partner Sita, while Hanuman, the monkey-man companion of Ram, simply chanted the name of Ram and flew across the water. Swami-ji asked: So which is more powerful: Ram or the name of Ram?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFFWaytBdJUMso87TQ7Ibz8D2xomxFN6uEIv1KvxwH6KADjj0JqYAP9oU29dxFfnWskp0p8678g-npwL3Y8o2onAGW7oRzuX1L6jOiNBiUIss7U_dx0D6Bh2wwCIddcW3aiJP7cKUuGCM/s1600/Krishna+Das1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFFWaytBdJUMso87TQ7Ibz8D2xomxFN6uEIv1KvxwH6KADjj0JqYAP9oU29dxFfnWskp0p8678g-npwL3Y8o2onAGW7oRzuX1L6jOiNBiUIss7U_dx0D6Bh2wwCIddcW3aiJP7cKUuGCM/s320/Krishna+Das1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In the introduction to one of his songs (My Foolish Heart/Bhaja Govinda), Krishna Das told the story of the aging Sanskrit scholar who was told by the Indian saint Adi Shankaracharya, “Bhaja Govinda,” meaning “Sing the names of God.” In other words, this man did not have long to live and better get busy with what really matters, rather than mere rote learning.<br />
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In fact, we all better get busy singing the names of God. And what are the names of God in our own lives and in our own experience? In his popular book about end-of-life issues, Ira Byock talks about “The Four Things That Matter Most.” They are: “Please forgive me.” “I forgive you.” “Thank you.” and “I love you.”<br />
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I would like to suggest that when we give voice to those four things, we are “singing the names of God.”<br />
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When we forgive ourselves we are on the path of compassion. When we forgive others, we are moving that compassion outward and extending mercy. “Thank you” is a prayer and perhaps the best expression of gratitude. And to say “I love you” is to impart that which is most important—the love that will not let us go and that, when shared, is the love that holds each of us in it.<br />
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Compassion, mercy, gratitude, love. We need to give form and voice to them all of our days. And then our lives may become a part of the great song that connects all to all. May it be so!<br />
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Om. Amen. Amin.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-35429135451828094162011-04-28T18:30:00.000-04:002011-04-28T18:30:52.508-04:00What have I learned in my first year of divinity school?<embed src='http://www.xtranormal.com/site_media/players/jw_player_v54/player.swf' height='312' width='504' bgcolor='0x000000' allowscriptaccess='always' allowfullscreen='true' flashvars="&author=jim.magaw&autostart=true&backcolor=0x000000&date=April%2027%2C%202011&description=Dialogue%20about%20learnings%20from%20my%20first%20year%20at%20Meadville%20Lombard%20Theological%20School.&fbit.height=283&fbit.visible=true&fbit.width=504&fbit.x=0&fbit.y=0&file=http%3A%2F%2Fnewvideos.xtranormal.com%2Fweb_final_lo%2F28e44eba-711e-11e0-93d0-003048d6740d_14.mp4&frontcolor=0xeeeeee&gapro.accountid=UA-5134028-2&gapro.height=283&gapro.visible=true&gapro.width=504&gapro.x=0&gapro.y=0&image=http%3A%2F%2Fnewvideos.xtranormal.com%2Fweb_final_lo%2F28e44eba-711e-11e0-93d0-003048d6740d_14.jpg&lightcolor=0xeeeeee&link=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.xtranormal.com%2Fwatch%2F11900162%2Fwhat-have-you-learned-in-your-first-year-of-divinity-school&plugins=fbit-1%2Ctweetit-1%2Cviral-2%2Cgapro&screencolor=0x000000&skin=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.xtranormal.com%2Fsite_media%2Fplayers%2Fjw_player_v54%2Fxn.xml&title=What%20have%20you%20learned%20in%20your%20first%20year%20of%20divinity%20school%3F&tweetit.height=283&tweetit.visible=true&tweetit.width=504&tweetit.x=0&tweetit.y=0"/>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-82568049942646838342011-04-22T15:35:00.004-04:002011-04-24T13:20:11.743-04:00To Prophesy and To Praise<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As we wrap up our community studies class, we've been making connections between brokenness and worship. What do we do as ministers to address what is broken in the world while holding up that which is praiseworthy? Is there really any difference or distinction between what's broken and what's worthy of praise?</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mary Oliver, in a recent <i>O</i> interview with Maria Shriver, says something interesting about being a "praise poet":</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-ORjoIpnMSetki8drNAUCCc8LKaPOJh4ajxPsPdlghOIOM8_1g8oifo6zPIVelhp3eHOCswnyBGxkBez1vLU8GiEgixYnK_Dy_M7O8fK62vo18SVmf0Jgv2S-Os9fBdwRUEbjtmIzRVl/s1600/oliver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-ORjoIpnMSetki8drNAUCCc8LKaPOJh4ajxPsPdlghOIOM8_1g8oifo6zPIVelhp3eHOCswnyBGxkBez1vLU8GiEgixYnK_Dy_M7O8fK62vo18SVmf0Jgv2S-Os9fBdwRUEbjtmIzRVl/s1600/oliver.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mary Oliver: I like to think of myself as a praise poet.<br />
