Sarah's Song

A few days before Sarah died, my friends convinced me to audition for Americas Got Talent; the network dog and pony show had rolled into town and invited all to come and test their skills. After a half hour or so of feigned balking, I decided to go. And shortly thereafter I decided to sing a folk song that’s become a spiritual in my community in the last few years. Called “Up to the Mountain (MLK song)", it’s lyrics were inspired by the very last speech Martin Luther King gave the night before he was murdered; the mountaintop speech. His words were hauntingly prophetic, as if he knew his fate. The man was tired, but his faith was unwavering. The song is a glorious, gospel ballad in the sweet tradition of Otis Redding’s “These Arms of Mine;” As Bob Dylan once said, three chords and the truth.

I took to singing this song in church a few years ago when a few friends and I were planning a Maundy Thursday service. Maundy Thursday is lost on most evangelicals, a misunderstood remnant from the mainline denominational church. It's an observance of the night Christ spent sweating blood in the garden of Gethsemane. Fully aware of the torment he would face, he prayed, “Could someone else do this job?” It’s a dramatic look into the human face of Jesus. It’s a moment to linger on the choice he faced, and the choice he made, before we trot out the pink bunnies and daffodils of Easter. We held our service in a darkened, candle lit chapel, on the last wintry night before Houston would heat up for summer. More than a hundred came. Many wept. Many prayed.

A friend of ours, Kimberly, a mother in our community, was battling cancer and that night she spoke after the song. She talked about the healing she’d received. How she was now free of the brain cancer that had recently threatened to take her life.

A year later, Kimberly was back in chemotherapy; a routine scan picked up what we all dreaded. The cancer was back.

Though the season of Lent ended I continued to sing Up to the Mountain. Not all the time, but sometimes, it was special.

A few months after Sarah got her diagnosis, stage 4 sarcoma, I sang it in church. A few weeks later I got a message from her on Facebook. Would I come to San Antonio and sing it for her wedding? All dates were being moved up. Though we didn’t speak it I knew there wasn’t much time.

Anytime, anyplace, for any reason, I said. I will sing for you.

We met with Sarah and Eric about the songs for the wedding, and Sarah had only one request: Up to the Mountain. Whatever else we did, she wasn’t so concerned. She just wanted to be sure we sang that one. In fact, she stopped everything in the middle of the ceremony so we could sing the entire song. I sang:

I went up to the mountain, because you asked me to

Like no other song I know, that one seems to take on the hardest questions we ask, the roughest places we find ourselves. Sarah had a lot of advice for her students (she was a teacher), she made a bookmark with 10 important thoughts, and the first one is “You are called for this purpose.”

I picked up the bookmark the other day and it sideswiped me. A wave of grief nearly knocked me off me feet. I realized something though: Sarah had a grasp on not only her own burden, cancer, but all of our burdens. “You are called for this purpose” she said, “I went up to the mountain because You asked me to.”

Does God design and deliver death and disease, or does he simply ask us to climb the mountain before us, promising He will be there? It’s easy for me to say, sitting here in a coffeeshop, healthy. But the thing is, it’s not me saying it. Sarah is saying it: You were called for this purpose. Sarah who at 28 and newly engaged, with her entire life before her, got terminal cancer. Yet remained hopeful, and focused- focused on getting to the top of that mountain.

I sat with her a few hours before she left this world, and I sang that song to her, over and over. I kept saying, You made it, you’re at the top, there’s nothing but blue skies ahead. And there was.

On days like today, when I’m feeling a little sorry for myself because of this or that, Sarah’s faith shames me. And Kimberly’s, we lost Kimberly in August. Both of these remarkable women stood defiant in the face of a monster, and sweetly said, Christ will carry me, Christ will heal me. And he did.

To have faith like that, faith that can move a mountain, or climb it, isn’t that the goal? Great saints and priests, prophets, mystics and martyrs got nothing on my girls.

Amen.



I went up to the mountain
Because you asked me to
Up over the clouds
To where the sky was blue
I could see all around me
Everywhere
I could see all around me
Everywhere

Sometimes I feel like
I've never been nothing but tired
And I'll be walking
Till the day I expire
Sometimes I lay down
No more can I do
But then I go on again
Because you ask me to

Some days I look down
Afraid I will fall
And though the sun shines
I see nothing at all
Then I hear your sweet voice, oh
Oh, come and then go, come and then go
Telling me softly
You love me so

The peaceful valley
Just over the mountain
The peaceful valley
Few come to know
I may never get there
Ever in this lifetime
But sooner or later
It's there I will go
Sooner or later
It's there I will go

-Patty Griffin

Why I (sometimes) drink beer after church

This past weekend a clingy front rolled into Houston, reminding us that Spring is a myth 'round these parts, and Summer is pushy. It's what we in Texas call "beer drinking weather."

