Sweet Jesus

Sweet Jesus, I need a break. After appeasing the grumbles of anxious students by surreptitiously handing out pretzels- I'm officially promoted to the "coolest teacher ever", by the way-and grading their atrocious grammar exams that I bestowed upon them, I'm staring blankly at the wall of my classroom without an ounce of "umph" left. I'm borderline catatonic. I believe this is generally what happens on the last day of school before break, to both students and teachers alike.

So, I'm trying to hold on and not lose it while secretly counting the minutes before I can rip off this damn cardigan and act like a normal person. We're almost there. The saving grace is knowing that by this time tomorrow, my husband and I will be driving far, far away to a little town tucked away in Northern New Hampshire for an extended weekend. Oh, New Hampshire. Where teenagers are kind and people smile for no reason. I have a to-do list a mile long of all I want to accomplish as soon as we get there.

1. sleep
2. eat
3. go back to step one.

It could very well take all 5 days.

See you when we get back!

Serial Winker

Just this past week I discovered that I have an incredibly incriminating habit.  I've never noticed before and, apparently, no one has felt it important enough to inform me. Due to the reluctance of friends,  I'm unsure of how long this has been going on.  Perhaps it's something I've just acquired, which would save me years of worrying whom I may have confused.  The unfortunate reality is,  I have a feeling that this has been a part of my life for quite some time.  Years even.  Which, in retrospect, would explain a lot.  My name is Jenny Shannon and I am a serial winker.

I wink. At people. Not just in passing.  Not only people I know, but people I don't know as well. Please don't get me wrong, my wink simply means, " hello, I acknowledge you." Similar to a hand shake, except more sanitary since no touching is involved. You can tell by the subtlety of the wink- quick and to the point, not to be confused with it's slow, seductive counterpart which if I even attempted would result in a lazy-eye flutter as attractive as a seizure. Unfortunately, not everyone is educated in the art of wink-prowess.  How many young men must have been thrown off by my ill-perceived interest?  How many women? People who aren't intuitive enough to recognize the varying wink degrees must have suffered greatly at my hands, er, eyes.  There are other uncomfortable realizations as well, such as, the extra pickles the deli guy gives me for free may not just be an expression of good-will. Sigh.

I believe all of this would have gone unnoticed for God knows how long if I didn't have a conference with my boss this past week.  I was using the phone in his office to make a rather uncomfortable phone call to a parent of a child I have in my class.  In between the nods and explanations and all other forms of silent communication teachers and parents alike are well versed in, he silently mouthed, "how is she taking it?"  Rather than place my hand over the receiver like any other normal person and reply, I simply winked.  Which, of course, in my mind simply meant, "Everything's cool, I got it under control."  Apparently, his mind didn't get the telepathic wink memo.  Good Lord.

I have now become painfully aware of my serial winker-status.  I've invested in a pair of wind-shield sized sunglasses to curtail the offense.  I avoid looking people in the eye.  I close them only when necessary, and even then I check to make sure no one is looking.  I've developed a rather wide-eyed expression that would make Bambi seethe with envy. I've invested stock in Visine.  I have been clean for exactly two going on three days of.  Free of winkage.

In order to keep myself in check I've developed a theory: winking is akin to farting.  If you are not around people who love and understand you and in order to avoid embarrassment for both parties, it's best to abstain.

On the Road Again....

For the many who were worried that marriage has tamed us.... Rich and I have chosen to indulge our nomadic tendencies and take off for the summer. Apparently Europe this past fall was not enough to satisfy our insatiable desire to, well, get as far away from New Jersey as possible. My last day of school is June 20th and Rich has just put in for a leave of absence from work.  Our mad-hatter plan has the trajectory date of July 1st and when(if) it ends, no one knows...we're shooting for the Grand Canyon and will decide where to go from there. 

Our plan is simply this:  laugh a lot, pray a lot, sing a lot, eat a lot, write a lot, see a lot, love a lot, take lots of pictures, meet lots of people, meet up with lots of old friends and remember what it feels like to know that life is good. We don't have a plan mapped out- we're not sure how long we'll stay in each state.  Who knows what we may find in Virginia? What if the burritos are too good to not stay in Albuquerque a few extra days? I mean, Flagstaff is only a day's drive away from San Diego.  The best part about road trips is that they're not about the destination.  