Maria Shriver: What does that mean?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">MO: That I acknowledge my feeling and gratitude for life by praising the world and whoever made all these things . . . Wendell Berry is a wonderful poet, and he talks about this coming devastation a great deal. I just happen to think you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. So I try to do more of the "Have you noticed this wonderful thing? Do you remember this?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">MS: You try to praise.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">MO: Yes, I try to praise.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD_hQv7lOg-_4YCDTRQqMIk4PMd3VuDM-efHCYxWqo6fh7jm1wsLpqdbvoEQF8uyod8HeLXu47kUZQJNEq11ANcuiGqMb7OKQUo2Jo_GPxZsFlJhfH2n1VAv2Z83vhvNIzW4uB0f95W_C/s1600/berry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWD_hQv7lOg-_4YCDTRQqMIk4PMd3VuDM-efHCYxWqo6fh7jm1wsLpqdbvoEQF8uyod8HeLXu47kUZQJNEq11ANcuiGqMb7OKQUo2Jo_GPxZsFlJhfH2n1VAv2Z83vhvNIzW4uB0f95W_C/s200/berry.jpg" width="192" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, on one hand, we have Wendell Berry as the prophet/poet who holds up a mirror in which we see the havoc unfolding on our planet. And, on the other hand, we have Mary Oliver as the praise poet who holds up a mirror in which we see the beauty that is manifest in the world. In some ways, of course, this dichotomy is false. Certainly, Berry has praised and still praises, and Oliver has pointed out brokenness in small and large ways.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But I want us to remember that, whether we are prophesying or praising, we are still holding up the same mirror. In it, you can see both the beautiful and the broken. In fact, you cannot see the beautiful <u>without </u>seeing the broken. And you cannot address the brokenness until you have started to appreciate the beauty of everything--whole, broken, remembered, suddenly realized, healed, rent and scattered.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All of it praiseworthy and all of it broken. All of it made holy by the sacred "and" that allows us to hold apparently disparate visions simultaneously.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The world is additive. Reductive logic works in small ways for small tasks, but it does not reflect the nature of the universe.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's always "and." Again and always "and." The greatest songs of praise emerge from the cracks in the world. <u>And </u>the only chance we have for healing and wholeness is to remember that these songs must be sung.</span></div>Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-9152621630825076352011-04-01T17:04:00.000-04:002011-04-01T17:04:40.388-04:00Intensive Classes as Baptism by Complete ImmersionSince Meadville has migrated to its new educational model, weekly, residential, semester-long classes are a thing of the past--rather like afternoon tea at the parsonage. And in their place are these absolutely crazy things called intensive classes, in which a whole semester's worth of learning is crammed into one week (more or less).<br />
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For the typical intensive course at Meadville, you do most of your required reading ahead of time, then attend one week, 6-8 hours each day, of lectures, discussions and various other learning activities. And after that, you have a few weeks to a couple of months to write a paper (or several papers) or produce some other artifact that demonstrates what you have learned.<br />
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Just to make things a bit more interesting, you are also doing some intense socializing/bonding with your classmates during the intensive week--oh, and attending whatever other extracurricular activities the school cooks up.<br />
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These classes are better than traditional classes because, at least for one week, you have to be pretty much totally invested in the class you are taking. You're forced to eat, breathe and think the material--waking, sleeping and everything in between. This baptism by total immersion in the material ensures that you get soaked to the bone in whatever you are studying.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDy4NND_RKigu4ODEEoSSoJomMdz68dV7qFaER_bVi_eXk8AxbSKDradKuNs91rvmx_z9Jym3SaDoMfT3Nso8mdhLI8ONEyPZ0_xBYeOeOKfFI09b3d6yzc-1G29N1WQhFFBQ8wFk6vyBh/s1600/Jesus+Baptism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDy4NND_RKigu4ODEEoSSoJomMdz68dV7qFaER_bVi_eXk8AxbSKDradKuNs91rvmx_z9Jym3SaDoMfT3Nso8mdhLI8ONEyPZ0_xBYeOeOKfFI09b3d6yzc-1G29N1WQhFFBQ8wFk6vyBh/s320/Jesus+Baptism.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Traditional classes, by contrast, are more like baptism by aspersion. You do have to show up for a couple of hours every week while a few drops of wisdom are sprinkled about your scalp, but there's no guarantee that you'll remember the experience at all. And memory of the actual experience is key, I think. It's difficult for me to imagine that I will ever forget sitting in a room with my classmates all day, every day for a week and laughing, crying and moaning together as we try to get a handle on whatever it is we are studying/experiencing.<br />