I remember visiting my cousin and my on again off again love (now my husband) in San Antonio in late September of 2001. I was escaping the heartbreak of my hometown, New York City, seeking refuge in family, friends and BBQ. Matt, my cousin David and I sat outside in the crushing heat for as long as the beer stayed cold. It's a kind of sport, really. It was strangely healing for me.

These days I usually choose to remain indoors when it gets that hot. But this past weekend, at the end of a heavy run of deep, intense worship services where Chris preached on Hell, I found myself deeply craving a cold beer.

I've noticed this is a pattern of mine, craving beer, or maybe just the trappings-- sitting outside, with friends, listening to loud music, blowing off steam-- after a worship service where I've lead. I brought it up to Matt the other day, "Why do you think I do that?" I asked. "It's your unconscious craving for balance. Hey you've just engaged in a highly spiritual activity, so now you want to drink beer."

When I first began testing the waters of Christianity about 10 years ago- I remember being particularly distressed that I would be expected to stop going to bars. I don't know why I assumed this, I knew almost nothing about Christianity. And I wasn't (and am not now) much of a drinker, but I was (and am) a musician, so much of my social life took place at gigs. In bars.

My friend and mentor, Sarah Mitchell, a brilliant English woman, said this:

"I think Jesus would have definitely gone down to the pub with his mates!"

In other words, have at it. In fact the very first church meeting I ever attended was at a pub in the East Village. "How bad could it be?" I thought. It wasn't bad at all, in fact, it was great. And I kept going, and going and...well, now, I'm a worship leader.

I've often found myself in deep conversation over a pint or a glass of wine or coffee or a meal, and realized that we were having church at that very moment. I often get the "quakes" in those situations (no, not the delirium tremors), but the shakiness that Quakers identify as the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Believe me this, I know the potential evils alcohol can unleash when abused. I've got more alcoholics in my family line than most. But I also know that gathering and talking and sharing life, blowing off steam together, can be sacred.

Another brilliant piece of advice from my friend Sarah, "Two is my limit." Because too much of a good thing is a bad thing. And God's grace is not an excuse to get drunk. That's just tacky. That's like taking three goodie bags at a birthday party.

So for now, as long as keeping it to one or two is easy for me, I will drink beer (sometimes) after church. Especially when it's hot as hell outside. Amen.


PS. This brilliant photograph is from Lovelikeelectrocution and found here.

Hell Week

My father is an 82 year old Jewish man with a caustic disposition and a helluva sense of humor. In other words, humor makes him palatable- he's insulting you while you're laughing.

That said, and our rocky relationship notwithstanding, he is in dire straits.

Like I said he is 82 - he has an anuerysm the size of a tomato in his stomach (aortic abdominal anuerysm)- and a whole host of other problems. Hardened veins, poor kidney function, congestive heart failure.

Amazingly, he's survived this kind of thing for years- he's always had health issues but this time, most of living is behind him. This time he is 82 and I know he is (anyone would be) tired of being carved up by doctors.

He cheerfully admitted himself to the Cleveland Clinic a second time yesterday for the operation he was supposed to have a month ago, "here goes Hell Week!" he said.

A month ago the surgeon went in and discovered his veins were too narrow for the procedure, so he put in a bypass. Yesterday he had the actual surgery, but the surgeon went in and discovered that he couldn't connect the device he'd implanted to divert blood from the anuerysm.

Ok, that's alot of information. What it means is that the poor guy is facing a high likelihood he will have to go on dialysis. The anuerysm seems like the least of his problems at this point.

This is not good news and I would NOT want to be the doctor that tells him. That's not gonna be pretty.

Here's what he needs: To recover miraculously this week- physically and emotionally- please pray for NO ICU PSYCHOSIS (a type of dementia from being in ICU), pray for improved kidney function and NO DIALYSIS, pray for PEACE and an encounter with real hope, like real HOPE for him. Not hope in this world, or doctors, but in God.

That's all I've got. Thanks for journeying with me. On another note, I don't think Earl Grey is going to get me through this week, but if he does, it'll be a miracle.

