So, I’ve taken on the Lenten discipline of wearing my clerical collar. I’ve debated this before and I did promise a parishioner that I would wear it for a week, if he wore the pectoral cross for a week. He did, mostly, so I will, mostly.

I’ve even taken to wearing an Anglican collar, so I can’t just slip the tab out. I’ll be wearing during my working hours until I go home, but not on my days off (unless I go to a work function). 

I’ve resisted the collar previously for the following reasons: 1) Actual physical discomfort. Both the tab and the full circle are close fitting around the neck. In addition to feeling a little tight, it makes me hot. I hate being hot. The Anglican collar has an additional, hair-shirt quality that comes from the collar stud that pokes into the middle of my throat.

2) In cognito. It’s much easier to go in and out of the grocery store, car dealership, Sears, gas station without people asking questions or staring. And it does happen.

3) Alaska casual. I have seen clergy, mainly men, wearing their clericals daily, but I can name 2. Some clergy I know wear the shirts, but keep the collar optional, putting it on as needed (such as to go into the hospital). This isn’t a suit-state. I’m a fairly casual person, particularly in dressing, but the collar seems to call for a little something more.

4) Along with being “undercover”, not wearing a collar keeps me from spontaneous confessor status. Once people “know” you’re clergy, they have a range of things to confess from unbelief, to struggles with the church, to divorce and all manner of faith struggles.

On the other hand, it’s arguable that wearing the collar creates ministry opportunities that I’m missing right now. Wearing a dickey allows me to still be fairly casual. And if I lost more weight, maybe the collars wouldn’t be as snug.

In reality, I think wearing my collar more frequently will help me to consider aspects of this call and vocation that I usually ignore or that I have yet to consider.

Already, last night, I stopped on the way home to buy a few groceries. When I came to the check-out line, both the checker and the customer stared at me. I just unloaded my cart and then the customer, a woman, asked, “Are you, um, clergy?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering what would happen next.

“Have you seen that show… um…” she began, pausing.

“Oh, you mean, ‘What Not to Wear’?” I guessed she might be referring the TLC show, which featured an Episcopalian clergy woman a few months ago. Her congregation wanted to spruce up her wardrobe and, among other things, she got a very nice, custom-made clergy dickie.

“Yes, that show,” she said. “I loved that show and they gave her one of those things you’re wearing.”

“I went to school with the woman on the show,” I said, which I did. “They did make a collar for her, but it’s about $90 and this one is $25.”

“Wow, there’s a big difference then.” she said.

As I nodded, she moved her cart away and the checker began processing my few groceries. “I love that show,” the checker said.

I nodded, noncommittally, since I don’t have television and have never seen the show.

I could see the other customer waiting, just beyond the registers.

As I began to push my cart toward the parking lot, she fell into step next to me.

“You don’t look so fuddy-duddy, though,” she confided. (I assume she dropped the “for a pastor”.)

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m not much for suits, so it’s good to live here.”

We both laughed and went on our way.

And now at least two women have encountered a woman clergy person, in real life, wearing regular clothes and the “uniform” of her calling and she was a real person.

I think I have a lot to learn in the next six weeks.

And maybe a little to teach.

Back in the office now after the Big Event 4.0, a RevGalBlogPals continuing education event, I’m a little overwhelmed by all I learned. I’m trying to absorb, to let things settle into my guts, but it’s hard to do as I run full tilt into Ash Wednesday.

I met women whom I’d only previously “known” through their blogs. I laughed, cried, pondered, and wondered how to bring this good news back, to translate these lessons of hope and grace, how to make change into freedom.

And I’m still jet-lagged.

I had hoped to do another complete month of blogging upon my return, but I missed two days because I was tired and nothing I typed made sense. (This may well still be the case.)

So, I was catching up on my podcasts and I heard this poem on The Writer’s Almanac for 27 February and now I know what to give up for Lent.

From RevGalBlogPals, kathrynzj writes: This Friday Five posts the day after my return from a phenomenal BE 4.0 experience. I am so thankful for the women who pursued the idea of this virtual community, continue to keep it vital and active and had a vision of creating space to meet in real life (irl) and made that happen too!

I like words and I recently discovered Save the Words, a website which allows you to adopt words that have faded from the English lexicon and are endanger of being dropped from the Oxford English Dictionary.

When you adopt a word, you agree to use it in conversation and writing in an attempt to re-introduce said word back into regular usage.

It is exactly as geeky as it sounds.

And I love it.

A latibule is a hiding place.


Use it in a sentence, please.

After my son goes to bed, I pull out the good chocolate from my latibule and have a “mommy moment”.
The perfect latibule was just behind the northwest corner of the barn, where one had a clear view during “Kick the Can”.
She tucked the movie stub into an old chocolate box, her latibule for sentimental souvenirs.

I like the sound of latibule, though I think I would spend more time defining it and defending myself than actually using it. Come to think of it, I’m not really sure how often I use the word “hiding”, so the occasions for working latibule into conversation are probably few and far between.

Nevertheless, it’s worth thinking about words and their lifespan. They come into being and are used for a few years or decades or centuries and then fade away.

