Church BrewWorks

It began in Pittsburgh, and a question of where to eat. “Amy wants to eat Pittsburgh.” My friend offered to our host. “Interesting image.” Said he. “No, I want to eat food and experience something that can only be experienced in Pittsburgh.” “Which Pittsburgh? Polish Pittsburgh? Italian Pittsburgh? Working class Pittsburgh?” “I want to eat someplace where we can eat, drink and be merry.”

“Oh”, said the host, “I have just the place. The Church BrewWorks.” We climbed into the jeep, which sat at the curb overlooking the Cathedral of Learning and the Heinz Chapel. A good way to start. We drove into neighborhoods that had histories that were shifting and redefining their character. Turning left we entered an old Italian neighborhood, that had bike lanes actually used by bikes and respected by cars, taverns, pedestrians, lights and sights to garner my interest.

We were looking for the former St. Johns Catholic Church. It served the Old neighborhood well, yet when the neighborhood was beset by economic downturn and an exodus of original neighborhood folks, the church dwindled as well. So, it was sold. To a micro brewery. The Church Brew Works.

We pulled into a side lot, looking for parking space. It seems that the restaurant had evangelized their good news well, as there was nearly no parking to be had. As we walked up to the front doors, there was a friendly and welcoming vibe to the place, carried in the dark thick wood and brick of the architecture and on the faces and bodies of eaters going in and out.

Once we entered the outside doorway, we found ourselves in a vestibule. A place for stamping the Pittsburgh winter off one’s shoes, shucking a coat, straightening Sunday finest. We simply walked to the second set of tall, majestic doors. We entered the Sanctuary. Stained glass, raised chancel, wooden pews smoothed by faithful behinds on many a Sunday morning. Instead of ushers and bulletins, we were greeted by a hostess and menus. The wait for main seating in the sanctuary....er.....main dining area would be 20 minutes. But we could wait over in the bar to the side. We slid our own behinds into pew and chair, in a section that had baptized babies. We baptized our delight in discovering that Pennsylvania still allows smoking in restaurants.

Our server came over. She wore the vestments of apron, tightly fitted T, multiple piercings and an engaging smile. She expertly took us through the liturgy of hops and brews, appetizers and main courses, asking us questions in order to be able to highlight the most enjoyable offerings. Her sermon was of flavors, scents, textures and experience. We listened as disciples, so that we would choose well.

I began to become aware, at this point, that I was still only observing my surroundings. As though patron, servers, and food were elements of a divine gourmet play that I was attending. Isn’t that how it often is in church? We wait for chorister, worship leader and preacher to evoke God for us, to create space in our sanctuaries so that we can sit and observe. We listen to the parables and texts and hymn tunes as something we agree with and find pleasing....not often presented with too much challenge.....but let it slip past us through lack of making the experience our own.

So, I in haled deeply of the blue swirling tobacco smoke to my side. I felt the vibration of the clinking glasses of we three, as we raised our brews in a yeasty homage to friendship. I heard my own voice speaking the lesson of the day as we passed between us comments of institutional politics, postmodern sensibilities, scholarship of Riceour, Didera, White and Holland....and yes, even Ritchie.

In a state of sedate fullness, my vision wandered to the raised altar in this micro brewery. Where once was chalice and bread, now stood hops and mash, where once the priest robed and latined his way through transubstantiation, now the brewers did their thing in the altar of the brew house to bring tasty pleasures of Celestial Gold, Pius Monk Dunkel, and Pipe Organ Pale Ale..... to our lips.

As conversation and food gave way to dessert and comfortable silences, we gathered our belongings to take leave. And, just as one often takes home a bulletin from a particularly meaningful worship service, a token of the evening came with us.

Our tithes and offerings were left with the bill and we ushered ourselves out into the night: blessed, connected, and indeed in the presence of the Holy who resides in all places.

Blessed be,
Amysgr

dying for another

...my dearly beloved husband Kurt, sat down to watch Motorcycle Diaries.....a story of Ernesto Guevara on his way to becoming 'Che'. It is a deeply moving story of sweet honesty and ardent purpose.

