Dayenu

I found this draft post. I may as well post it.

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The trading of joy comes naturally because it is of the nature of joy to proclaim and share itself. Joy cannot contain itself, as we say. It overflows.

Source:

• The Clown in the Belfry

From inward/outward

Ahh, that's why I want to tell my own story. Because of joy.

At Passover it's a mitzvah to tell the story of the Exodus... but not "such and such happened and our ancestors were brought out Egypt" but in the first person, "I was brought out of Egypt, we were brought out from Egypt". You can't be true to the joy without recording the horrors of the journey -- horse and rider were thrown into the sea, Miriam tells us, and at Seder there is the dayenu song, literally "enough".

If God had brought me out of the household I grew up in but not brought me to a new country, it would have been enough.

If God had brought me to a new country but not sent me to Academic Institution, it would have been enough.

If God had sent me to Academic Institution but not given me help for depression, it would have been enough.

If God had given me help for depression but not sent Sweetie into my life, it would have been enough.

If God had sent Sweetie into my life but not given me diagnosis of my physical illnesses, it would have been enough.

If God had given me diagnosis of my physical illnesses but not a mentor and friend to encourage me through my degree, it would have been enough.

If God had given me a mentor and friend to encourage me through my degree, but not allowed us to keep in touch after she left Academic Institution, it would have been enough.

If God had allowed us to keep in touch after she left Academic Institution but not brought me to church services because of her, it would have been enough.

If God had brought me to church services because of my friend and mentor but not found me a choir to sing in, it would have been enough.

If God had found me a choir to sing in but not allowed me to believe what I sang, it would have been enough.

If Got had allowed me to believe what I sang but not sent another friend who invited me to Seder, it would have been enough.

If God had sent the friend who invited me to Seder but not whispered in my ear "Do this in remembrance of me," it would have been enough.

If God had whispered in my ear "Do this in remembrance of me," but not sent me to churches where I was welcome to sit and eat, it would have been enough.

If God had sent me to churches where I was welcome to sit and eat, but not given me a vocation to serve at the table, it would have been enough.

If God had given me a vocation to serve at the table but not allowed me to be confirmed, it would have been enough.

If God had sent Jesus to die on the cross for me, and not done any of this... if God had not brought me out of the household I grew up in, not sent me to a new country and to Academic Institution, not given me help for depression, not brought Sweetie into my life, not found diagnoses for my physical illnesses, not given me a mentor and friend who encouraged me through my degree and stayed in touch afterward and invited me to church, not sent a choir I could sing in or allowed me to believe what I sang, not made sure I got to Seder and heard that voice, not helped me find churches where I was welcome to sit and eat, not given me a vocation to priesthood, not allowed me to be confirmed... it would have been enough.

It remains to be seen whether God will allow me to jump through the hoops required by the Church Bureaucratic before ordination is possible.

Either way, it will have been enough.

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And of course, much has happened since I wrote this post... 

Hurry up and wait

Sweetie and I are engaged to be married.

Vocation stuff continues -- sometimes it seems very fast and sometimes painfully slow.

I find I can say little else without compromising pseudonymity.

Words again.

I've been feeling lately that I want to talk or write about this journey I've been on. I want to tell people the story of how I left the church I grew up in, avoided Christianity for a decade, and ended up in the C of E. I don't want to turn into one of these people who goes around telling everyone about their personal conversion experience and so I guess I need to write it. I don't know if this is a series of blog posts, or a book, or what.

I'm struggling with it for a number of reasons.

I don't like to talk about my relationship with my stepdad, which was difficult. Aha! The victim defending the abuser! But seriously -- yes, he treated us badly. Emotional, physical and sexual abuse were part of my reality living at home. But he is a person, too, and I'm painfully aware I tell my side of things without telling his. Am I afraid to tell it like it is because he might find out? Or because others might pre-judge him rather than meet him on equal terms, learn who he is now? I don't know. But I know it feels wrong to say too much.

The other reason is similar in some ways but also the complete opposite. I've been helped along on this journey by huge numbers of people, but there is one person whose unconditional care and love made a transformative impression on me. I thank God every day for sending her, and I couldn't seriously write about my own story without including her. But from her perspective? She was just doing her job, just doing what she would have done for anyone in a similar position, and she certainly doesn't want to take any sort of credit. She was able to come to my confirmation in the autumn, and I told the bishop it was her fault that I'm an Anglican, and I have never seen her blush so much. She finds any of that sort of thing extremely uncomfortable, in a very English sort of way. So, I can't write this story without causing her some pretty acute distress... and I don't want to do that.

Do I write anyway, and hang the consequences? Is it possible to write this in a way that, though potentially painful, won't be harmful to those involved? Do I write, and remember that this isn't the "end" of the story and it may be years before I show these words to others? (Then why the urge to write, to speak, about these things now?)