In a book I was reading recently, the author used the words “forestall” and “pitfall” in their medieval contexts. When people were lined up on market day, occasionally they would conduct their business in the line and then leave. This was “forestalling”- they did the business before they reached the stalls, thus depriving someone (somewhere) of the taxes or additional profits from the sale or trade. A pitfall was dug between opposing armies, probably under the cover of night, so that the charging army would stumble or fall during a charge at the light of day.

Those words are used in entirely different contexts today. (But they’re still in use, unlike poor latibule.)

Can words be “saved”? (A unique use of that word on this blog.)

Should they be?

We know that our language evolves based on usage, changing definitions, and different linguistic needs. And other parts of our lives do as well.

There is no latibule big enough to keep change out, away or from happening. How do we handle it?

Is there anything that doesn’t change?

Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever. Hebrews 13:8

There’s no latibule to keep him out either.

Chief Justice Roberts wrote that two primary factors required a ruling in favor of the church. First, he said, its speech was on matters of public concern. While the messages on the signs carried by its members “may fall short of refined social or political commentary,” he wrote, “the issues they highlight — the political and moral conduct of the United States and its citizens, the fate of our nation, homosexuality in the military and scandals involving the Catholic clergy — are matters of public import.”

Second, the members of the church “had the right to be where they were.” They were picketing on a public street 1,000 feet from the site of the funeral; they complied with the law and with instructions from the police, and they protested quietly and without violence.

“Any distress occasioned by Westboro’s picketing turned on the content and viewpoint of the message conveyed,” Chief Justice Roberts wrote, “rather than any interference with the funeral itself.”

All of that means, the chief justice wrote, that the protesters’ speech “cannot be restricted simply because it is upsetting or arouses contempt.”

Rachel Held Evans is a writer, blogger and speaker. Essentially, she does what I’d love to do if I weren’t loving what I was currently doing. (Or something like that.) She wrote the following on her own blog today: 

This post was inspired by a few things:  

First, the brilliantly titled Epic Fail Pastors Conference, born from the question “What if we offered a space that is gutsy, hopeful, courageously vulnerable for pastors to let go of the burden to be a Super Pastor?” Second, a candid talk from David Felton at Big Tent Christianity about how pastors are often afraid to share what they are learning about the Bible and Christianity with their congregations for fear or recourse. (David recalled one pastor who reached retirement and said, “Now I can finally say what I really think.”) And third,the increasing number of pastors who contact me to say that they have doubts too, but can’t tell anyone about them.

Dear Pastors, 

Tell us the truth. 

Tell us the truth when you don’t know the answers to our questions, and your humility will set the example as we seek them out together.   

Tell us the truth about your doubts, and we will feel safe sharing our own. 

Tell us the truth when you get tired, when the yoke grows too heavy and the hill too steep to climb, and we will learn to carry one another’s burdens because we started with yours. 

Tell us the truth when you are sad, and we too will stop pretending. 

Tell us the truth when your studies lead you to new ideas that might stretch our faith and make us uncomfortable, and those of us who stick around will never forget that you trusted us with a challenge. 

Tell us the truth when your position is controversial, and we will grow braver along with you. 

Tell us the truth when you need to spend time on your marriage, and we will remember to prioritize ours. 

Tell us the truth when you fail, and we will stop expecting perfection. 

Tell us the truth when you think that our old ways of doing things need to change, and though we may push back, the conversation will force us to examine why we do what we do and perhaps inspire something even greater. 

Tell us the truth when you fall short, and we will drop our measuring sticks. 

Tell us the truth when all that’s left is hope, and we start digging for it. 

Tell us the truth when the world requires radical grace, and we will generate it. 

Tell us the truth even if it’s surprising, disappointing, painful, joyous, unexpected, unplanned, and unresolved, and we will learn that this is what it means to be people of faith. 

Tell us the truth and you won’t be the only one set free. 

Love, 

The Congregation 

This week’s prompt: 5 perks/gifts of ministry (for me)

1. Flexibility: Part of the reason I’m writing on Saturday is because I took Friday off (for the most part). I worked on Monday and so I shifted my schedule. Though there are occasional very, very long days- they don’t occur with horrible frequency. I can also work early in the morning and late at night, which allows a little more time with my family than another 40-50 hour a week job might. It’s a gift and I’m grateful.

2. Music: People assume the pastor will sing hymns all the time. So I do. Sure, Sondheim is a little more difficult to explain, but… how can I keep from singing?

3. Debate: I like to discuss, vigorously, the Bible. Frequently. Ministry gives me the frequent and vigorous options.

4. Teaching: I like teaching. I like seeing someone grasp a new thought or idea. I like watching the truth be absorbed. I like thinking about things in a new way so that I can teach more effectively.

5. Location, location, location: I like to be where I know that the Spirit is. The most tangible locations are at the beginning of life and the end, at the Table and the Font, at quiet lunch and boisterous potluck and many other places. Whether cutting back raspberries, weeding, vacuuming, dish washing, walking or dog blessing… one of the perks of ministry is being invited into seemingly simple spaces and watching God make the conversation sacred. I try not to get in the way.