Theology of Breadmaking!

So... being allergic to eggs (anaphalatically speaking) for the majority of my life, there are certain practices and routines that to others - would seem crazy - but to me, are just part of life. Often when growing up, this allergy required the majority of my family to make most of our own food - pasta, baking, bread and buns, cakes... you name it. In fact, just about everything yummy has at least part of eggs baked into the long list of ingredients. Trust me on that one!! I dare you to try it. Go grocery shopping and as you're walking past everything good, holy, and amazingly delicious, look at the label... probably has eggs.

I have learned that it is possible to make cookies without eggs, cakes, squares, breads, buns, cinnamon buns, and other wonderful desserts... they can all be made without eggs. However, by failing horribly, I have discovered that it is not possible to *successfully* make bread without the appropriate amount of yeast. In fact, without yeast - the dough is never able to do what it is supposed to do: rise.

Well, as a theology student to be, something as simple as making a loaf of bread really got me thinking... without Christ, I will never be able to do what I am supposed to do; I will never fully rise to being the best that I can be. Just like the bread dough requires yeast, I require Christ.

Okay, that is straight forward enough... however the other part of this crazy theological thought is that because every single loaf of bread requires yeast, that would mean that every single individual out there requires Christ, at least in part. I guess when I actually thought about it - how different my life has been because of Christ and just how different the lives of those around me have been because of this "yeast" in our lives.

The clincher of it all comes down to this though... the observation is that yeast when added to dough does something special... something that no other ingredient can do... it causes the dough to grow. In fact, sometimes, the dough will even double in size. It's not because there is suddenly more dough, but the yeast just has a certain effect on the dough.

As a Christian, trying my hardest to follow Christ and walk in this journey, I can't be afraid to grow... I can't be afraid to allow this yeast type ingredient in my life to have it's full effect...sometimes I attempt to stop the yeast from acting by turning away... by sinning and not seeking forgiveness... by hiding or running. But what would happen (just imagine) if I were able to "double" in size in regards to my faith and Christian practices? What would happen if the effects of my love and service for others doubled just because I chose to include yeast in the calculations?? Just imagine what a difference that would make...

Just a thought I'm workin' on...

Stuck between Summons...

I HATE being a people pleaser.  However, I feel like it's all I know how to be.  

My mom and one of my sisters booked a two day visit to a theology school number one.  We spent Sunday night roaming down to the Cathedral for a service of evening prayer and took the Monday to head down to the campus to ask questions, take a tour, and do a little bit of sight seeing.  It was a wonderful time away, beautiful Cathedral, and one amazing baby beluga.  Applied to said theological school and had to chase them the entire time.  They had my application for 2 and a half months before they could say anything in terms of acceptance!

Then, through a commitment completely separate from my overall discernment, I find myself on the campus of theological school #2.  I spent the week engaging in conversations with professors, trust worthy clergy and soul friends, and found that as the week progressed, I felt more and more in the hands of God.  For me, the conversations with smart and powerful people within said seminary had no strings attached.  When there isn't anything truly weighing on being accepted or not, there is a relaxed comfort present.  In a lunch conversation with an influential and spirit filled clergy person, their question was simple.  "What's stopping you from coming here?"  Health.  I am still on a three month stand by for leukemia follow up and 5 hours on plane is a long way from home!!  "Ask me what my fiance does" (said clergy person).  "What does your fiance do?" (said enquiring theology student)... 

..."she's an oncology nurse at the local cancer clinic."

Humph.  

Part of this week was walking the labyrinth.  Having been told that it would be beneficial to enter the journey with a question or dilemma in mind.  I refuse to say what question I entered the labyrinth with, but within the first few steps, found myself humming the traditional Anglican hymn "Will You Come and Follow Me".  This hymn has been an incredible accompaniment on my journey thus far and part of me is not surprised that this was the hymn that my heart began singing.  However, as I sung:

"Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known,

will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

2. Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?"

... it was not theological school number one that was resting within... it was theological school number two.  

I received a phone call from theological school number two on Friday with the offer of a full bursary/scholarship combination to cover my tuition and student fees for my first year, the contact information for a clergy hockey team to play on for the year, the names of two well respected and highly regarded hemotologists who are more than willing to take on my care while I'm there, and the name and phone number of a retired woman who is holding a room for me 15 minutes from campus.  

Yet, it all seems way too good to be true.  And, aside from that, I can't help but feel that I would be letting very much loved mother type down as well as sisterly sibling who declared that she wouldn't come to visit theological school number 2.  ~Can't seem to find the courage to email the purple shirted type and inform her that if she wants me to go to school number one, I will... but otherwise, I think I'm supposed to accept school number 2.  

