Showing posts with label University Place Presbyterian Church. Show all posts
Showing posts with label University Place Presbyterian Church. Show all posts

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Turning a page

Last Sunday of September, a few days after coming back from France.

I was listening to Aaron, UPPC senior Pastor, as he was preaching. I have been the Director of Spiritual formation at University Place Presbyterian Church for the past 4 years.

Showing a picture of the famous Michelangelo’s fresco on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, he pointed to the difference of posture between God, stretched arm and determined to reach his creature and dreamy Adam, almost languid, obviously less motivated to establish this essential contact.


I had never noticed Adam’s nonchalant attitude.

At that moment, to my own surprise, an idea – more like an evidence – burst into my mind. It was time to leave UPPC. You were wondering if you should be a pastor or a chaplain? You are neither here. It is time to move on.

At the end of worship, I was ready to resign. Then I thought: let’s not rush into anything.

Two weeks later, I had a meeting with Aaron and found out that, because of a loss of incomes (less giving from parishioners), several positions had been eliminated. Including mine.

I felt like I had been slapped. Head-on collision with my ego. What, they decided to get rid of me?

“This is not a question of performance, said Aaron. The HR team terminated all the part-time positions.” I was ¾ times and, like everybody else at UPPC, I did not count my hours.

“If you need to hate someone, hate me.” added Aaron, hand on his heart, more comfortable with the Renaissance fresco.

Am I that immature in your eyes, Michelangelo? I don’t need a scapegoat. And if I needed one, I would pick it myself.

But I wanted to stay clear of bitterness. A feeling of peace surrounded me when I mentioned that I learned a lot at UPPC, where I was also ordained 3 years ago.  
Peace and relief. Would have I ever left on my own? I don’t know. Is it easy to leave a church where it is so comfortable to work, surrounded by people you love ?

A page is turning. In our Pacific Northwest where fog is frequent, I am not sure what direction I should take.

Was Adam nonchalant after all?


Let’s put ourselves in his, well… shoes. Maybe Adam was disoriented. or anxious, worried  of not being up to the task? Being the first human cannot be easy… that or trying to find the right path in the middle of the rain forest…

But there is also joy, with a healthy dose of adrenaline, that comes with exploring the first pages of a new chapter that is only opening. 



Saturday, April 15, 2017

Good Friday: At the Beach with Peter

A Good Friday service took place yesterday near UPPC, at St Andrew’s Episcopal Church. Every year, the Pastor invites the neighborhood churches of all denominations to be part of the service. I got to be one of the three pastors who shared a 5-minute message. The theme was “A Witness in Dark Times”. We chose texts from the Gospel of John. Mine was Peter meeting Jesus on the beach after the resurrection. (John 21:15-19)
As I was gathering my thoughts about this message during my commute time, the song “Rock me Tender” came on… A love song. And the text I was working on was also about love.
Anyway, here it is.



At the Beach with Peter – a Good Friday 5-Minute Sermon

“Don’t you know? I have never been loved like this before”.
I heard this line from a song, an oldie “rock me gently” by Andy Kim, and those words[1] made me think of Jesus, Jesus dealing with Peter, dealing with us.

It is true for each of us. Don’t we know ? We have never been loved like this before.

We receive forgiveness and grace, and because we love the one that loves us so much, the one that loved us first, we become disciples and we become shepherds.
Feed my lambs. Take care of my sheep, said Jesus to Peter. May your care, may your food comes from the place where the love you have for me dwells.

Peter was a sort of spoke-person for the disciples, the first to speak up for better or worse. The first to identify Jesus as the Messiah, which led to those famous words “You are Peter and on that rock, I will build my church.”[2] Yet the next moment, Peter shushed Jesus. “No, Jesus, stop talking about you dying soon, it will not happen”. Jesus had to tell him to move away from him and called him Satan[3].

It is so like us. We will boldly proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah, and in the same breath, we are so very ready to know better than Jesus.

