Intentional-ish

Did anyone write me a letter, asking if I am concerned about my parish, my diocese, my Church? Did I receive articulate, heartfelt petitions asking me to stand up and take notice?  To rethink the plans and actions of my little flock? I'm laughing... but it's not a funny laugh.  Of course no one did. Nobody has to guess if I'm furious.  Anyone who knows me already knows I am down-deep-in-my-bones furious with a red heat crawling up my spine as I read and listen.  Why don't I know the same about my clergy?   If you need me to WRITE YOU A LETTER to tell you that abuse, intimidation, obfuscation, and lack of authentic moral life are not acceptable in my clergy- you're already fired.  If you don't know these things intrinsically, if you don't speak about them willingly without mothers and fathers begging you to take action- you're already fired.  If you're "shocked"- you're fired.  You knew, or you should have known.  It's your j

Recently, I attended the funeral of a dear friends' father.  It was just.... wonderful.  Each of his adult children spoke in memory of their Dad, and it struck me how unique our relationships are with our parents, distinct even from our siblings.  Such different grounding forces created such strong relationships within this single family.  The adult children spoke of gardening, the practice of law, charity, travel.  They each had their own channel with their father.  Beautiful. I think we jump to tell our children we love them all.  We stress they're loved equally.  But is that what they're really wondering or asking?  Are they really convinced (or comforted?) that our love for them lies in perfect proportion to their siblings?  Is that precise equality the real answer?  When our children ask these questions from us- even in a roundabout way as it so often happens, I think maybe what they really want to know is.... how much do you love ME?  What do you love about ME? I