HELP!

Lord your summons echoes true when you but call my name.
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in you and you in me.

How can I, striving to be a responsible Christian, take all that's happened into account and still feel that God's love and footsteps are leading me to theological school number one?  Can I???

Taken on a lovely walk at Huron University College.  Almost walked right by.

Morning has broken, like the first morning 

Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird 

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning 

Praise for the springing fresh from the word  

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlit from heaven 

Like the first dewfall, on the first grass 

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden 

Sprung in completeness where his feet pass  

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning 

Born of the one light, Eden saw play 

Praise with elation, praise every morning 

God's recreation of the new day

The Desert Fathers and their amazing wisdom...

I know this will sound completely bizarre, but I can't help but feel slightly unworthy to be on one of the most beautiful campus grounds in Western Canada. My day consists of the glorious sound of silence and is carried forward by both the classroom work and the daily office.

I feel as though I am floating on some imaginary cloud...

After Anne and I finally managed to arrive in one piece (not that we doubted or anything)... we settled into our suite. Being completely honest, as soon as I met the other individuals who were taking part in the course/retreat, I think the phrase "slightly intimidated" was an understatement. There are three of us who are not ordained (granted, the other gentleman has more education in theology than a lot of priests I can think of) and there are only two of us whom find ourselves under the age of 45.

With no real structure or class taking place on the Tuesday upon which we arrived, we began our studies yesterday with the Desert Fathers and have continued them today with Evagrius and the Praktikos. WOW!!!!

We have read the Life of Antony, a young man who literally was converted to the Monastic life through the death of his parents and whose life and maturity are two things that an aspiring Christian could only aim to tread ever so slightly.

Along with Anne and the others, I strive to grow through the practice of "asectism" (or a word that is spelt completely differently that refers to athletic training in the spiritual practice and life), while growing and centering in morning, noon, evening and compline as well as a daily Eucharist. It is absolutely glorious and I dare say... one of the most educational and growing weeks I have experienced thus far in my short life.

Tomorrow we will begin to look at St. Augustine, then start into Benedict's Rule... each lunch hour, a book is read - similar to what would have happened in Benedict's time and we are encouraged to keep silence as best we can. (Granted, email or blogs would of course, be excepted).

Last night, I had the amazing priviledge to study and cantor with our teaching priest, Compline. I don't think I was able to calm the excitement down enough to sleep until the wee hours of the morning this morning... it was AWESOME!!!

My thoughts and prayers go out to all those at General Synod this same week - I don't envy you at all, but instead, hold you in the highest regard. May the Spirit be with you as you continue to decide on our journey in faith as a community united in Christ.

cheers!

Vocare

Last Sunday was Pentecost and last Sunday was also the day I spent the afternoon and evening at Star of the North Retreat Centre in St. Albert (my old stomping grounds) for what was called a "Vocations Conference."

I feel as though I can not say anything too horrible about the whole thing as the idea behind the conference was geuine and because I also understand the logic in holding such a conference.

HOWEVER, I am having a really difficult time with what I have come back from it with and the questions and queries it has brought out of the woodwork.

In a quick attempt to find some way of figuring it all out, I would like to post the prayer that we were given prior to entering the final evening prayer session:

My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and
the fact that I think that I am
following your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so.
But I believe the desire to please you,
does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this,
you will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust in you always.
Though I may seem lost
and in the shadow of death,
I will not fear,
You are ever with me.
And you will never leave me to
face my perils or call alone.
Amen.

Profound, huh? I thought so... when I read it, I thought that I might as well have been Thomas Merton writing Solitude!

Searching to become a plumber or truck driver!

I am searching for a new vocation in life.

I guess that would go hand in hand with admitting that we (as meek human beings) can decide upon what our vocation in life will be and at the same time, completely neglecting God's hand in it, but all the same, I think that is a risk I am willing to take.

In light of the past 24 hours, I think I am willing to honestly and openly admit that I could truly never become someone who lived their life from within a church... it would be way too difficult.

Granted, I understand that no vocation is ever easy and that there are challenges and difficulties along the road and sometimes it would get rather bumpy. However, having to say goodbye to a church family that I grew up with, learned from, and knew God through - I think having to do it once in my lifetime is more than enough.

I had someone tell me that this is a poor decision to make based upon little to no factual evidence, but really, let's think about this...

How can you say good bye to someone who has literally seen you through the darkest moments of life? Can you? I mean, maybe I just have attachement disorders or something, but I will still march down to the other end of the hall and ask "Deany Questions", address sticky notes as MJ, and go to her when I am most elated or shaken from my pillars. But I can, because she is right down the hall.