The scene that has stolen my heart and mind this evening, is the one where Ernesto has just been given a birthday party by the staff of a leper colony where he and his friend Alberto have been working for three weeks. He is given the opportunity to say a toast. He uses this opportunity to honor the people of Peru....and makes a political statement about the connection of all people in South America. Reflectively, he walks to the river's edge. This river separates the housing for the staff and those who have leprosy. He decides he wants to celebrate his birthday on the other side, jumps in to swim. It is a dangerous River. No one has crossed it swimming before. He is breathing and making the same noise he makes when he is under a severe asthma attack. The medical personnel are calling for him to come back. The Lepers here the commotion and come to their river's edge to see what is happening. Soon, they figure out that Ernesto is swimming to them. He is swimming to them. They begin to call and guide him, encouraging him to make it. He tires near the the end, and several men jump in the water to bring him on land.

He lands as one near death. He is out of breath. He is cheered by the people, raised up, and led at the front of the crowd.

The thought that went through my mind just then was, "He almost died to cross that river." Then..."He was willing to die for them." This is an emblematic scene of his future revolutionary ways....honoring a people, empowering them, giving them dignity, swimming to them even at the peril of his own death.

Che Guevara.


Peace,
Amysgr

Doctoral Project

The doctoral project is different than a PhD dissertation. Where a PhD dissertation can be up to 500 pages, this is ONLY 35 pages. It is an article that has original research and ideas that is worthy of publication. The combined practicum and project are the core capstones of the program. the DMin is a practical degree, not a research degree at the PhD level. But, the work we produce is equal to that of the PhD.

Having said this, I need to find a focus.

1) I have thought for years that I would love to study the spiritual formation that a seminary student undergoes...some with joy and others with bitterness.......but this is quite broad.

2) Church of the Brethren spirituality within our rituals of Love Feast and Service

3) Spiritual Formation within the history and current life of the Bethany Church of the Brethren

4) Individual practices of spiritual formation and the affect of that practice on the greater community of faith

The courses that I will want to take and the focus on my practicum need to be able to be tied to the final project.....for my own sense of research. Any others out there?

Doctoral Practicum

Well, one of the things I get to do is a 400plus hour practicum. This can be in my current ministry setting......student development @bethany........or in my congregation. Hmmmm, lets think about some ideas:

1) a small group of students from each year (junior, middler, senior) to explore their spiritual formation during their seminary careers thus far, with the planning and leading of an overnight retreat involving silence, direction, worship and discussion for first year students (this one would have to be done with explicit support and permission by our ministry formation professor as it overlaps with that program...probably faculty approval as well)

2) a small group series with my congregation of spiritual formation practices, ending in a retreat i.e. the one in #1

3) overnight retreats for various faith communities in the CoB i.e. rural, city, large, small.....

4) ????????


Any suggestions? The requirements are that within 400 hours, I plan, lead and reflect on spiritual formation events/series/sermons/ etc........

This Mother's Lament

This is a personal lament that I wrote in response to a lecture and discussion on the Psalms.

O God, Source of life, creator of every living thing, determiner of that which has breath.

How long must we wait?

By day, my son writhes in pain,
gut clutched by little hands that should be drawing pictures or building cities with blocks.

Caught by rhythmic and cyclical mystery that causes him to moan, and for me to murmur reassurances that are false, echoing through a tunnel of hollow hope.

My hands lay upon his skin, providing both of us with the comfort of the other.

By night, I lay beside him, tears streaming down my face as he fitfully sleeps.

I stretch out my hand to you and cry “Heal him. I know that you can. I know who you are. Why are you not listening and acting? What have I done to block your hearing? I preach your word, I live a life of gospel simplicity, I set aside family time when neighbors knock on the door asking for bread. It is my turn, I ask for the bread of wholeness and you have given me a stone of indifference. How long O God?”

But my cries lift with faith, only to dissipate like steam, unfelt by you.

O God, Source of life and all that breathes, I must turn to lesser gods of white coat and stethoscope. They placate me with words like “could be this”, “isn’t that”, “flu, IBS, imagination.”

But they are not around to see my son, my firstborn in anguish.

I know his imaginary pains that are given life to garner my attention.

I know the pains that diminish when a friendly face appears or ice cream is brought out. And these are not those.

Will this end in health or death? How long until we know?

O that it would be better that you were not in existence, for then my hopes and faith would not be beaten to a pulp each and every day.