In the worse night of his life, Peter promised he would die rather than let anything happen to Jesus[4]. He meant it! When Jesus was arrested, he took a sword and was ready to fight[5]. If Jesus had let him fight, Peter would probably have been the first to die. Those soldiers were numerous and had come with heavy weapons[6].


Peter had the courage to follow those who arrested Jesus. Only two, Peter and the unnamed disciple made their way to the high priest court. All the others had run away in the night. It was dark and cold. This is where Peter tried to stay warm by a fire, was asked questions and denied being a disciple and even knowing Jesus[7].

Did Peter go to fish that morning, after Jesus’ death, because he felt he was not worthy anymore of being a disciple? We don’t know. But we read about Peter overjoyed to see Jesus and jumping off the boat to meet him faster. 

Jesus built a fire, like the one in the high-priest courtyard where Peter had stood.

Just like Peter had denied Jesus three times, Jesus asked him “Do you love me?” three times. Each time Peter declared “You know that I love you” and Jesus then commanded him to take care of his sheep.

During this Holy Week, UPPC has opened a prayer where all can come in and spend some time in meditation and prayer. There is a notebook where anyone is welcome to write comments.

Someone wrote “God, my heart is heavy. I feel like Peter as the rooster crooked. Help me to become more committed and faithful to my Lord and Savior!”

The comment is anonymous and I wanted to tell the person who wrote it “The story does not end with the rooster, remember! Remember that you are loved, right now, like you have never been loved before – just as you are.

This is what we learn here. Peter is our witness.

From the cold and dark place where the denial happened, Jesus took Peter to the bright morning of a breakfast on the beach. He showed him – and us – that the care Jesus wants us to demonstrate comes from the place where our love and gratitude dwell. Not our sense of duty. Not our need to please. Not our belief we should earn God’s favor. No. Our love and gratitude - that’s it.

Being a shepherd is hard work. Jesus told us so in the Gospel of John[8]. The shepherd cares for the sheep, he is known by them, he is ready to give his life for them. He takes them to lie in green pastures[9]. He can do all this because he knows he was never loved like this before.


From this love that came first, we can love, minister and witness through the darkness.

For each hour in the dark and cold, there is a warm time in the morning light of our Lord. We are delivered and the horizon is open. We are free to love and be loved. Free to serve.
Amen






[1] Song and Lyrics can be viewed on youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIVX1_J_87s
[2] Matthew 16:18
[3] Matthew 16:23
[4] John 13:37
[5] John 18:10
[6] John 18:3
[7] John 18:18
[8] John 10
[9] Psalm 23
Picture by Jeroen Van Der Biezen http://saltandlighttv.org/blogfeed/getpost.php?id=52407&language=en

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Macha Chmakoff rocks !


Lisa, my colleague at UPPC, and myself, in the midst of pictures of contemporary art, on our screens and on paper : that was us, in early February. Our goal : select art work meant to be the artistic support of each Lent week. The first one, starting on March 5th, was about Jesus tempted in the desert.

Lisa showed me the picture of a painting that immediately impressed me : the pale figure of Jesus, isolated in the dunes, under a tormented sky. “The artist’s name is Macha Chmakoff, said Lisa, and I believe he is French. Would you email him?” Macha being short for Maria in Russian, I guessed that the artist was a woman. While writing the email asking the cost of using the picture of her painting, I kept repeating this name that sounded familiar. Could it be….?

Macha replied quickly and graciously. She allowed us to use the picture without asking for a fee. In my email thanking her, I asked her if she happened to have been a student of the Protestant seminary in Paris from 1996 to 1999. She said yes. That was her. She was a student too and already an artist. An exhibition of her work took place in the amphitheater of the seminary.

Today, March 5th, Macha’s painting was on the screen of UPPC sanctuary. The spirit of the Protestant seminary in Paris is hovering over UPPC...

To look at more aspects of Macha’s art, click here. 

Friday, January 22, 2016

The Voice of God

I was in a monastery for a retreat, north in the State of New York, shared one of the leaders of the conference. 

It was very cold. 

In the afternoon, I would make my way through layers and layers of snow to a chapel where I would meet with the monk who was my spiritual director during my stay. 

I could not hear the voice of God anymore. 

