Week 25 of 26: Trespasses, or Back to Boston

I left Easton Mountain shortly after my light breakfast in the Lodge Monday morning (July 28), and after saying goodbye to the staff and fellow volunteers who were close by. It was a clear day, a good day for driving through the gorgeous and extremely green New York countryside. I did have the sense of turning away from the part of my leave that was oriented towards being on-leave. Time to resume the thinking and mind-set of a parish minister again … not that it is ever far from me. As I said to someone recently, that identity is part of my core now, as much as being United Methodist or a native Mississippian. Like the trunk of a tree, there might be lots of other rings that grow around the core, but that core doesn’t change.

“Lead-foot” might be another one of those core identities. Every few years, I get a speeding ticket while I’m just zooming along I-95, or I-40, or in this case, the MassPike. I didn’t even see the state police, or if I did, I was in a state of denial. By the time he pulled me over, he said to me, “Not only did you pass me, but then you get right in front of me, going (insert excessive mph here)!” I couldn’t argue. I was trying to make it on time for an appointment, and stopped paying attention to my surroundings. I didn’t put up a fuss, and he knocked five miles off the violation he clocked me at. Still, a three-digit fine seemed silly to have earned, especially since, even with all that, I still made it to my appointment with time to spare.

Afterwards, I said to myself, No need to delay. Just pay the fine and be done with it as quickly as possible. I couldn’t find my checkbook, so I walked to the nearest post office, got a money order and mailed it right away. Done. Great. I walked back around to my car on a side street off Mass Ave, and there was a ticket under the windshield wiper for my expired inspection sticker. It became invalid at the end of June, while I was still in Florida. I knew that as soon as I crossed over into Massachusetts, it would be in violation, but I thought I wouldn’t get caught the very first time I parked on the street. I was wrong. Forty bucks worth of wrong, to be precise. But I couldn’t get mad. You drive too fast, you get a ticket. You let your sticker expire, you get a ticket. These things are almost natural laws. Still, I was feeling nostalgic for being out in the woods, with no need for locks or state patrol officers or sticker inspectors … can it be that it was all so simple then, just that morning?

I was reentering urban life, and not particularly enjoying it.

Parking on the campus of BU for the Transitional Ministry Training was pretty stressful, too, especially because I forgot to arrange for parking when I registered. I got it worked out Tuesday, but not before missing my lunch and being late for the afternoon session that day.

The training itself was very valuable. About 30 colleagues were there, including Rev. Alma Crawford, who I haven’t seen in years. She was actually my introduction to UUism back in the early 90s in DC, when she was serving a small congregation on Capitol Hill, and we were both seminary students at Howard. In fact, this is the first time we were in a classroom environment together in 16 or 17 years. That seems unreal to me.

What a great context to get focused on the work that lies ahead in the fall, and to revisit some of those ongoing questions about ministry: What are my personal and professional boundaries? What’s appropriate ministerial attire at the church picnic? How do we establish credibility in a new congregation? What does it take to be a career interim minister? How do we guide and support congregations that have been traumatized? An added bonus is that these and other questions gave me lots to think about for future sermons. I looked out the window of the conference room and right onto Commonwealth Ave, to see men moving dresser drawers, young people jugging, people waiting for buses, in the midst of lots of asphalt and concrete. Mountainsides full of trees were not so near and prominent in my field of vision.

By Thursday, I had spend three and a half days straight in seminar mode, which ended up being more draining than I thought. A non-UU colleague put me up overnight in Roxbury, and my housesitting for a friend in Roslindale began Friday afternoon, with a little glitch: I had forgotten the passcode for her alarm system. I thought the clue for how to disarm it was by the control panel, but I couldn’t recognize it as it was disguised among some other numbers. Thirty seconds later, the alarm want crazy. Incredibly loud, long (10 minutes stretching into eternity), painful and violent. A neighbor vouched for me when the police came, and things calmed down.

Still, after that incident, I didn’t step outside the house until Monday afternoon. I needed some down-time, and more than I thought. I did manage to watch the documentary Chisolm '72: Unbought and Unbossed on dvd, about Congresswoman Shirley Chisolm’s presidential bid. It’s amazing to me that so little is said this year in particular about this woman who paved the way for the first black male likely to be elected, as well as the first white female. Chisolm was ahead of her time, and has gone largely under-appreciated for her contribution to this new era of US politics.

One week left. I’ve got some running around to do, but the date is set for the move with the moving company next Tuesday, and the wedding is on track for this weekend. Now’s the time to reflect on the meaning of all these six-months, and the break itself.