I don't really want to be one of those people who talks about God and church and stuff all the time. It puts people off. I know that it puts people off because it used to put me off. If I could, I'd write a book about this with all the names changed, publish it under a pseudonym, not tell more than a handful of people. But that isn't going to work, and if either of the people mentioned above got hold of it they would recognise the story instantly.

Refusal to put words to this is not going to make it go away.

And trembling, to its source return

Well, I said the words and the bishop did the bishop-y stuff and I've been confirmed in the Church of England. I'm a really real Anglican now; you other Anglicans are stuck with me for the foreseeable future.

I felt a great peace, which is still with me, and erupts into joy. Some of you might call that the Holy Spirit. I am not certain, but prefer to say this is what I felt, what I feel.

Still here

Boring Health Crap:

1) the Mystery Illness seems to be abating, on its own. I'd still rather know what it was, but at least I'm getting better.

2) I hurt my back a couple of weeks ago. I'll be fine, but it's painful and affecting mobility and my ability to work.

3) My Gee Pee wants me to see the Trick Cyclist about medication I've been on for years (and which is working just fine for me, thank you very much). This worries me. The tablets help, you see, to the point that I feel uncomfortable when faced with the fact that medical professionals who have no idea what it is like to be inside my head might take them away. But last time I had to do this (two years ago) the Trick Cyclist in question was very sensible and so there is probably nothing to worry about. So I keep telling myself.

However, this stuff takes a back seat to something else:

I'm being confirmed on Sunday.

Assuming I don't get cold feet between now and then, that is.

Boring Health Crap continues

The doctor on Monday was pretty useless. My bloodwork is all normal, so of course there couldn't possibly be anything wrong, right?

On the plus side, I'm not about to keel over from any of the things they could test for, things that show up in blood tests. But given that I have a few chronic conditions already, none of which were diagnosable from initial blood tests, I don't feel happy about this.

I'll be back in a month for my regular meds; if I'm still having symptoms (which at the moment have me spending half a day in bed about once a week, which says a bit as I don't retreat easily, but don't seem to be getting any worse) I will see if I can get things taken seriously. The problem is, of course, I'm not a doctor -- I don't know what should be investigated next. If the doctor doesn't take me seriously the only thing I can do is see a different one.

I'm quite tired of things going "wrong" with this body of mine. I can understand the appeal of a sort of dualism, of thinking well, my body isn't really "me", my soul or personhood will somehow be released from this at some stage, the material doesn't matter, matter doesn't matter. But this is the stuff I am made of, and it is at once broken and perfect, like the rest of the world.

I live in the hope that love can transform matter.

Living Well

Whilst on holiday I read Living Well by Alan Hargrave. It is a fairly practical book looking at various aspects of finding a Rule (or habit or discipline?) of Life, with questions at the end of each section. It is not excessively long and it is personally, even affably, written, but painfully honest at times. There are challenges there for me, especially in terms of how I relate to those closest to me.

I think I'm going to end up working with some of the questions more, with pencil and paper rather than just reading straight through.

But I'm also aware that on some level, I have a tendency to want this to be a sort of magical fix. If I can just get this right, I think to myself, I won't feel so overwhelmed or inadequate, and I can be more effective at fixing the world. Ho ho, not so fast! Not by my own strength am I saved, not by my own bow. There is no perfect strategy, no perfect routine, which will mean I never feel bewildered, never feel insignificant, never feel lost.

I won't always understand everything. I am confused. I won't always be able to change things. I am weak, and I am only me. I won't always know what is what or what I should do; I will feel disoriented and lost.

And that's good.

Because God is more complex than anything I can understand, and it is right to feel bewildered. Be-wilder-ed. Made wild? Lost in wildness? Whatever it is, my bewilderment is not wrong. (Higher are my ways than your ways, my thoughts than your thoughts. Oh yes.)

And God is powerful, more than I can ever imagine, and it is not inaccurate to feel insignificant. What can I do that isn't with God's help? What do I have to offer that isn't first given to me by God? (Lord, treasure up my mite...)

And God's love is huge, huger than huge, enormous beyond all reckoning. It cannot be measured or counted. Of course that's disorienting. Of course I will feel lost. What a wonderful place to be lost! (Lost in wonder, love and praise.)

None of that means I don't need a Rule, of course. An appropriate Rule, like good liturgy, gives me the tools to bring my bewilderment, my weakness and my lostness to God, to recognise God at work in the world and in my life, and to join in with that work -- especially in those challenging relationships, those where I wish I could fix the systemic problems. But it is just a Rule, just a habit, and it is just as well not to get too hung up about it.