He showed me a heap of snow nearby the chapel. 

“If this was spring, you would see a river over here, he said. 

It is not frozen. 

It still runs, under those many feet of snow. 

In complete silence, I still hear it. 

It goes the same way with the voice of God…” 


Saturday, April 11, 2015

Holy Week, a Week Apart

Holy Week is an essential time in the life of a church. Each year, the same question comes up: how should we best present the last hours of the life of Christ, so that we remain faithful to the biblical message without repeating a routine, year after year? How do we celebrate those ancient events while making them current and relevant to the 21st century parishioners?

Thursday – Last Supper and Clean Hands

Thursday is Maundy Thursday – from latin “Mandatun” which means “commandment”, referring to the “new commandment” given by Christ during the last supper.

In the Gospel of John, in lieu of the command to eat the bread and drink the wine – representing the body and blood of Christ – we find Jesus insisting on washing the feet of his disciples. They are embarrassed. This task belonged to the least of the servants in a traditional household. Jesus  was teaching them an attitude of service toward each other that would be instrumental in bringing the Kingdom of God closer.

Irvin and I did not spend this evening together since CIF and UPPC both had planned a potluck dinner that night. There would also be a time of worship and communion. At UPPC, we also would wash each other – not feet, but hands. This was a suggestion that came from my experience at CIF. We did so a few years ago.

Washing feet was a tradition at the time of Jesus, where everyone had to walk their way to their destination on the dry and dusty paths of the Middle East. People would walk with simple sandals or with bare feet. Today, in our western world, feet don’t need a washing after we get to our destination. Our hands, however, are the ones requiring cleaning. They represent our service and our actions. They also express our desire of transparency and sincerity. Historically, we shake hands to demonstrate we are unarmed.  

I checked on what people were saying on that topic on Christian websites. I was surprise to find a controversy about it! Those who insisted on washing feet felt that doing otherwise was betraying the Scriptures. “Jesus did not wash the hands of his disciples! Let’s dare and follow his example rather than focusing on making parishioners more comfortable by not requiring they let go of their shoes!”
Sometimes, I feel we should also dare contextualize actions and traditions.



Friday – the Cross and the Gift of Freedom

Nine stations were put together in UPPC sanctuary. Each of the stations represented a step on Christ’s journey toward the cross on this Friday, from the garden of Gethsemane to Golgotha. At each station, participants were invited to reflect on the trials endured by Jesus and on their own path. This was a project that required an enormous amount of work, in particular for the team that physically put together each station. Lots of visitors came and appreciated this journey in the heart of Good Friday.  


That night was also Passover night. Irvin and I drove to Seattle to be part of the celebration with my Jewish family. As my aunt Diane mentioned, Passover takes place this year right in the middle of Holy week, and on a Friday, that is on Sabbath night. We praised together God the liberator with prayers in Hebrew, which is a delight for me and we dipped the Karpas (usually parsley) in little bowls of salt water. This is a reminder of that in midst of tears, we can also already taste hope and renewal.


We praise God who frees us and we are invited to become aware of the responsibility that now lays on us : we must use this freedom to free our neighbors. If they stay oppressed, we are not truly free either.

I admire the way the liturgy is waived throughout the meal, and how children become part of it, not simply observers, but actors. The youngest at the table asks the ritual questions, starting by “Why is this night different from all the other nights?”. Children are also tasked with looking for the Afikomen, a piece of matzah (flat bread) that has been hidden previously. This Afikomen will be the dessert.


But we had more than a piece of matzah for dessert. We enjoyed the fruits of the extraordinary talent of our friend Emma Notkine, whose lemon and pistaccio cake (a flour-less cake, of course) was a true work of art. This was high cuisine – and Emma is hardly in her early twenties!


Saturday – a pause (and for pastors : time to feverishly write their Easter sermons)
And since I was not preaching, it was a welcome pause for me.

Sunday – He is risen.

Three services that morning at UPPC, and for those who work there, a parking further away to make room for the visitors. A little girl in a pink dress from a fairy tale was baptized at one of the services and she admitted that she hoped that the bruise she had on her face (a confrontation with another child during recess that week) would disappear with the baptismal water. 

