A beloved new friend tonight took me to see the Seattle Men's Chorus perform, and the whole evening was a treat from start to finish. I was very thankful for the experience - one of so many new things I'm encountering here.
I was surprised tonight in a few ways.
Benaroya Hall downtown was so very acoustically dead compared to other performance halls I've experienced. I remember Symphony Hall in Phoenix being far more live, and Gammage Auditorium on the campus of ASU to be even more reverberant yet. I wondered why this fairly new performance space, that I'm assuming was designed for musical performance in mind, would have such an un-resonant acoustic.
The hall also was much smaller than corresponding places in Phoenix. Why is this?
I think both of these things reminded me that Seattle and this metro area in general are much smaller than my sprawly and populous hometown. I know I've heard some people criticize Seattle as being a place that fancies itself a major metropolis, when it's really just an overgrown mid-size city. I think there is certainly some truth to this, as it does seem at times that Seattle is perhaps still in its adolescence in many ways.
As we were driving back and forth to the concert hall, crisscrossing the complex tangle of streets in the central part of town, my friend again pointed out various landmarks and spoke a bit of the history of them. He was a person steeped in his knowledge of this place, although he was not a native of the area.
At the concert, I also thought back to my habits of attending concerts of the Phoenix Symphony on many weekends, and how I would always recognize many audience members - often fellow musicians or music afficiandos that I knew from what became many years of living and working in central Phoenix.
This experience of unfamiliarity with the players invited more and more of my typical comparisons to my hometown. Again, not in a way that makes me want to go back, but in a way that makes me realize how much time and labor it takes to get to a level of familiarity and experience with a life within a place.
When will I come to the point where I can walk about the audience at a concert like this and know many people both on stage and off? How many years will that take? How will I get "plugged in" so that I know deeply who in town does what, where one can go to best do certain things, who the players are in various realms that my professional endeavors will inevitably touch?
The truth is that it happens person-by-person and relationship-by-relationship - just as familiarity with a place happens street-by-street. And, in the case of Seattle, neighborhood-by-neighborhood.
I found myself today wanting to hurry this process along - to introduce myself to 50 different people at once in hopes that we would both have an accurate and respectful thumbnail summary of ourselves to draw upon should a scenario warrant our deepening our connections to each other.
But no - this is a long process of hello, of introducing ourselves, perhaps several times over, until we begin to move into some type of relationship with one another - some type of profound, simple (not simplistic) true knowing instead of simply seeing and hearing one another.
I think tonight that this is another experiential reminder that efficiency is the opposite of love, as a former priest of mine used to say.
... but I so love efficiency.
12.15.2009
12.13.2009
What will we do differently?
I found myself attending the 5PM service this evening at St. Paul's here in Seattle - the second time I've been there on a Sunday night. I've found that the musical and liturgical aesthetic there seems to work a lot better for me as a Sunday evening experience of transformation and reflection. For me, it feels similar in some ways to the Thursday night service and formation piece at St. Augustine's in Phoenix and in other ways to the Sunday evening formation and Compline service at Trinity Cathedral.
Following tonight's service, I had a brief chat with one of the members of St. Paul's, where I talked with him about my move from Phoenix, briefly describing all of the roots I have there. He spoke of the ease one has in very familiar environments, and then mentioned the efficiency one experiences from being in those familiar places. Simply living one's normal life in a new city can take twice as much time, as one tries to "figure out" even very simple things like how to drive from one place to another.
This certainly has been my experience, as this has been a tough transition on so many levels. My inability to be as efficient as I would have liked to be has certainly been a major contributor to this difficulty.
But this is a new endeavor - an adventure - and adventure is different from amusement.
These ideas of adventure vs. amusement were present in some of the discussion time that followed this 5PM service, since I stuck around afterwards for their "questions around the table". The question of the evening was "How do we follow Christ in a consumer culture?"
The Bishop was there, and he challenged those of us who were gathered to think about how we as Christians "looked just like everybody else", especially at this time of Advent, and fleshed out these thoughts with some concrete examples - that would make us stand out from the crowd and be noticed. Not just for the sake of being noticed, but for the sake of taking our faith and our traditions seriously.
This was the first opportunity I've had to hear Bishop Rickel's teaching, and I was most impressed with his very frank approaches, his matter-of-fact sensibility, and pragmatic convictions.
In many ways, I think he echoed what I remember hearing from Bishop Shahan, who used to remind us that we "make a difference by being different".
Truth is truth no matter where you find it, and certainly draws attention to itself (and, really, away from the person conveying the truth when it is spoken forthrightly) in unmistakable ways.
One of the associate clergy was there also helping to facilitate the discussion, and I continued to be fascinated by his knowledge and perspectives on Christian culture here in the Seattle area. This was the second time I'd sat in on is teaching.
