Today I listened to On Being on NPR. On Being
I had to work. The past few years "I had to work" on Palm Sunday meant at the church, celebrating the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem with friends and family at various congregations. A glorious Sunday morning with every sort of palm in central Houston. A magnificent cathedral by the sea, filled with children waving deep green palms. A snowy morning following a donkey down Main Street in a New England town. As a clergywoman or a church staff member, Palm Sunday means the culmination of Lent, the busiest week of the church year. Rousing hymns, smiling children. Solemn scripture readings, humbling foot washings. Stripping all color and symbols from the sanctuary. Lighting the first candle in the dawn's light, bringing riotous colors of blossoms into the santuary. Watching the sun come up over the ocean, celebrating communion, singing hallelujahs again.
But this year I don't work in a church. I am still a clergywoman. But I no longer have a parish to care for or worship services to plan. The congregation my family attends has welcomed me and given me a place to teach, for which I am deeply grateful. However, for an income I depend upon my job in retail.
Fortunately I don't work on the sales side of retail. I couldn't do it, I can't sell anybody anything. I think the consumer culture we live in, which mainly defines us by what and how we consume, is destroying our souls. It is ironic that I depend upon the very culture I critique for an income. It is a dilemma for me that as I place signs to draw people toward certain merchandise, I depend upon those people spending their money - consuming - in order that I can live. It is not easy for me to do this job with integrity. I have tried not to think about it too much. My theology school friends have expressed thanks when I do reflect on my experience.
I was not alone in the store this morning. It takes an astounding number of people to open the retail world - all of whom had to work rather than worship this morning. Grocery stores, clothing stores, restaurants, gas stations. In order for us to keep moving, keep eating, keep driving, keep consuming, people must work rather than worship.
The nature of my work means that I can listen to radio programs with one earplug (gotta keep the other ear open for intercom announcements and such). This morning I caught Krista Tippett's On Being. Her program today is Exodus, Cargo of Hidden Stories with Avivah Zornberg. I encourage you to give it a listen.
Zornberg discussed how traditional Jewish midrash interpretation views the story of the Passover as a complicated story. There are no simple villains, no simple heroes. Moses is a reluctant leader. When the scripture talks about his "slow speech" it is "heavy", and in the Hebrew that is the same word used for Pharoah's heart...heavy. The Israelites doubt who God is, whether or not God will provide and deliver.
It is a complicated story, and through listening I found myself hearing the Spirit move in my heart for the first time in a very long time. I have spent countless hours in prayer, waiting, hoping, raging, crying. How I have needed to know the Spirit had not abandoned me.
Through this program, as I moved through the twilight of early morning retail (they don't turn on all the lights for us), I began to know again the assurance of God. Prayers were offered afresh, for those who grieve, for those who struggle to understand, for those who need work, for the underemployed, for those who work long hours for little pay, for those who are weary in body and spirit, for students and teachers, for parents and children. And today, those prayers were offered with renewed faith, that even a complicated person like myself - not simply good or bad, just myself - could offer prayers in faith and ask for God to be moved in compassion.
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