With Love, Cameron

Blog-gate

Many millions of thanks to Debra Parker for patiently guiding me through blogger template land so I could make my blog less ugly.

Thanks Debra!

I feel so empowered. Not unlike I feel when I go to homedepot for something like weather stripping and successfully install said weather stripping all by myself!

I can do this I can do this I can do this

Design a blog. Weather strip a door. Raise a child. Be a pastor.

And I will have you know this has happened without coffee.

Wonders never cease.

Settling In: Small Voice

Here are some thoughts on my Lent experience so far, from this afternoon, thoughts I jotted down during Chris's sermon.

"In my struggle without coffee (writing this just sounds incredibly wimpy) I have found that in my albeit infrequent calling out to God, my voice is very, very small. It's a tiny voice, almost a whisper. Sometimes I barely manage to eek out 'help.'"

Because without coffee I am irritable, I have a perpetual headache, and a slight, gnawing anxiety/depression. Mostly, I feel sorry for myself, because I am being deprived of my last, seemingly innocent vice. I feel almost exactly like I did 10 years ago when I tried to quit smoking. Which eventually I did, but it took a a few practice runs.

Obviously, I am profoundly entitled and wimpy. Coffee? Really? With all that's going on in this messed up broken world, I am moaning about coffee?

As I'm writing this I am watching an elderly woman struggle in her wheelchair. Chris is speaking, the room is almost silent, and I am not sure if she is struggling, or simply stretching. She has a brace on her ankle which looks painful and one of her eyes is swollen shut. I wonder if I should help her, or offer to help. Will she be offended? Maybe she's just stretching. Eventually I have to get up because I am so uncomfortable watching her struggle and too chicken to ask her if she needs help.

The body's decline is a sobering reminder that as we approach the end of this life we will be slowly disconnected from our comforts. First, maybe, it's joints, muscles, things hurt that didn't used to hurt. Maybe we spend infinite hours and dollars trying to delay it, avoid it. But eventually it finds us.

This fast is a practice run. I get to volunteer. I get to control the variables. I get to choose which comfort to give up and when. "Who will you be," God seems to say, "when you no longer have the comforts you depend on?"

That person without the masks, distractions and petty comforts, is who I really am. And that person, God knows, needs alot of work.

I've had another experience of a small voice. I have these recurring dreams that I am battling a monster of some stripe or another. Sometimes monster(s), plural; the specifics change with each dream. These "monsters" are terrifying, taunting, and demonic. They are also horrifically fast and powerful. They almost overwhelm me before I can eek out in a barely there whisper, these three words:

In Jesus Name

Of course, in that moment the monsters scatter, dissolve, disappear back into whatever hell they came from. I am always hanging on by a thread when I get these words out, and I have little faith in what I am saying. But always, the outcome is the same.

Perhaps this fast is showing me that I am weak (when I am without coffee, when I am being pursued by monsters), and my voice is barely a whisper. But the name of the One has power, real power.

The irony of this "small voice" is not lost on me. He seems to be saying that even the thing I praise him with will someday be gone. I will have nothing to boast about, no great show. I will only have a whisper, but it will be what I whisper, in the end, that matters.

Small voice

I've got some 'settling in' Lenten fast thoughts to share, but for right now, I want to brag about my very first poem publication. Here it is: This Zine Will Change Your Life


Aside from how obviously awesome the name of this journal is, I liked the democratic feel of the pieces they choose. And heck, they chose mine. Crazy!

Not a huge fan of the uber Barbie art. Not a fan of Artwork beside poetry in general. The formatting of the piece should be artwork. And some of the formatting at the end of my piece was lost. But oh well. This is an honor yet. I am thrilled.

Hey would you comment on their site- and tell your friends? I'd love for my friends to connect over there.

More later.


Cameron

Lenten Fast: Crazymaking

First update on my fast:

1) Ouch.

2) Slipped up one day.

3) Ouch.

A friend told me that if it doesn't hurt, it's not a fast. So, I guess I'm onto something.

I wish everytime I craved what I'm fasting I prayed. I wish I leaned on God, literally in that moment. I am not doing that. Maybe that's why it's so hard. Or maybe it would be hard anyway and that's the point.

Syd woke me up this morning singing "Time to drink hot coffee, Time to drink hot coffee."

Double ouch.

I am fasting coffee (I don't think I am supposed to talk about it, am I?) and it's wrecking me. WRECKING me.