I feel a little sponge-like in these encounters, trying to absorb so much information, trying to hook in this new data into previous experience, giving it some context- rolling it around in my head to see how thinking may be different here than it was elsewhere. Then, I must ask, "Why am I experiencing this as different?" Is it me that has changed? Is the culture here articulating the same things in new ways? Are these new things the product of certain socio-economic or parish personalities?
I suppose I'm fascinated by these questions - although they don't seem to be practical questions whatsoever.
After this sponge-time, I helped out a bit to put away chairs from the service, and began to think about how I started to feel at home in this situation. Even the priest in charge of the congregation made mention that putting away furniture was more of a sign of belonging to a group than was some formal letter of transfer. She was right about that.
If there's one thing that I really am seeking now, it's stability and a sense of home. This is far different from the boring and familiar stuck-in-the-mud life I had fallen into in Phoenix.
This stability that I seem to be groping for might be quite the illusion, as I may be feeling the same thing that everyone else is feeling, given the current economic situation. I know the same as everyone else that the "normal" of the early 2000s is not coming back.
It's a new life for all of us, really. What will we do with ourselves?
Following tonight's service, I had a brief chat with one of the members of St. Paul's, where I talked with him about my move from Phoenix, briefly describing all of the roots I have there. He spoke of the ease one has in very familiar environments, and then mentioned the efficiency one experiences from being in those familiar places. Simply living one's normal life in a new city can take twice as much time, as one tries to "figure out" even very simple things like how to drive from one place to another.
This certainly has been my experience, as this has been a tough transition on so many levels. My inability to be as efficient as I would have liked to be has certainly been a major contributor to this difficulty.
But this is a new endeavor - an adventure - and adventure is different from amusement.
These ideas of adventure vs. amusement were present in some of the discussion time that followed this 5PM service, since I stuck around afterwards for their "questions around the table". The question of the evening was "How do we follow Christ in a consumer culture?"
The Bishop was there, and he challenged those of us who were gathered to think about how we as Christians "looked just like everybody else", especially at this time of Advent, and fleshed out these thoughts with some concrete examples - that would make us stand out from the crowd and be noticed. Not just for the sake of being noticed, but for the sake of taking our faith and our traditions seriously.
This was the first opportunity I've had to hear Bishop Rickel's teaching, and I was most impressed with his very frank approaches, his matter-of-fact sensibility, and pragmatic convictions.
In many ways, I think he echoed what I remember hearing from Bishop Shahan, who used to remind us that we "make a difference by being different".
Truth is truth no matter where you find it, and certainly draws attention to itself (and, really, away from the person conveying the truth when it is spoken forthrightly) in unmistakable ways.
One of the associate clergy was there also helping to facilitate the discussion, and I continued to be fascinated by his knowledge and perspectives on Christian culture here in the Seattle area. This was the second time I'd sat in on is teaching.
I feel a little sponge-like in these encounters, trying to absorb so much information, trying to hook in this new data into previous experience, giving it some context- rolling it around in my head to see how thinking may be different here than it was elsewhere. Then, I must ask, "Why am I experiencing this as different?" Is it me that has changed? Is the culture here articulating the same things in new ways? Are these new things the product of certain socio-economic or parish personalities?
I suppose I'm fascinated by these questions - although they don't seem to be practical questions whatsoever.
After this sponge-time, I helped out a bit to put away chairs from the service, and began to think about how I started to feel at home in this situation. Even the priest in charge of the congregation made mention that putting away furniture was more of a sign of belonging to a group than was some formal letter of transfer. She was right about that.
If there's one thing that I really am seeking now, it's stability and a sense of home. This is far different from the boring and familiar stuck-in-the-mud life I had fallen into in Phoenix.
This stability that I seem to be groping for might be quite the illusion, as I may be feeling the same thing that everyone else is feeling, given the current economic situation. I know the same as everyone else that the "normal" of the early 2000s is not coming back.
It's a new life for all of us, really. What will we do with ourselves?
12.07.2009
Ends and Means
I had dinner with a new friend this evening, and we had a fairly wide-ranging conversation, but several pieces of it centered around our life in the church, as he is a fellow Episcopalian and lay person.
It's usually the third time I spend quality time with a person that we begin moving past the interesting, but basic questions to move deeper into the heart of things, as I am reminded again that our humanity is only fully known in relationship to another.
The conversation seemed to move a in and out of the realm of how our religious ideas shape our value systems and specific behaviors.
One of the dangers I'm trying very hard to avoid is finding a church home that is not a place where I feel very comfortable - where people process things in the same ways I do and ask the same questions. I don't want to find a supportive environment only - or even one that is challenging, because those are places where I might not necessarily be asked the questions I need to be asked in this point on my journey.
My friend (who is a member of an Anglo-Catholic church) and I talked a bit about Anglo-Catholicism, a label I'm still trying to wrap my head around. Some of my experience of people who describe themselves as "Anglo-Catholic" has been of young people in various stages of discernment of one kind or another who are very interested in debating the proper ways to do liturgy.
