All That Twitters

Here’s my latest article in The Living Church. In it I publicly admit that I’m a lousy Twitterer so don’t quote me. I do quote two friends who are also my Twittering idols, the Rev. Scott Gunn, a priest and blogger from Rhode Island, and Meredith Gould, an author, blogger, and marketing communications specialist from Princeton, New Jersey. Enjoy.

 All that twitters

 By the Rev. Tim Schenck

I’m a terrible Twitterer. Granted I’m a novice, but so far I feel like the Mr. Magoo of Twitter: I have no idea what I’m doing. Blogs, Facebook, email, text and instant messages — these I know. But I always swore I wouldn’t Twitter until I could figure out the grammar. I’m still somewhat confused but here’s what I’ve learned: Twitter is the proper noun; tweet is a noun — you send a “tweet”; twitter is the verb (not to be confused with the proper noun “Twitter”). So you can use Twitter to twitter a tweet. I think. I may have to write a tongue twister.

What exactly is Twitter? It’s a free social networking or “micro-blogging” website that allows users to answer the ubiquitous question, “What am I doing?” All within 140 characters. But the underlying question is, “Why Twitter?” Or blog or Facebook or MySpace or anything else for that matter? At one level, Twitter is the epitome of narcissism. It’s all about me – what am I doing? Where am I? How am I? What am I thinking? Feeling? Observing? Sensing?

Conventional wisdom holds that the internet has revolutionized the world as much as Gutenberg’s 15th-century printing press. It has certainly transformed the way we communicate with one another. We now expect instant communication via e-mail, text messages, Facebook, instant messaging, YouTube, and Twitter. Opinions are published via online news sites and blogs so quickly that many believe the daily newspaper is obsolete. All of these communications tools are collectively referred to as “new media,” and congregations throughout the world are exploring ways to help them build community and spread the gospel of Christ.

The Rev. Scott Gunn, an online and offline friend who used to work at IBM, is deeply immersed in church applications of new media. Behind his back I refer to him as Sir Blog-a-Lot. Scott’s theory on Facebook and Twitter is that “it’s the modern-day equivalent of going to a high school play. Fifty years ago, a parish priest would go to local social and school events as a way of staying connected to parishioners outside church. It was a way to show interest in people’s lives and to reveal a bit of one’s whole person to the parish. I don’t go to things, but I blog and I’m on Facebook. It’s clearly different in many important respects, but I think there are some similarities. I get to learn something about people I only see at church, usually. They get to learn some things about me.”

So it’s about connectivity, which is at the core of the Christian faith. Jesus called disciples into community, after all. And there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t use Facebook or Twitter if he came into the world 2,000 years later. Imagine the killer status updates: Jesus is “changing water into wine – the good stuff” or Jesus is “cranking out parables again.”

Which brings me to admit that I’m conflicted by some of the Twitter language. Rather than having “friends” like on Facebook, you have “followers” — people who receive your status updates. At last count I have 10 (versus my nearly 200 “friends” on Facebook). I actually prefer to think of them as “Disciples” and am considering not accepting any more after I reach 12. How’s that for a priestly Messiah complex?

Meredith Gould, author of The Word Made Fresh: Communicating Church and Faith Today and someone I’ve been privileged to get to know (mostly online), puts it this way: “Before there was ‘high tech,’ there was ‘high touch.’ On the short list for high touch community building are: greeters and ushers; coffee-and-donut Sunday gatherings and the church picnic; Bible study and prayer groups; and newcomers groups. These high touch ministries help church become more than just a building. New media enhance high touch by extending and expanding social interaction. By the end of the 20th century, we added high tech to the mix, first in the form of individual and group e-mail, then in the form of websites. These high tech tools have become invaluable means to support high touch ministries. At this point, the church website is considered as essential as the weekly bulletin. Social media allows us to move beyond church business as usual.”  

Therein lies the opportunity and the challenge. Moving beyond church business as usual means trying new things — Twitter in my case. For most of us — as individuals and congregations —this is all a work in progress. As with anythingnew, there is excitement about new possibilities mixed with anxiety about the loss of the familiar. This is also a great way to involve younger members of the congregation who live firmly in the electronic world. Heck, it’s one of the reasons I had kids in the first place: at-home tech support. 