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There is value added in the emotional intensity that gets attached to the otherwise somewhat dry intellectual matter. Mixing some sweat and tears with the dust of the intellect results in something sticky that stays with you longer than the kind of learning you experience in a more traditional class.<br />
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What's harder about intensive classes is that they are exhausting. They are exhausting for everyone, but especially, I think, for those of us who tend toward introversion and really need a certain amount of alone time in order to process and regain some energy. But such is the life we are called to--a life of daily full immersion.<br />
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And for seminarians, it seems entirely appropriate that each class involves a kind of intensity that is something like a religious experience.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1009589210655113078.post-43388824831244753262011-03-25T17:15:00.003-04:002011-03-26T08:41:56.562-04:00Susi Pangerl's Last LectureToday was the last day of my intensive class, "Introduction to Pastoral Ministry," at Meadville Lombard Theological School. I'm feeling loss in at least three areas:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>First, it's hard to say au revoir to my classmates. Most of us won't see each other again until the end of August or later. Although I've known this group of people for less than 9 months, I already know them better than many people whom I've interacted with for 30 years or more. There's a special closeness that we share, a bond that is formed in the insanity of intensive classes and all the related glorious chaos. I love them; they drive me crazy; and I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_PrNRWO_UtloaibrFzK6X9ZFCMJPViRBW6A2aOLEqDvOI6yiRzk0iPaWtt4wQ_sXPEGYkE69vEPONCQO-gqpmww_4JBGyD1t8yHoGILKwr41WHHf0bg2Tc_XrheklyPx4yD4CV6Uz3M5/s1600/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_PrNRWO_UtloaibrFzK6X9ZFCMJPViRBW6A2aOLEqDvOI6yiRzk0iPaWtt4wQ_sXPEGYkE69vEPONCQO-gqpmww_4JBGyD1t8yHoGILKwr41WHHf0bg2Tc_XrheklyPx4yD4CV6Uz3M5/s200/003.jpg" width="200" /></a>Second, it's hard to say goodbye to the Meadville Lombard building, which has been sold to the University of Chicago and will no longer be Meadville's home, beginning this summer. Although I'm a first-year student, I recognize the history that is contained in this building, and I know that this physical place is sacred for many who have come before me--and will hold little meaning for those who come after me. It's a rusty, old, run-down relic; but it's OUR rusty, old, run-down relic, and it's hard to let it go.<br />
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Finally, my main regret as a Meadville student (actually, the only major regret so far) is that I will not have the opportunity to take another class from Susi Pangerl, a gifted and empathic teacher, who is not only extremely knowledgeable and wise but also passionate and engaged with students in a way that is increasingly rare. I have learned so much from her this week--not the least of which is how to maintain professional standards and integrity in difficult circumstances, while still being honest and authentic.<br />
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Today, Susi discussed the three elements of pastoral care which she has found most useful to remember. They are:<br />
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<ol><li>Show up (be there physically)</li>
<li>Be present (be there emotionally/psychologically in that particular moment in someone's life)</li>
<li>Speak the "truth" (not necessarily the facts, but the important truth that needs to be told)</li>
</ol><br />
I could go on--and maybe I will later--but for now I will simply say that these three things will be etched on my memory as I go forward. And, if and when I start to forget them, I will count on one of my colleagues to remind me so that I can jot them down on my hand again.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>And someday in the future, I will walk past the building that used to house Meadville (or whatever building has taken its place), and I will remember this week, these lessons, these beautiful classmates and this wonderful teacher. I may weep, but I will also sing a song of praise and rejoicing.Jim Magawhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13068431325315696624noreply@blogger.com