During the contemporary service, a rap in the middle of the opening song, not exactly my kind of music, but this one was superb and occasioned an ovation from the surprised and delighted crowd. 


And Pastor Aaron, with the same enthusiasm, preached three times about the way God reaches us best when we are in the ground, in the deepest hole, in a grave like Jesus was.

It was Easter.

Then the discreet ritual that follows Easter… Rest for exhausted pastors. 


Monday, March 30, 2015

Morning Doe, Bad Blood and Indian tacos

What happened this week ? Looking back.

Morning Doe
Last Sunday, as I was going to UPPC for worship, I found myself right in front of a doe, or so it seemed. I had just exited the highway. She was walking on the curb, coming from nearby woods I suppose. She crossed the road behind me. 

Sometimes, I find myself crossing path with a coyote or a deer, a reminder that so many neighborhoods have been built recently on woods where they would roam. 

Those encounters are always a surprise to me, and now that I know a little bit about the Native American perspective, I see and enjoy them as a smile from the world unknown.

Bad Blood is not French – or is it?
That Sunday, after the first worship, there was a blood drive in the gym. I always volunteer for those. I like the connection it creates between two persons who will never meet, one receiving the blood she needs from the other. And I am Group O, universal giver, which is not as frequent here as it is in France.

So I went and talked to the nurse who was welcoming people. Alas, the process stopped here for me. I am French. I lived in France in the 80 and 90’s; that was when the mad cow disease broke out. There is no way to detect if I was contaminated and could develop the Creutzfeldt-Jacob disease one day. So the nurse declined my offer. She was sorry and was wondering how to soften the rejection. She had a hesitant smile.
“Do you want a cookie?”

Indian Tacos Opportunity

Every quarter, the Church of the Indian Fellowship organizes a fry bread sale. Fry bread is a comforting Native specialty. The piece of fry bread can be used as a tortilla, a foundation to layer refried beans, ground meat, shredded lettuce, tomatoes and cheese. It is then called Indian Tacos.

On Friday, we had a big crowd. I was delighted and grateful to see friends from UPPC join the connoisseurs!

The next day, the sale continued. I made a buffalo stew that can be eaten with a piece of fry bread. It slow cooked over night in a sauce of tomato paste, soja sauce, Cherry vinegar and Worcestershire sauce, with homemade beef stock.

Good bye , Mark
Since December, UPPC has been focusing on the Gospel of Mark. The sermons have followed the flow of the Gospel, we had classes on Wednesday night to go deeper. Each week, I would write a few paragraphs on the chapter we would get to, followed by questions for study. It was hard work…  and that also became a joy to do it when I would feel I grasped a new angle or perspective and it would become this text included in the bulletin.

But the journey is about to conclude. The series will end with Easter Sunday. Relieved and a bit sad, I just wrote my last text on the 16th chapter. Mark, in the earliest manuscripts, concludes with the women overwhelmed after meeting with the angel of the resurrection. An ending that is also a new start in the sun rising light.

We are entering the Holy Week… To be followed… 


Monday, February 23, 2015

Ash Wednesday from Backstage

A few days ago, we embarked for the journey that Lent represents – a time of introspection during which we prepare for Easter and the resurrection of Christ. It starts with worship, on the evening of Ash Wednesday where we receive a cross-shaped mark on our forehead drawn with ashes, symbol of mourning and sacrifice.


The word of Lent in French is Carême , from the Latin Quadragesima, meaning 40th, for the 40 days (not including Sundays) of the season. In English, Lent points toward spring, the time where days lengthen.

At UPPC, last Wednesday, worship was at 7:00 PM. The preparations reminded me of my first American Ash Wednesday, in Dubuque, Iowa where I lived my first two American years. The seminary student in charge of providing the ashes got worried because they were too light-colored. He had an idea which showed genius: he would add some toner – ink meant for printers. He had time later to confirm that the color was perfect: the dark shade of the cross on the forehead of the participants of the worship tenaciously resisted being washed out from their face for several days.