 So, if you have any Jackie-O glasses, throw them my way.  Planning a trip as well? Let us know.  We may meet you there.  I'll be the filthy brunette whining for a restroom without a urinal and my husband will be the one introducing himself as "Mr. Moriarty".

The Alter

Jesus doesn't discriminate.  When I picture him, I see him standing in the doorway of a huge house, ushering people inside.  There are already hundreds of people there, you can see their silhouettes from the window- they're laughing and talking, eating and dancing.  Some of them are wearing dresses, others overalls.  It seems for Jesus, the ever gracious host, that there are never enough people to invite to the party. He keeps smiling and waving, shaking hands, hugging. I don't mean to trivialize Christ's message by this illustration.  Perhaps it comes from years of youth work and teaching that have teenager-ified my brain into perpetually thinking like a sixteen year-old- but it's really how it plays out in my mind.  God's having a party and he wants everyone to come.

The problem is, unfortunately, people are often not gracious hosts.  We do discriminate.  We stand in the doorway and block the way for certain people.  Some people are allowed into our "house".  Others, are not.  

Self-righteously, we operate this way with God's house as well.  Certain forms of worship are allowed.  Some, are not.  Certain people are immediately accepted into congregational families, others have attended for years without receiving so much as a hello or an invitation to lunch.  Would your neighbors be welcomed into your church family?  How is this reflective of Jesus's character?

I wrote this quite some time ago but have been reluctant to post it or send it out anywhere, because without explanation, it could seem quite aggressive.  I am not, in any way shape or form, aggressive.  It is not an attack on all churches.  It's merely an expression of my desire to see change in the way we, as Christ followers, relate to people. Love people.  Accept people just as they are.  Jesus says that everyone's invited to the party- overalls and all(no matter how out-dated they be).  Why can't we do the same?

The Alter

Here we are at the alter

The ones who sing

Come as you are

and don't mean it

What we really mean is

Come as we did

Come as we have come

Come as what we look like

And smell like

And dream like

it seems like

The closer we get to the alter

the further our hearts recognize that others beat, too

In different rhythms and gyrations

in demonstrations of cast

Color

Creed

In the carpets tracked with sin

In the pews painted with greed

indeed

We are the ones who shine the light in others darkness

so that we can expose them

and take credit for the discovery

To God be the Glory

another fantastic story of good over evil

and they continue walking stealthily

as we breath healthily

live wealthily

without the faintest tremor

Here we are, standing at the alter

blocking out all other voices

Ignoring hands

Reaching fingers, breeching the code of conduct we've set before ourselves

As if we were superior

That they be made inferior with one wave of a spiritual hand

Fingers joined in prayer that bruised the wrists of mercy only moments before

Selling whores at the alter

Closing doors at the alter

Settling scores at the alter

And deeper still, the moment goes

while voices raise in pretense

In falsified unity

In clasped hands of forced community

To God be the Glory

Great things we have done

Painted on the alter

Tainted on the alter

Sainthood on the alter is marred

by those we've tarred and feathered and strung up to be pecked

because they're not what we expect

Whenever we detect a sense of irregularity in the simple pattern we've established

we have to rebuild the alter into something that looks a little more like us

and a little less like the one who IS the alter

disfiguring and dismembering until it emulates our faces

our hands on the alter raised in praises of our deeds

sowing seeds more likely to choke than to grow

we don't know

What we're doing is

Slaying souls at the alter

Making holes at the alter

for an easy escape 

for a dumping ground of the sound theology we have no use for

What a friend we have in Jesus

Then, what have the rest of us?

There is no us at the alter

Only assigned seating for the depleting congregation that can't keep up with it's own guidelines

who are running out of success stories and self-help remedies

with Jesus's face plastered on the cover

But what of those who only want to discover what the word 

GRACE

Really means?

And if it pertains to someone like them

What of loving your neighbor?

Seeking his favor?

We didn't know it was their alter, too

That it was more theirs than ours

That it was meant for people like them

To cry at the alter

say goodbye at the alter

To Fly at the alter

Just like we were meant to.

and didn't.