But honestly, how can you say good bye to someone who was willing to put their entire day aside to do nothing more than comfort you in moments of trial and shock? Who will patiently drop the subject of anointing when you freak out and explain that it is for the dying and that you are not dying and who will taxi to the Cross Cancer Institute after being in a horrid car accident just so that the first time you walked through it, you were not alone.

How can I say farewell to someone who knew all about me, about the pain in my heart and the longing I had to serve, and who even knew my name before I stepped foot in her church; who welcomed me with open arms (although had me a little creped out at the beginning), encouraged me to share my story only by sharing hers first, who pulled out her rosary in the middle of an Anglican Church to prove her point, who offered to journey with me before she even knew all about me?

How could I ever imagine saying adios to an amazingly inspirational woman who literally took me into her arms when I couldn’t get through a service without crying after having lost my grandfather to cancer and then being diagnosed myself; who held my hand spiritually, emotionally, and physically until I had the courage to walk forward on my own and who sat with me when telling the HPO.
Como se dice, hasta leugo to a source of peace and strength: to a motherly woman who truly sat in silence for hours when I couldn’t cope with a second round of chemotherapy and when I finally tried to speak, said, “It’s okay… let them come.” And when we sat in the empty Cathedral, clutching to a stuffed animal like there was no tomorrow, I tried turning away to hide the tears when she put her arm around me, pulled me close and said, “it’s okay to cry you know… I sure do sometimes. I won’t let you fall, do you believe me? Do you trust me? It’s true you know.” And who upheld her word, never letting me fall that entire time, even if my own family did. Who arranged email correspondence with a parishioner from Church so that I could speak Spanish while away from school and who made it her point to fill me in on what was happening around the church and with the youth while I was gone.

Como se dice, hasta tarde to a woman who had most honestly earned the title of Priestly-Motherly type – who made an absolute point of visiting at least once a week with communion, prayers, and oil in tow – regardless of the weather or crappy bus schedules, who was completely willing to wear a mask so that I wouldn’t feel like a complete idiot, washed her hands, left the room to cough, and was totally content just sitting on the end of the bed so I could enjoy the presence of her company. Who would pick up a card and get the entire Tuesday night prayer group to sign it just to let me know that they were thinking of me.

I can’t, but at the same time, I know how stupid it is to say, “let’s keep in touch” or “let’s do tea” because the reality is that it doesn’t happen.

And so, sitting here in a fit of tears, I have realized that there is no way I could be a priest. Even if she is excited, on some level, there are a lot of relationships that probably won’t carry over to the new church because it doesn’t even exist yet. Until Palm Sunday, I couldn’t even stop in and visit her at the new church.

I understand now the heartache and difficultly in leaving a church from another perspective and it doesn’t look any easier. I want sooo badly to talk to her, but until I can actually bring it up without tears welling in my eyes, I think I better wait. Darn it! Now the comment on a friend’s blog makes way more sense. I wish I was more perceptive on these things!!

"Choose your favourite Gospel and re-read it"...

At the time, it was the most stressful and "odd" sounding advice I think I remembered hearing. I had made the decision that I was going to go ahead with joining the Anglican Church and had met with the parish priest twice. Prior to our third meeting together, I began to panic that I did not "know enough" about the Anglican church to go ahead with joining it.

In my naive way of going about things, I actually emailed the priest and asked her to come up with a quiz: some way of measuring what I had learned about the Anglican church and it's history, it's liturgy, it's life and culture. I wanted to make sure that I was completely prepared for what I was about to enter into.

This particular priest, in her infinite wisdom, simply replied to my email by saying... "choose your favourite Gospel and re-read it before we meet again."

Now truth be told, I remember worrying about what she was going to ask about my favourite Gospel, how in depth I needed to know it, and interesting facts about what might be specific to that Gospel and biblical trivia. Just to cover my own butt and in a burning desire to be accepted into the church, I called another clergy member within the Diocese and sought her opinion on this question... which Gospel she thought would be a safe bet. The advice I received was to stick to the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke and that John was a little too different.

This put me in a tough spot. John is my favourite Gospel by far. But, in trying to fit in, I re-read the Gospel of Luke AND John. I was going to be over-prepared so that I could decide and defend a gospel when asked.

I got to the meeting and sure enough, after opening in prayer, I was asked about which one was my favourite. I decided to start with one of the Synoptic - and began to try and defend and talk about the Gospel of Luke. But it wasn't long before I surprised even myself... there was nothing really to say about Luke's Gospel. I mentioned his attention to widows, orphans and aliens, and that it was of a social focus, but that was pretty much it.

