A Few Curious Days

It’s been a curious few days.

Last Friday, I presented my colloquium paper, which essentially was about a servant leader needing to be mindful of and responsive to the prophets – to be as tuned into the prophets as the prophets were tuned into God. There was some conversation about my upcoming trip and what of servant leadership I will experience or practice in Central America. I’m going to Central America to experience the language and the culture, and I’ll have radar set for the principals of servant leadership.

On Saturday, I participated in the mass in which we baptized a Hispanic baby girl. Pure joy – welcoming a baby into the church, into the community I know as St. John’s. I’m going to Central America to learn what I can about being a deacon with our Hispanic brothers and sisters, so I was quite mindful of this little girl who will one day call me “Deacon Janet” – in her language or mine (and please, God, let the language she chooses not matter to me).

I went to the baptism party afterwards. I was reluctant to go. I’m uncomfortable with the opulence of the event, I wasn’t invited, and I’m not crazy about the food. Also, my ability to communicate isn’t great, which is stressful, and I’m concerned that I’ll make people uncomfortable. Another parishioner asked me if I was going, and I wanted to keep my priest company, so I went. The opulence was what I had expected and my not being invited was no kind of issue. I was reminded of the generous spirit of my Hispanic congregation. Folks are so patient with my language, and one woman tried every bit to practice English as I did to practice Spanish. It seemed to me a clear attempt at building community, people meeting each other half way and bridges being built with love and laughter.

Then came the food. Anyone who knows about me and travelling knows that I have the world’s dullest pallet. I don’t like exotic foods, and that covers a lot of territory for me. I don’t like food I can’t identify, and I have a mental block about certain foods based on color or the fact they’ve appeared in nursery rhymes. I’ve recently been willing to try new foods. I ate cilantro with tomatoes on Saturday, and I tried lamb. Yeah, I don’t need to do that again. It was actually an adult sheep, and I’ve been assured that it would taste better roasted. I don’t know. Sheep have staring roles in nursery rhymes, so my theory found some support on Saturday. I’ll not be trying it again anytime soon.

Unfortunately, I’m aware of the importance of food in the Latin culture and the role it plays in hospitality, and I’m so worried that I’ll offend someone. I asked how to say “I’m allergic” in Spanish, all the while knowing I’d have to schedule confession upon my return to the states. My priest suggested that it may be the better thing to tell that kind of lie than to refuse hospitality. I thought it sounded a bit like pre-emptive absolution. As I’m writing this, I remember that hospitality was the issue in Sodom and Gomorrah, so maybe …

The rest of my Saturday was … well, not so curious. It was relaxing and carefree. Sunday, too. Church in the morning and walking later in the day. I’m missing something in the middle, I think., but you know what? It’s a nice thing for me that something isn’t etched in my head. Monday passed well enough and brought me to Evening Prayer.

Monday night I signed advanced directives and planned my funeral. I’m planning on coming home, and yet I’m reminded of the missionaries who took their tombstones with them. It’s not a conversation I can have with many people in my world. My family is experiencing the anniversary of our mother’s dying, and talking about my funeral is a bit ill-timed. Still, it’s a curious thing to plan one’s funeral, and I’m having the tiniest bit of fun with it. For example, I’ve been thinking about the marker that will identify where my ashes are buried. I kind of like the sentiment “You are here; Janet is not.” I’m not sure how that would go over with folks, but I was amused. I’m amused, too, by the idea of Scrubs playing during the visitation. I was less amused and more awestruck by the idea that I would make my final appearance in my collar. My priest isn’t terribly directive very often, but she stated quite clearly that while I’m resting in a rented casket I’ll be in my collar. I wrote my obituary and have thought about who in my world gets what from my house. I haven’t thought so much about dying, which is good. A friend at work is concerned that planning my funeral puts into the universe something that needn’t be out there, like I’m mocking God or something. I’m not so concerned about that. As fond as I am of mocking, it does stop short of God. It's just a curious thing to plan a funeral when I feel really quite alive and am looking at a life-affirming adventure that will bring me back to a life-giving community.

It has indeed been a few curious days.