If you take the leap and sign up for Twitter, you can “follow” me here: http://twitter.com/FatherTim. So far my tweets have been tentative and uneventful. But then, I’m probably doing it wrong. And about that tongue twister, how’s this? “Tim the tweeter triumphantly twitters twisted tweets. How many twisted tweets did Tim the tweeter triumphantly twitter?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Switched at Birth?

My brother’s new company, Art Quiver, got some great press today in the Charlottesville Daily Progress. The article is titled “Paint and Click” — a bit cheesy but given that AQ is an online art gallery it makes sense. There’s even a picture of him so you can see first-hand just how better looking I am.

Why did he start the business? According to the paper: “Short on time and frustrated by the process of trying to buy art for his own home, Matt Schenck created ArtQuiver.com.” Nice. But come to think of it he hasn’t sent me any art for a housewarming gift…

Now that Matt’s in the art business (he was formerly part owner and an Executive VP at Rosetta Stone), our middle names are even more ironic. He got “Edwards” for the only famous relative we seem to have — the 18th century preacher Jonathan Edwards of Great Awakening renown. And I got “Edgar”  for my father’s father who was a Museum Director (Brooklyn Museum in the 1950’s among others).

Now go buy some original art! (Tell him “Tim sent you” to receive the 10% surcharge.)

On Boundary Violations

There’s a new article out from a researcher at Penn State that examines the challenges of balancing home and work life. The guinea pigs? 60 Episcopal priests — no I wasn’t one of them. I was too busy trying to balance my home and work life to participate. They chose Episcopal priests because they wanted folks “who face particularly extreme challenges in balancing work and home demands.”

I smell a reality TV show in the offing. ”Clergy Encounters of the Extreme Kind” would have spouses yelling at their clergy husbands/wives as they attempt to conduct pre-marital counseling (“I can’t believe you’re stressing communication to these two. Why don’t you practice what you preach for once in your life?!”). Haggling over personal finances in the sacristy just before the 10:00 am liturgy (“Okay ‘God Guy’, why couldn’t you have been ‘called’ to be an investment banker?”). A vestry meeting being conducted at the dinner table during a family meal (“Would you please pass the salt and do something about the out-of-control flower budget?”).

In reality it isa tricky balance. Clergy have taken two vows: one to our spouses and one to our God. And at times there’s tension between the two demands — the demands of family life and the demands of parish life. The priest who performed our wedding at the Church of the Redeemer in Baltimore (I was in the ordination process at the time) used to always tell me that the vow represented by that ring on my left hand always came first. This advice has come in handy on more than one occasion. But it’s always a work in progress — BlackBerry’s and laptops don’t help matters.

Much of the research revolves around setting appropriate boundaries — between your personal and professional lives. Of course some of the “solutions” are pretty funny. One priest swears by having his wife answer his cell phone to screen calls on his day off. Solange DeSantis — the friend and editor extraordinaire who forwarded me this article — already has her take on this one: “I can hear it now – ‘Bryna, honey, here’s my cell phone, would you handle all my calls today? Be sure to take messages and tell them to please respect my boundaries.’ Fill in the ^%$&^*&^&* answer from Bryna.” I couldn’t have said it better! 

Then there’s the priest (I’m not making this up) who is quoted as having “had a six-foot stockade fence built between the church and the rectory to physically separate her work and her home.” You can’t see me! You can’t see me!

Gotta go now — I’m off to dig a moat.

One Big Happy

Big families are…interesting. I don’t come from one — my mother was an only child and my father had one sister. And growing up it was just me and my brother. Bryna, on the other hand, comes from a HUGE family of Polish descent. Bryna’s mother is the oldest of 12 Gwozdz siblings reared in Western Massachusetts (there’s a reason Rosalie had just two children — she spent her whole childhood raising the other 11!). So much for eight being enough.