Knowing that it was going to be one of those "now or never" moments, I looked up at this mentor and nervously said, actually my favourite Gospel is John's. Immediately, I started working through the reasons why... John is the only Gospel that mentions the calling of Nathanael... how Nathan (for short) was hanging out under the fig tree and minding his own buisness. Peter came up to him and started to tell Nathan about this "dude" that was in town and that this "dude" was the Saviour... and that Nathan needed to come and follow this guy. Nathan made some smart comment like, "what good can come from where he comes from?" and all that Peter replies is, "Come and See." When Nathan eventually gets up from sitting under the tree and meets up with the Lord, Nathan asks him why the Lord didn't come and call him personally. The Lord repsonds by saying something like, "if I would have called you, you never would have believed and followed and I knew that!"

What kind of invitation is that? Well, who knows... but John won my heart right then and there. That was all it took for me - and I think that God may have realized that I wouldn't follow or respond to his call any other way. So, what does God do?

I took a class with Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend in the realm of social justice. Somehow our group project ends up being on the topic of Women's Ordination (from an RC perspective - where it is not even allowed to be discussed). Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend mentions along the way that we could interview her bishop... who just so happened to be one of the first women ordained in Canada and was the first woman bishop. We go and interview both of the local bishops - the RC and the Anglican... take both of their stories and complete our project. Over the span of the term, I become better and better friends with Ms. Chocolate-Adoring friend and so would meet with her once a week for a casual lunch.

Somewhere along the line, I received an email from her... I think I may have even saved the email in my hope chest. All it read was, "Hey... we did our report on Women's Ordination... there is an ordination happening at the Cathedral in the coming month where two women will be ordained. Would you like to come and see? We could make an evening out of it."

That was it. That was all it took. I attended the ordination, excited beyond all reason. Cried all the way through the sermon, and knew that the deeper sense of calling might have some level of validity.

Who wouldn't fall in love with a Gospel in which they can see themselves in... as a character of denial and fear?

It was the best advice I have ever received along the path of discernment. Maybe try it... re-read your favourite Gospel and see where it takes you in life. You might be surprised where you end up... I know that I still find myself surprised at the power of the Spirit in my life. I can't wait for Pentecost!!! Go Spirit Go!

POLL... what is a miracle?

Okay, I confess... something is really kind of bugging me... not bugging, but ummm...challenging me.

How do you define a miracle?

Senti-MENTAL bumpkin!

:)

My grandma taught me a lot of things, but having been raised as a "farm girl" or "country bumpkin" there was the odd occassion where I would find myself tearing up over something really touching or "spa-cial" and hearing the words spoken across the room of "the word senti-mental is pretty darn close to semi-mental don't you think?"

She was a funny and inspiring woman. We would have celebrated her 76th birthday on the first of the month - it's kind of hard to believe that the last birthday we were able to celebrate was 70. It seems as though she only left us a year ago.

In the madness of unpacking and trying to have the place "liveable" before I start classes next week, I came across one of the boxes that I kept in my hope chest full of old cards and letters I had received. And, as I started to sort through them, there was one in particular that I longed to find. After opening and closing just about every card in the old shoebox, with only a few remaining to be re-cherished, I found it.

It was a rather plain card and didn't have any special poetry on the outside or anything. There was a picture of a flower garden and the green, sparkled words that read: "Happy Birthday". It stopped there, there was no "grandaughter" or anything like that... my grandma was very simple and reserved.

On the inside of the card, there it was. Written in her now-cancer ridden chicken scratch, the message I will always remember fondly when I remember her. And so, although not in handwritting, I would like to share the message that she shared with me:

Believe in yourself - in the power and strength you have to control your own life, day by day.
Believe in the strength and wisdom that you have deep inside, and your faith will help show you the way.
Believe in tomorrow and what it will bring, let a hopeful heart carry you through.
For things will work out, if you trust and believe - my darling, there's no limit to what you can do.

So there you have it... the no limit rule. The birthday present that accompanied the card was a beautifully knit blue afghan. It had all the shades of blue you could ever imagine... all the pastels, endless skies, and deepest oceans are tied up with her love in a blanket.

I was telling New Roomate that she was welcome to use it on those absolutely crummy days when it feels like there could never be another day with sunshine, as long as she never washes it.

It may sound outrageous, but it's not like a pair of gym shoes or sweaty t-shirt, it is my grandma. And, on those really crummy days, if you wrap yourself in it's wool, you can still smell the perfume she wore her entire life. You can cuddle yourself in it's embrace and feel her hugging you from above. On nights where you long for a sense of home or belonging, she is there.