As the service closed, I was by the side of Aaron and Taeler, each with our bowl of ashes. It was moving to touch the foreheads of the participants, being in this close contact with them, sometimes pushing away a strand of hair... 

This was the time where we are reminded of our mortality with the sentence “Remember you were dust – and to dust you shall return”. This was so unusual to say so to each of them, particularly the youngest ones. And yet true, and strangely peaceful.

The weirdest thought came through my mind suddenly – should I say “you will return” or “you shall return”? Memories from my English grammar class seem to indicate that “shall” should be used only for the first person, singular and plural – in other words, “I” and “we”. Taeler and Aaron were not close enough for me to hear what they were saying. 

I pushed the thought away. I must have said both. I think both were okay…

The service ended in silence. 

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The Legendary and the Mundane, or Wandering on Facebook

I am not on Instagramm, Pinterest or Twitter. Why? Because I am already addicted to Facebook and I don’t want to add any other temptations.

Obviously, Facebook is not perfect. If we don’t pay attention, we can really  get hypnotized while looking at our home page, going without any transition from tragedies of the world to recipes our friends made last night. 

And let’s be honest about it : since there is always something new to check on, Facebook is a top tool for any expert in procrastination.

But Facebook is also irreplaceable. Let’s take an example. If you happen to be a French person who grew up in the Paris suburbs, studied theology in Paris then in Dubuque, Iowa then got quickly ordained (12 short years later…) Facebook will allow you to stay connected to your French and American Friends, from childhood, high school, French home church in Cergy, friends from two seminaries - and you can also connect with their friends, many of them being interesting people with good reading that they comment. You also have the opportunity to chat by instant messaging.

Facebook also provides pictures and videos of delightful animals – an important addition to any normal day. I just discovered the FB page of a refuge for big cats in Florida. They post gorgeous pictures of the animals. (Big Cat Rescue)


Many good newspapers and Medias have pages on FB. So in one journey through your home page, you have the opportunity to go through many articles from French and American magazines. Your friends share their own discoveries.

Today for instance, thanks to Michel Jas, Facebook friend and French pastor, I read a long article on ISIS, published by the Atlantic. Its author, Graeme, makes clear that this movement is founded on a belief system coming from a medieval interpretation of the Koran. It explains a lot – and particularly why so many feel compelled to join them and how to stop them.   (Graeme Wood, What Isis Really Wants, http://www.theatlantic.com/features/archive/2015/02/what-isis-really-wants/384980/ )

And I also read the poignant statement written by Bishop Angeolos, representing the Egyptian Coptic church in Great Britain, after the brutal death of Coptic Christians in Lybia. I was touched by his words “In the midst of this sorrow however, we must continue to dig deeper for the joy that comes from an understanding that this life is but a “vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away” (James 4:14)

Thanks to Facebook, I can also be part of conversations with groups such as “RevGalBlogPals” (women pastors who share they experience and liturgies) or “Things They Didn’t Teach Us in Seminary!” (swap of prayers and also comments on thorny situations, with suggestions and supports). I found on Facebook the work of Rev. Steven Charleston, Retired Episcopalian Pastor from the Choctaw tribe, who writes daily beautiful prayers. I read this one during the worship at UPPC last Sunday.


"We are never outside the reach of prayer. No matter who we are, no matter what we do, we are always within the circle of someone's prayer. We live each day in this field of prayer. We sleep within its embrace; we rise within its blessing.

Somewhere, everyday, someone of some faith is praying in a way that includes us. They are asking the holy, by whatever name they know, to have mercy, to heal, to protect others. We walk within that prayer without even knowing it, without ever recognizing its source in the person who prayed it. In the same way, our own prayers reach the most distant stranger, until none of us are ever beyond the hope we share."

So that’s the typical stroll on Facebook : words that bring a larger understanding of the world, others who touch your heart and invite you to look up to Heaven, with a few stops to hear from your childhood friends and get cozy with a tiger. That’s not too bad of a journey…



Friday, February 13, 2015

A week in February

I made a resolution for 2015 and I want to keep it, in a flexible way. The resolution is to write a post in my blog at least once a week. It is so much harder to break months of silence. When it happens, I feel like I hardly let a few weeks go by, and realize suddenly that it has been 5 months of not blogging! Getting back to it is like running after a galloping horse and try to crawl back on its back.