Sometimes I have been bewildered by conversations among folks that cross the line from curious squabbles over what movements should be done where during the Eucharist to a much more judgmental discussion of how certain liturgical practices are so incorrect that one questions the appropriateness of common worship and communion with those there.
The more I experience different rhythms of life in the Episcopal Church, the more convinced I become that we can't be dogmatic about things like liturgy and music choices, convinced that certain practices are correct and others are not.
Does that make me a hopelessly misguided fundamentalist hick who is somehow returning to his Baptist roots on some level? I feel that way sometimes, and it may be closer to the truth than I want to admit.
I told my dinner companion tonight that what I think is important about a church is whether there is a true sense of community present and whether people are brought closer to relationship with God and driven out into the world to live out the Gospel because they are a part of that community. Whether or not incense is swung, bells rung at the right time, or the best choral anthems are performed doesn't matter.
One of the sayings I've heard passed around church choirs - and it's very important - is this . . . and I know you've read this before if you read my blog with any regularity: If your ministry leads you to music, it has led you astray. If your ministry leads you to God, it has brought you home.
The same thing is true for liturgy and for any other endeavor we undertake in the church.
Some of my experiences over recent months have really driven home this truth for me, as I again have been reminded of the fork in the road that I face professionally- the reality of asking myself what my work really must be for the sake of my soul, how that work will or will not put food on the table, and how that work is fulfilling the firm leading I feel to serve God in a significant and serious way.
These questions become more pressing when I realize the current limits of my expertise in certain areas. However, this is coupled with my understanding that one can be good at doing work in these areas up to a certain point, but (frighteningly) that this work is exhausting. This is not the draining that comes from emptying yourself in beloved work, but the true burnout that happens when one is doing what one is able to do rather than what one should do.
My plan and hope has been that what I am able to do will be a means to discover and draw closer to the ends - to what I am called to do . . . not unlike a good liturgy that perhaps is one means to go deeper into community and the world beyond.
It's usually the third time I spend quality time with a person that we begin moving past the interesting, but basic questions to move deeper into the heart of things, as I am reminded again that our humanity is only fully known in relationship to another.
The conversation seemed to move a in and out of the realm of how our religious ideas shape our value systems and specific behaviors.
One of the dangers I'm trying very hard to avoid is finding a church home that is not a place where I feel very comfortable - where people process things in the same ways I do and ask the same questions. I don't want to find a supportive environment only - or even one that is challenging, because those are places where I might not necessarily be asked the questions I need to be asked in this point on my journey.
My friend (who is a member of an Anglo-Catholic church) and I talked a bit about Anglo-Catholicism, a label I'm still trying to wrap my head around. Some of my experience of people who describe themselves as "Anglo-Catholic" has been of young people in various stages of discernment of one kind or another who are very interested in debating the proper ways to do liturgy.
Sometimes I have been bewildered by conversations among folks that cross the line from curious squabbles over what movements should be done where during the Eucharist to a much more judgmental discussion of how certain liturgical practices are so incorrect that one questions the appropriateness of common worship and communion with those there.
The more I experience different rhythms of life in the Episcopal Church, the more convinced I become that we can't be dogmatic about things like liturgy and music choices, convinced that certain practices are correct and others are not.
Does that make me a hopelessly misguided fundamentalist hick who is somehow returning to his Baptist roots on some level? I feel that way sometimes, and it may be closer to the truth than I want to admit.
I told my dinner companion tonight that what I think is important about a church is whether there is a true sense of community present and whether people are brought closer to relationship with God and driven out into the world to live out the Gospel because they are a part of that community. Whether or not incense is swung, bells rung at the right time, or the best choral anthems are performed doesn't matter.
One of the sayings I've heard passed around church choirs - and it's very important - is this . . . and I know you've read this before if you read my blog with any regularity: If your ministry leads you to music, it has led you astray. If your ministry leads you to God, it has brought you home.
The same thing is true for liturgy and for any other endeavor we undertake in the church.
Some of my experiences over recent months have really driven home this truth for me, as I again have been reminded of the fork in the road that I face professionally- the reality of asking myself what my work really must be for the sake of my soul, how that work will or will not put food on the table, and how that work is fulfilling the firm leading I feel to serve God in a significant and serious way.
These questions become more pressing when I realize the current limits of my expertise in certain areas. However, this is coupled with my understanding that one can be good at doing work in these areas up to a certain point, but (frighteningly) that this work is exhausting. This is not the draining that comes from emptying yourself in beloved work, but the true burnout that happens when one is doing what one is able to do rather than what one should do.
My plan and hope has been that what I am able to do will be a means to discover and draw closer to the ends - to what I am called to do . . . not unlike a good liturgy that perhaps is one means to go deeper into community and the world beyond.
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