It's kind of like God, except that God doesn't need a blanket to embrace us. I had a rather interesting experience this morning, where a priestly type somehow wrote the sermon on the wrong readings. Instead of just skipping over the sermon, this priest (I'm sure) simply opened themselves to channel God's love and grace. The prayer before the liturgy started was about asking God to be with us, in what we said and did, as we lead the worship.

The only reason that I put full faith in the Holy Spirit is because this priest had no idea what was going through my head - I haven't blogged on it, and surely have not said anything to them. But there it was... half way through their sermon, while their back was facing me, God reached out - put His loving arms around me and picked me up. It was weird - it was like time stopped. Because there I was, being caressed in God's arms - the priest had seemingly stopped talking and it was as though no one else was in the church.

Anyway, perhaps the title "senti-mental bumpkin" is not all that far off because I can't even describe what it was like today without getting the goose-bimples and teary. How immature my faith is - there is O soooo much to learn before I will know how to fly.

Solid Stone

I once had this professor who had some connection to our family. Her actual title was "Lecturer in Theology" I think because at the time that I met her, she was still in the process of completing her Doctorate. If you want to talk "source of inspiration", her direction is where you would look. She is fearless, amazing, and forgiving. There was one moment in our relationship that I still reflect upon with a smile: she burnt me a CD of what she called "God Songs."

I don't remember the artist or even the title of the song, but I know it was a folk song with an amazing message for hope and inspiration to advocate for change.

The chorus of the song started out by acknowledging the fact that we enter the world as a lone entitey... we are cut from the cord and left to ourselves (somewhat) to function and that someday, alone we will die. The most moving part though is when she says, "Solid stone is just sand and water... sand and water and a million years gone by."

I can't stop thinking about this...

Each and every time I visit a friend in Jasper, I try and get to Athabasca Falls or Malinge Canon because the beauty of these natural landmarks take my breath away. The thought that rock can be shaped so gracefully and artistically by nothing more than moving water - astounds me. Sometimes you'll see rock that has been shaped away and water just sits there - stagnant and stale and one can't help but think about what it would be like to live one's life without ever trusting and changing. (We had a quite a discussion about what this might look like almost a year ago when I was seeking reception into the Church, didn't we Adela...)

Well, tonight I sit here... after having had three steamed milks, gone for two walks, napped at various points throughout the day, watched Princess Bride with some of the residents, and picked up the key to our new place.

I feel sick to my stomach and I can not stop crying. I have never before felt so utterly helpless. I was created with a compassionate heart and part of me feels slightly violated. There is nothing worse than trying to do everything you can and then having it be thrown back in your face, your trust in the good of all slightly altered, and feeling partily abused in the process.

Having been where this other party is coming from in so many ways, I don't understand. Granted, it took a little while to get there, looking back now - I only wish that I would have hastened in pressing charges against the power seeking father. Instead, thinking I had taken the high road in pleading with my letter writing skills, I had to deal with a power seeking single father of a friend who acted out of selfishness and greed. The $%*@% decided it best to save the police some trouble and ended his life before any legal action reached him.

Selfish and full of hate, his method was a rifle in their front porch area. Can you spell mess? Uh, yeah. It's funny though because if any of my family would have gotten to him first, they probably would have done the exact same thing. Same weapon, same place, same end to a life of cruel and illegal behaviour.

I don't understand.

I don't understand... I don't get it... I don't know if I want it to make sense.

I can't comprehend the fact that there is nothing I can do. In fact, if I would have only heard this phrase once today I probably would have ignored it, but two clerical, wise, trust worthy, and lovely people have said the exact same thing.

I have finished reading through Mark, and have just surpassed the half way mark of John. I have a few ideas on what could be done, but I 'm torn.

I'm torn because I can not stop thinking about the whole metaphor of sand and water and stone and the Falls.

So imagine that we as God's children, are a piece of beautifully handcrafted stone. We are solid in our belief system, in defing who we are, and we are comfortable in the waters we have grown up in. How much control do have over how we are shaped? Do we have control? The water is going to rush over our jagged cliffs and hopefully wear us down to soft, carefully molded corners; it will break us in places we wish it wouldn't, but out of it spurts forth a beautiful waterfall.

Does this mean to say that if there is enough water pressure and build up, the rock will eventually give way? Does this mean that if the water is strong enough, anything is possible?

God is obviously the water, but God works through us - through God's children... so then (in a messed up way) this brings me back to - "what do you want me to do Lord?"

I refuse to give up. I am frustrated, hurt, crying, numb, confused, and saddened - but I was 6 months ago, and look where I am now. There is something, I know there must be something. I just need the Divine source of inspiration to guide my footsteps and give me the words of hope that I need to share.

Please pray.