Learning to dance

Bishop Karen, how do I sum up in a few words the last year since Scottsdale, Arizona? I could speak of your vision for our conference that excites me, the deep love you have shown for every congregation small and large, even those who haven’t been ready to love you in return. I stand amazed at the deep insights and instincts of a shepherd you bring to every situation. The list of what I could say is long. So perhaps I should start at the beginning.

When you were elected, I was thrilled. You were meant to be a Bishop in The United Methodist Church I love. The interviews, the conversations, the Spirit whispering as it moved in the room… all showed this was undeniable. But then you were assigned to the Mountain Sky Area. You were to be my Bishop. Suddenly, the excitement in my gut had a partner — fear. I am privileged to serve as the District Superintendent of the Wyoming District, a District full of beautiful vistas, wide open spaces, and good salt of the earth people. But this is a conservative place. Not all in my District would be pleased with this news. Did I have what it would take to manage the emotions and the conflict? Could we get through this?

And then the announcement was read (yes, I had advanced notice, thanks to a friend) and you came to greet us, your new flock. And the first words I heard you say, with a face beaming with joy, “We are going to have fun!” The fear in my gut could hardly believe it. Fun? It was the smile on your face, the love in your eyes, that convinced me. Bishop Karen, you’ve been true to your promise, and so much more. When Bishop Elaine invited me to the Cabinet table, I knew the work would be hard, I knew it would be rewarding. I never expected it to be filled with such joy. But then, at your consecration, you began to dance… and I knew then, I think all of us present knew our lives and our conference would never be the same. Praise be to God it isn’t the same.

There have been some hard times. Some good people have parted company with us. There have been times of being on the receiving end of bitter words and having to swallow hard, kick the dust off our feet, and move forward in grace. The letters of encouragement, the power of changed hearts, the fun and friendship within the circle I’m privileged to share had made the bitter days worth it.

How do I sum up the last year? You are teaching us — let me be personal — you are teaching me how to dance. I confess: my feet haven’t learned the lesson yet, but my heart at least is learning how to dance in the melodies of grace in ways I never would have expected. You inspire me to find the joy — inexhaustible joy — even in the hard days, the frustrating days. You also inspire me to let my heart break at times, especially with those whose hearts or spirits or even bodies have been broken time and time again. You inspire us to be vulnerable enough to be our whole authentic selves in this strange journey of loving Jesus and loving those Jesus loves.

Has it really been a year?
It seems like yesterday.
Has it only been a year?
It seems like a lifetime.
Thank you for the journey
and for the lessons
along the way.
Most of all thank you
for the friendship
and for being you
through and through.
I’m ready for the
next year.

Here we are, one year later. Bishop Karen, thank you for accepting God’s call to be a Bishop in this church we love. And may God’s Spirit continue to work within and through you. Some of us – especially me – still have many steps to learn yet, but when it’s time to dance, I don’t believe you will ever be without dancing partners in the Mountain Sky Area.

*Note on this entry: This is a revised, and expanded, version of words I was privileged to offer at the Rocky Mountain Conference 2017 in a moment where we celebrated Bishop Karen Oliveto’s first annual conference as our Episcopal leader. 

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patience

IMG_1101

This poem brought to you by spending a day in our modern air transit system.
by Jeff Rainwater, 31 March 2017, Denver International Airport

A
fragile
resource
doomed ever
to encounter
inexhaustible
demand.
Wait
for
it…

the strongest

For my dad, Carrol Rainwater. This past January he turned 80 years old. Today, I turned 47. He is still my hero and role model. Thank you, Dad, for everything!

By Jeff Rainwater, 25 March 2017, Cheyenne, WY

When I was young
I believed my dad
was the strongest man
I ever knew.
The arms that would
lift me up
from every fall
surely could also
move mountains
and thoughtful words
guiding a son
into adulthood
must have power to
shape the world.

Yet Old Age is
a demanding
companion.
Wisdom exacts a
high price for
its company…
might and speed
and sometimes
even memory.
His once strong back
now bowed.
A body shaped
by his love and
Mom’s wheelchair.

Yet the Gatekeeper
Time has not
taken everything.
His best endures!
Determination undiminished.
Integrity unblemished.
Devotion to beloved and child
burning brightly
as a morning star.
When I was young
I believed my dad
was the strongest man
I ever knew.

I still do.

Photo by Feldore McHugh (https://www.flickr.com/photos/feldore/4854163335)

revelation


In honor of our daughter, Emma
by Jeff Rainwater, 14 March 2017, Cheyenne, WY

Her world breaks
before her questions
are ever spoken.
Will the breaking
be met with tears
or curiosity?
Maybe both.

Is there a Santa Claus?
Yes, why do you ask?
Are you Santa Claus?

Yes.

A new world is born.
Less magic perhaps
yet even more love.
Mantle passed,
look out world!
A new Santa has
arrived.

a thief’s plea

by Jeff Rainwater, 9 March 2017, Cheyenne, WY

“the opposite of the word remember is not forget, it’s dismember. Chop, chop, chop. Remember means to put back together again.”
-Andre Dubus III [1]

‘Lord, remember…’
What will I be,
O Lord,
if you forget?

Not much now
nor in my past.
Destined to die
hanging on wood.
Nothing left.
No one stands
under my cross
weeping.

Not one.

You —
my only prayer.
This —
my only plea,
‘Lord, remember me
when you come
into your kingdom.’ [2]

“Today,”the reply,
nothing no more,
now remade,
“you will be with me
in paradise.”

[1] quote found in https://brevity.wordpress.com/2017/02/27/writing-the-pain-memoirists-on-trauma-and-memory/
[2] Luke 23:42

photo from stations of the cross at Our Lady of Guadalupe Trappist Abbey in Carlton, Oregon ( The Scriptural Stations of the Cross | Trappist Abbey )

some advice

 

by Jeff Rainwater, 8 March 2017, Cheyenne, WYimage

For a young friend
who will never read
these words:

Look to home,
wayward young man.
Empty are the accolades
cast far afield when
one so precious,
so near, is left
behind
crying
and
alone.

Beware!
There is a Judge
who sees more than
Facebook posts and
smiling profiles!
Yet, there is time
to make amends
and restore what
is broken.
‘I’m so sorry…’
would be
a good
start.

portraits of a Table

Wyoming Wanderings

Scripture Reading: Luke 24:13-35

A communion meditation to close our recent All Wyoming Roundup where we considered what it means to welcome and love the stranger through the lens of our own histories. I highly recommend you visit https://www.ruralracedialogue.org for more information.

Emmaus_JanetBrooks-Gerloff.jpgWe were hot and tired and just a bit more than a little cranky after a long journey… hundreds of miles on a plane, dozens and dozens of miles on a rickety bus without air conditioning, and not a short walk either to get to this village. We were hot and tired and more than a little cranky and, oh yes, hungry too. And I felt so out of place sitting in this village with people whose lives, look, and language were so different from mine.

Then, suddenly, Jesus walked in with a sacred feast in hand and began serving us all. Well, our host didn’t look like Jesus…

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