A few weeks after we were married in 1995, one of Bryna’s uncles died suddenly. He was the first and, to date, the only sibling to leave this mortal life. The wake and subsequent funeral was baptism by fire for this newly minted in-law. As we drove up to Adams, MA, Bryna tutored me relentlessly on the names. I’ve had the 12 down for awhile. It’s the (now) 26 grandchildren and 36 great-grandchildren that keep me guessing.

Bryna’s grandmother died a week ago at 94. Babcia, as I knew her — polish for “grandmother” — was the quintessential matriarch. She relished, above all, her family and her faith. She was a devout Roman Catholic, a regular attendee of mass at the now de-consecrated St. Stanislaus. But she also took great delight in telling her church friends that her granddaughter Bryna had “married a priest.” I can only imagine the looks!

I was touched when the family asked me to deliver the homily at her funeral, which I did last Wednesday. The mass was held in the other RC church in Adams — the one that didn’t get closed. Father Dan was wonderfully collegial though, of course, I couldn’t receive communion. Which made me wonder when it was that the church transformed into a bunch of legal-minded Pharisees? I don’t mean this to sound as harsh as it might but nonetheless I can’t recall Jesus ever refusing table hospitality to another person no matter how “different.” Father Dan did come over and offer me his blessing and then asked for mine in return which was a wonderfully gracious gesture.

But I can’t recall ever wanting to receive communion so badly. Perhaps it was the forbidden fruit phenomenon but I also wanted to receive in the context of celebrating Christ’s resurrection while marking the life of an amazing and faithful woman.

I did delight, however, watching my boys go up and receive communion. Not just because it was sticking it to the man (which it sort of was) but because they were able to commune with Jesus on an important and meaningful day for them. The best part? Zack receiving the host in his hand and then wandering around looking for the non-existent chalice bearer to get the wine. Communion in one kind, baby.

Coffee Wanderings, Part II

Red Eye Roasters' freshly painted coffee cart

Still no sign of a decent coffee shop on the South Shore BUT I’ve discovered a wonderful local roaster in Hingham. Bob Weeks is the owner/roaster at Redeye Roasters. I met Bob at the Hingham Farmer’s Market this morning where he parks his nifty coffee cart every Saturday morning. Not only did he serve me up a deliciously smooth cup of Guatemalan coffee, he personally grinds the beans and brews the coffee right before your very eyes. It doesn’t get any fresher than that.

Bob’s hand-crafted, small-batch roasting reputation actually preceded our meeting. A member of the St. John’s Search Committee introduced us to his coffee last month. Even better, he told me today that he met Mike and Alicia from Coffee Labs in Tarrytown, New York, at some sort of coffee conference or summit. If Coffee Labs is my own personal mecca, Bob’s been to the mountaintop!

The only problem with this is that Red Eye Roasters doesn’t have a coffee shop. We need to encourage Bob to open one in Hingham! I told him I’d be his own personal evangelist and use my powers of persuasion to get people there. Of course I only know about three people in town at this point. This will all change when I start work next Thursday and end my stay-(at home and unpack)-cation.

In the meantime I’ll be seeing him on Saturday mornings to pester him about putting out a shingle. And buying a cup of coffee, of course.

Coffee Wanderings

Wandering is a major theme in Scripture. Moses and the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years on their way to the Promised Land. Abraham, the father of monotheism, is identified as “a wandering Aramean.” Jesus himself proclaimed that “foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of Man has no where to lay his head.”

Not to be overly dramatic but I’ve been wandering the South Shore of Boston searching for the perfect coffee shop. The one where I’ll write my sermons, articles, and books. The one where I’ll become a regular. The one where Delilah is welcomed. The one where the coffee is freshly roasted. The one within ten minutes of my office. The one where the baristas are tattooed and pierced perhaps but friendly and knowledgeable. The one where the refills are free. The one where the seats are comfortable. The one where the background music is a mix of alternative and blues. The one with free Wi-Fi. The one that’s independently owned. In other words, the perfect coffee shop.

Okay, so I’m still mourning the loss of Coffee Labs in Tarrytown. After wandering around the past week and a half I’ve lowered my sights. I’m only looking for about half of the above criteria and I still haven’t found it. It’s gotten so bad that I’ve been begging Bryna to open up her own coffee shop. To my amazement she hasn’t completely ruled it out but I think she’s just humoring me.