But you do exist, and I do believe. So I raise my petition, my yearning, my soul to you. Please heal my son. Heal my son. Do not be far from us. Let him not lose faith in you. Let not my faith shrivel and my vocation become meaningless.

Within me, praise struggles to rise, but it is held back and I cannot let it go. It flutters inside and beside and all around, but cannot fly to full glory. It is tethered to me, waiting for you to prove yourself.

(August 1996, during a 9 month period where Turner had recurring abdominal cramps that came and went in two week cycles. The doctors speculated that it was the flu, that it was Irritable Bowel Syndrome, that he was making it up. On October 25, 1996, while doing the second shunt revision of the year, they swabbed the tubing at his belly, to find his peritoneum full of staph infection, having traveled upwards to his brain. Turner was in ICU for 16 days, as they administered antibiotics from an external shunt directly into his brain. We watched his cerebral spinal fluid fill bag after bag, because his body did not reabsorb it. Turner was 5 nearly 6, lying in a hospital bed, unable to move for the need to keep that bag perfectly aligned with his head….too high and his cerebral spinal fluid would not drain out, too low and it could drain too quickly. He went home on the 17^th day, with no more cramps. All along, God had been faithful. We knew it had been the shunt. But we listened to the empty reassurances of the gods of medicine over the heartbeat of the One True God.)

Starting the DMin (Doctor of Ministry)

Most of the blog posts from here on out will be about this DMin process and its impact upon my own spiritual development.......changes are a brewin..........

The day arrived to pack my bags and drive to Decatur Georgia for my doctoral work. We have a group of 12 pastoral leaders (some congregational ministers, some administrators) who are hear because we want to be. We've had a couple of days of introductory sessions, but are shifting gears toward the academic thinking that goes into this program.

My mates in this venture are from many denominational backgrounds: Presbyterian, Methodist, Anglican, Quaker and Church of the Brethren (me). But all have a deep love for those with whom we minister, and a desire to further their spiritual formation.

And that is what this is all about: Group Spiritual Formation. What is that? Well, maybe I'll let you know next week. Really. What I know now is that it is about how we move together in our lives of faith, growing, deepening, and being shaped. Spirituality is under the clear canopy of Christianity. Not much room for New Age, or eastern practices here. Spirituality in this context is specific to Christ's Church and those who follow his teachings.

I'm here from November 5-17....missing my family (I just now took 15 minutes to call and hear their voices: Kurt, Turner and Bennett....my heart's desires)....but really really glad to be taking this time just for me. Selfish I know......but so worth it.

Nothing pithy or deep to add.

asgr

A first time.........

This morning, I sat on our deck overlooking our back yard, for an hour of prayer. I'm not a nature lover per se. I enjoy nature from the view of my office window mostly. But this day, I was participating in a world wide hour of prayer to connect with and heal the earth. It was called Fire the Grid. As I anticipated this event, I wondered how I would ever fill an hour with prayer in nature?

My prayers were of connection. Claiming the one who empowers me, Jesus the Christ, and respectfully acknowledging all how join this time of prayer from whatever tradition they pray from. Prayers of unity, of earth love, of respect for the Source of Life who creates all.

It was a powerful and joyful experience. Truly. Wow. Who knew?

At first, it was about watching the playful birds: a swoop of red from the cardinal, calling back and forth, silence when the cat strolled through.......

Then it was about thoughts of love. Not random romantic notions, but love...deep and purposeful and earth shattering.....like that between parent and child, lovers, friends.........

At some point, my body and spirit began to lighten and relax, deepen and wait. And then the oddest thing happened.

An old prayer language that I used way back in college days (during my charismatic exploration days) bubbled right up and overflowed from my mouth. This language has always struck me as being similar to a Native American or Hawaiian tribal tone. As always, I vocalized the word glyphs rising from inside/outside.......until it was done. Then, as always, sitting until interpretation comes. Like the oily warmth of a massage therapists hands moving from lower back to upper shoulders, the understanding that I had just spoken these words ebbed over me, "Holy holy holy. Holy Jesus."

Now, I am not a "Jesus thumper". I most often use the term "Christ" to depict something more cosmic than "Jesus" which is too solid and point-in-time-ish. But this was the interpretation and I'm sticking with it. Great peace followed.

Then, the words to a familiar hymn rose from within and I sang:

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies.
Source of all to thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.

What a morning.

amysgr