So what happened this week?

An important event in the life of UPPC (University Place Presbyterian Church) where I work: the installation of our new Senior Pastor, Aaron Stewart, last Sunday. Aaron was picked for this position on the last Sunday of November – the same day I got ordained actually. This is an audacious and wise choice. Audacious because in the Presbyterian tradition, churches usually hire an outsider (it actually used to be the absolute rule) and Aaron has been part of the life of UPPC for the past 18 years. Wise because he is a great leader. He was the executive pastor during the transition that preceded his nomination. I appreciate his open and dynamic style. A new page of the life of UPPC just started.

And today is Friday the 13th.

February the 13th is Saint Beatrice day. My family never celebrated those days, in French “fêtes” – where you congratulate the bearer of the name of the Saint of the day.  But two have remained in my memories, February the 13th and December 1st, after the names of my Catholic friends! I was 8 when Beatrice and I met. We have often lived far away geographically from each other ever since but never stopped send each other letters, fax and emails, depending on the years.

Beatrice, in white, during one of our visits in Troyes, France, where she lives
with her husband Max who took the picture. 
February 13th is also an anniversary. In 2001, Irvin and I got engaged on that day. Today afternoon, while enjoying some fresh oysters on a tavern by the water under a hesitant sky (clouds and sunshine) I was thinking that whatever people say, Fridays 13th are actually propitious days. 


Monday, January 6, 2014

Two Christmas in December with Juliette


Working in a church, while being an active member (and the pastor’s wife) in another congregation, means having a lot on your plate, particularly before Christmas. I went from fry bread and craft sales at Indian fellowship to annual events at UPPC. I was physically exhausted but was rewarded by the encounters and discoveries that took place during those very full days.

On December 14th, I was part of the Community Christmas day at UPPC. On that Saturday, many families in need were welcomed at church. Children had workshop to craft presents for their parents while parents would pick up gifts for them as well as festive food. I was among those that would escort the parents and we had great time of conversation and sharing. On the picture below, I am the one wearing the antlers.


Meanwhile, at church of the Indian fellowship, fry bread and craft sale was going on. Juliette, a French friend, was learning to deal with the dough and hot oil under Irvin’s direction. 

I had never met Juliette before : she is the grand-daughter of Marcel who used to work at my very first home church, le Centre Protestant de Rencontre. 

When I used to worship there, Juliette was probably 4 or 5. She is now a Medical student who just got done with her 6th year. She travelled through the US for two months. We connected as if we had always known each other during this epic weekend.


We were both tired with sore feet when we caught up with each other. A Presbyterian Christmas the American way, you cannot make that up. 

Saturday, January 4, 2014

I am prejudiced

A few years ago, Irvin and I were in Los Angeles for a conference and we visited the Museum of Tolerance – a great place to learn and reflect. 

As you start the visit, you are faced with two doors. You get to choose the one you will get through: one invites you to come in if you are a prejudiced person. The other one is for you if you are not.


Of course, the “unprejudiced door” does not open – everyone should go through the other one. We all deal with those spontaneous thoughts and biased judgments one way or another.

This memory came back to my mind last month, when I started working at University Place Presbyterian Church (UPPC) which is a strong, wealthy church, in a residential neighborhood. Over 1,400 members - many of them middle or upper class.

How does it feel to belong to a self-reliant congregation? Are you tempted to stay among your friends and not reach out to the world of needs and scarcity that lies outside?

Well, the answer is no. Members at UPPC are involved and active in many fields, helping people both locally and abroad. 

During the month of December, where I started to work there, I was surprised. Surprised? I guess I was holding some prejudice against the ability of a wealthy church to reach out. 

It did not last long – I went fast from ‘surprised’ to ‘impressed’. And since my job is to help them do just that, I should have an amazing time at UPPC.