Right now I’m sitting in an air-conditioned coffee shop just down the street from the church. In some ways this would be ideal — at least location-wise. The coffee’s not horrible and they have Wi-Fi. I can even overlook the name: “Brewed Awakenings.” Unfortunately the music stinks. Or, to put it more delicately, it’s not at all conducive to writing sermons. I don’t mind distractions — I welcome them in fact. Which is why I prefer to write in coffee shops. But listening to soft, cheesy “rock” is not an option. It’s hard enough blogging to Bryan Adams and the Bangles let alone writing anything with substance.

So the wandering will continue. Until I find the right place to write, I can’t take responsibility for the quality of my output. If this situation continues I may have to put a disclaimer at the bottom of each week’s service bulletin:

** The quality of Father Tim’s sermon this Sunday is a direct result of his inability to find a decent local coffee shop. Please excuse any grammatical shortcomings, uninspiring content, and/or heresy.

On the Move

A few thoughts based on our family’s move last week from Briarcliff Manor, New York to Hingham, Massachusetts:

1. It’s amazing how many random coins our old house contained. As we started the slow process of tossing our life’s belongings into boxes, the one constant was the overabundance of loose change. It’s everywhere. And not just in the standard places — on top of your dresser, that small dish where you dump your keys, under sofa cushions. I found coins under rugs, radiators, the refrigerator; I found coins in toy bins; I found coins in the garage; I found coins in medicine cabinets. I even found a few pennies lying around the house after the movers had taken everything out of the house and after I’d done my final sweeping. Whatever’s left (and I’m sure there’s something) I’ll just consider a tip for the next rector. And, no, this won’t come up the next time I preach on the Parable of the Lost Coin.

2. On the other end, I have a knack for losing scissors, box cutters, and knives — basically anything used to open and/or collapse cardboard boxes. Next time (and I hope that doesn’t happen for a VERY long time) I’m tying a pair of scissors around my waist. Either that or I’m hiring Edward Scissorhands as my personal moving valet. As I wandered amid the myriad boxes searching for a sharp object, I started daydreaming about inventing a switchblade-like moving aid I’d call the Jack in the Box Cutter. That’s when I knew it was time for more coffee.

3. Moving and blogging don’t mix. At least for me. It’s been over a week since I last wrote a blog post. It’s not that I wasn’t connected — Bryna had the Verizon guy out here the day after the move (for the record he looked nothing like the hip Verizon guy in the ads; more like the sad-sack cable installer dude). I just haven’t had the energy or inspiration to do anything but open boxes (when I could locate the scissors), hang pictures, eat, sleep, drink coffee, and give the boys some sorely needed attention. Oh, and go to the beach a few times since Hingham is on the water. But blogging, writing, etc. just wasn’t happening.

4. I’ve discovered the joys of the town dump. Sure, it’s officially called the “transfer station” (you transfer your trash and recyclables) but everyone here calls it the town dump. It’s a beautiful thing after a move because you can take all of your broken down boxes to the dump. Which means you don’t have to trip over boxes for two weeks until the next recycling day. More about the dump in the days ahead but it’s now my favorite place in Hingham. I mean besides my new church. Keep your eyes peeled for the first ever “Dump Eucharist” in the history of the Christian Church. Just kidding. As far as you know.

5. God bless anyone who is a professional mover. I can’t stand hauling my own stuff around let alone someone else’s. We had a great team of guys — we kept them hydrated and fed. But still, I can only imagine they’re ruing that 10% clergy discount after all the books they had to schlep around. Which reminds me that I really should recycle some of those books from college I’ve been carting around the country since 1991. I didn’t read them then; no reason to think I’ll crack them open now. At least the town dump has a dedicated section for books.

That’s all I’ve got for now. We’re still trying to settle into our new home — the St. John’s rectory is a beautifully restored 1789 farm house. My first Sunday is August 23rd. Which means there’s plenty of time for me to locate that box cutter.