It's 10:39 on a Sunday morning, the Second Sunday of Advent, 2007. In a few minutes I'll put on a clergy robe and don the blue stole that is identical the ones the other ministers in our church will wear. They were all hand-made by a dear saint in the choir.
I'll go out for a microphone check and line up with the choir for the processional. For the next hour and a half in that robe I'll be speaking on God's behalf, I'll be an objectified symbol of religion for some, and a hopeful sign of the possibility of God for others.
It is a mantle I have accepted, but not one I would choose.
I wouldn't choose it because every Sunday morning I am sick to my stomach. I've preached nearly 500 sermons in my life, and yet I spend 30 wrenching minutes in the bathroom every time. I do it because I am afraid. Now don't go thinking you can talk me out of this - others have tried, and frankly I think the fear is somewhat healthy.
It's not that I'm afraid of speaking in public. I do that lots, and if it's not in worship then I don't get sick. Honestly, I'm afraid of God. I'm afraid of hurting someone. I'm afraid of saying something that would distract from God almost as much as I fear having nothing to say at all. I fear that people will see that blue stole as a costume cover up for the fact that sometimes I am a doubting Thomas, sometimes I am a cynic about religion, and that sometimes I am closer to leaving the pulpit than to staying.
I don't want to do anything to injure someone's faith. So lean in here, and I'll tell you the secret of how and why I get up and preach Sunday in and Sunday out despite all these fears. If you were near me I'd be whispering now. The secret is that God does this work through frail humans like me and you despite our fear. When I walk into the sanctuary in a few minutes I'll pray that same prayer as last Sunday: God, I've done what I can to prepare for this, the rest is up to You.
Amen.
Showing posts with label Fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fear. Show all posts
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Sleep Sweetly, My Children
So we're prepping dinner tonight and the whole family is gathered. It's a sweet time of the day in our house when the work is done for the day and we're all just happy to "be." Traci is dishing up some beautiful tortellini and I'm slicing fresh bread while the kids are munching on a salad.
The Youngest Sister randomly pops out with, "I know why you and Mom can watch grown up movies."
We're on the edge of insight here, I just know it.
"Why is that?" I inquire.
"Because you two sleep together and don't get scared," she replied.
"Why do you say that?" I pried.
"Because when I'm scared I get in your bed and after a while I'm not scared anymore because we cuddle," she said, big brown eyes dancing and delightful.
"Yeah, I used to come in your room when I had bad dreams and lay with you a while," added the Brother. "That made it better."
Good advice. Maybe the best we can do, even as adults, is to cuddle up with someone when we're scared.
Today I almost wrecked Dora the Explorer when a rear tire blew out on the Gulf Freeway, just outside the I-610 loop. I was moving along at 70 mph, in the middle of heavy traffic when I felt the rear end start coming around on me. For some unknown reason I did what they said to do way back in Driver's Ed. I steered into the skid and only when I regained control did I slowly hit the brakes. The other drivers must have seen the swerve and the ensuing smoke because they gave me room and I managed my way across three lanes to get to the shoulder.
I came to a stop, got out, and in a cloud of tire smoke I assessed the damage. Quickly, I began the tire-changing process, with a portion of my SUV's rear end sticking out into the passing lane of the freeway. I was sweaty scared.
Traffic was swerving around me, horns were blaring, and I knew I was in trouble. I'd hardly pulled out the jack and begun to lower the spare when I heard a revving Harley behind me and looked back to see an HPD mounted cop. He was soon joined by a Motor Assistance Patrol and we were shielded from the traffic while I went about my fearful chore with a little more calm than before.
I hurried along competently, but I certainly didn't earn a spot on a NASCAR pit crew. Finally done, I trotted down the shoulder to the HPD officer, eager to thank him for getting there very quickly. I began to speak but he cut me off, "Let's move on before we both get hit."
His eyes betrayed him. They said: This is dangerous. Let's get out of here. If I'd known how scared that policeman was, I'd have been more scared.
One day I'll tell the Sisters and the Brother how scared I really was, but for a while, it's probably best that they don't know. In this season of life they need someone around them who doesn't seem scared. Someone who can blanket them strongly and take away the fear. Someone in the night-land they can go to when the dreams are as dark as a new moon.
You know, someone they can cuddle with.
Sleep sweetly my children, while you can, for I'm afraid that someday you will understand my words.
The Youngest Sister randomly pops out with, "I know why you and Mom can watch grown up movies."
We're on the edge of insight here, I just know it.
"Why is that?" I inquire.
"Because you two sleep together and don't get scared," she replied.
"Why do you say that?" I pried.
"Because when I'm scared I get in your bed and after a while I'm not scared anymore because we cuddle," she said, big brown eyes dancing and delightful.
"Yeah, I used to come in your room when I had bad dreams and lay with you a while," added the Brother. "That made it better."
Good advice. Maybe the best we can do, even as adults, is to cuddle up with someone when we're scared.
Today I almost wrecked Dora the Explorer when a rear tire blew out on the Gulf Freeway, just outside the I-610 loop. I was moving along at 70 mph, in the middle of heavy traffic when I felt the rear end start coming around on me. For some unknown reason I did what they said to do way back in Driver's Ed. I steered into the skid and only when I regained control did I slowly hit the brakes. The other drivers must have seen the swerve and the ensuing smoke because they gave me room and I managed my way across three lanes to get to the shoulder.
I came to a stop, got out, and in a cloud of tire smoke I assessed the damage. Quickly, I began the tire-changing process, with a portion of my SUV's rear end sticking out into the passing lane of the freeway. I was sweaty scared.
Traffic was swerving around me, horns were blaring, and I knew I was in trouble. I'd hardly pulled out the jack and begun to lower the spare when I heard a revving Harley behind me and looked back to see an HPD mounted cop. He was soon joined by a Motor Assistance Patrol and we were shielded from the traffic while I went about my fearful chore with a little more calm than before.
I hurried along competently, but I certainly didn't earn a spot on a NASCAR pit crew. Finally done, I trotted down the shoulder to the HPD officer, eager to thank him for getting there very quickly. I began to speak but he cut me off, "Let's move on before we both get hit."
His eyes betrayed him. They said: This is dangerous. Let's get out of here. If I'd known how scared that policeman was, I'd have been more scared.
One day I'll tell the Sisters and the Brother how scared I really was, but for a while, it's probably best that they don't know. In this season of life they need someone around them who doesn't seem scared. Someone who can blanket them strongly and take away the fear. Someone in the night-land they can go to when the dreams are as dark as a new moon.
You know, someone they can cuddle with.
Sleep sweetly my children, while you can, for I'm afraid that someday you will understand my words.
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