Last year I fasted retail therapy and vampires. That was a cakewalk compared to this. Vampires b/c I was watching a bunch of vampire tv shows and realizing it was eating my brain. Retail therapy because when I was frustrated with my job I went down the street to Target and spent money.

But coffee, COFFEE, is here, there, everywhere. Our church is in a coffeeshop. It get's me out of bed in the morning (literally). "Sydney," I will croak, as she is trying to drag me out of bed, "ask Daddy if he made the coffee yet?" It's so much a part of my morning that my 4 year old is writing songs about it.

There's nothing wrong with coffee. It's beautiful. But by removing it I see that I am irritable, air heady, easily distracted. God, go to town. The sooner the better. Do Your Thing. Why is this so hard? Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Ash Wednesday

Today is the first time I've partaken in the imposition of ashes for Ash Wednesday. I have to think hard about this because it's hard for me to believe. I've been a Christian (officially) since July 2001 (when I was baptised) and I guess I haven't had the ashes before.

During our Ash Wednesday service our benediction came from a quote from Henri Nouwen. He talks about how he resists dying with Christ (denying himself, fasting, prayer) yet he embraces the celebration of Easter. But he asks, how can one really experience Easter, how can one really know the resurrection, when one hasn't first died?

Denying myself even the littlest thing is painful. I make excuses. Do I really need to give that up? Am I just being too religious? What will people think? I went into the service not knowing what and if to give up for Lent. And when I prayed, something popped up. Something common enough, something I go to every day.

My mind immediately scattered and at one moment, I had 10 other things to give up, another moment I would give up nothing.

Just this process, this struggle, is precisely the beauty of observing the liturgical calendar. The rhythms of the Church are the rhythms of the Body, a cycle not unlike 9 months of pregnancy. With each new season comes joys and struggles; with the lightness of epiphany comes the often painful groan of growth.

Today I wear ashes and I am reminded of the Saints who've gone before me, the friends who now populate my cloud of witnesses. I will live into and give thanks for the things I dread (doing dishes- sign of a healthy family, a family provided for, with enough food to eat that it dirties dishes; laundry- the blessings that clothe our backs, God's provision again). And I will release the thing I enjoy too much. For 40 days at least. To die, just a little, so that in Him I may live.

Guesters

So we were invited to "guest" lead at a large Baptist church and I was afraid. I admit. I think I have a phobia. I guess because I am not sure if I pray, speak or say something on the mic will I be politely asked to leave? I guess because I've never thought twice about it and all of the sudden I am thinking about it.

I was wrong wrong wrong to be afraid. I heard one of the best sermons I have ever heard. And everybody was really nice and lots of women prayed on the mic. I'm the idiot I guess.
I just closed my eyes and did what I do ( and Matt did what he does and Kevin and...well, you get it) and it was amazing. I peeked every so often and tons of folks had their hands in the air - singing- worshiping.

It was good. I learned something.

Though it still begs the question- what do you think about the idea that women should not preach/speak in church (as it's understood from Paul)? I know what I think but I would love to know your experiences, history with this and thoughts?

Hipster Hating

Yeah, so a friend posted a comment, the first comment he's posted (hey thanks for reading friend) about my blog title. He thinks I should change my blog title because he hates hipsters. He likes me but hates hipsters.

Disclaimer, I invited this in my last blog entry so I am truly interested in hearing your thoughts.

Here's the thing- call it a tangent- but I cannot help but think that this Rob Bell controversy is a little bit about Hipster Hating too.

Here's a link to a good editorial about the whole throw down: Boom.

I can't help but think that there is some envy in the criticisms. Afterall, isn't it infuriating that Rob Bell is hip? Shouldn't bible teachers be solemn, serious, and most importantly- uncool. Or should I say, unhip? (I mean, let's get real, even his font is hip. SUPER hip.)

What I like about "hipster" is that is suggests a level of engaging with culture. The fact is, friends, I am older than most of you and I've seen a lot of stuff. I lived most of my twenties before I truly became a Christian- and I can tell you that if becoming a follower of Christ meant that I couldn't go to concerts, where funky clothes or have a controversial opinion now and then- I wouldn't have signed up when I did. I didn't lose who I am when I started following Christ, I became more me. I became (are becoming) a better version of me, hopefully, the me I was designed to be. And frankly, that me might be pretty hip.

So back to Rob Bell- are you following this hoo-ha and if so, what do you think?

I'm eager to read his book, especially since at Ecclesia Houston we've been focused on Heaven and apparently, he's tackling the issue of Hell. Should be a pageturner :)