Clergy Family Confidential

I’m a compassionate guy. A caring person. Perhaps even sensitive. Okay, not sensitive but definitely compassionate. I said a prayer when I heard that someone on my flight from Seattle to New York was ill and we needed to make an emergency medical landing in Minneapolis. And when the EMTs arrived and wheeled her off the plane I gave her a surreptitious blessing as she went past my seat. She looked like she would be fine — I think it was a diabetic issue with her blood-sugar level.

But boy did she wreak havoc on my travel plans. After landing, the good folks at American Airlines (they had a rough week didn’t they?) detected a maintenance issue with the plane. Shocking. Which led to an unplanned four-hour layover in Minneapolis while they flew in the part from Chicago.

There’s nothing like 13 hours of travel culminating in a late-night arrival at JFK to prepare you for the 8 o’clock service the next morning. You try saying things like “rendering unto Thee most hearty thanks for the innumberable benefits procured unto us by the same” while you’re mind’s still in another time zone.  

I also discovered something else about myself. When the flight attendants made the announcement calling for any passengers with medical expertise I realized I was utterly useless. Unless they needed someone to pronounce last rites. 

Took a tour of Safeco Field in Seattle last night with about 20 fellow Episcopal Communicators. It was arranged by a retired priest whose wife is the Suffragan Bishop of the Diocese of Olympia. Part of what he does in his retirement — besides going to a slew of church events with his spouse — is to serve as a tour guide at the ballpark. What a great gig! Sign me up — when does the Pension Fund kick in?

Safeco is pretty impressive — and with a $520 million price tag it should be. Built in 1999, it was the most expensive sports arena ever built. It will soon lose this distinction to the new Yankee Stadium that’s currently under construction — the House that George Built. Safeco has a fully retractable roof and has aged beautifully. Too bad they house the Mariners.

There’s something amazing about being the only ones inside a 47,000 seat stadium. Slightly eerie but I walked around a bit giddy the whole time. Being in a major league ballpark that stirs my soul — what can I say? I realize no team’s going to offer me a contract at this point — I’m not that delusional. It just feels as if you’re part of something exciting, something larger than yourself. It’s like being inside a giant European cathedral in that sense.

In my next life I hope to come back as a professional baseball player. For the Orioles of course. Oh wait, I don’t believe in reincarnation. I guess it’s just as well. Something would probably get screwed up in translation and I’d end up prancing around as the Phillie Phanatic.

Some stereotypes are impossible to overcome. I flew into Seattle yesterday for the Episcopal Communicators conference (I’m on the Board of Governors of Episcopal Life Media) and, true to form, it was overcast with a slight drizzle. Classic Seattle weather.

To continue my stereotyping of this city that I’d never been to, the the first thing I did when I got to my hotel was get a cup of coffee. It’s not hard to find a coffee shop around here — the home of Starbucks — I swear there are more coffee shops per capita than actual people. Throw a rock in some of these neighborhood like Fremont (which I didn’t actually do but thought about) and you’ll hit seven or eight java joints. I’m pretty sure there are more barristas living in Seattle than there are people employed at Boeing and Microsoft combined.

Following a meeting with the printing partners of Episcopal Life, I got a quick tour of the city with a native. No, I didn’t hold a seance and summon the ghost of Kurt Cobain. One of my oldest friends, Kevin Daniels, has lived out here for twelve years. Kevin and I have been friends since fourth grade and it was great to have dinner and catch up. Nothing beats the company of an old friend even when it’s damp and gray outside. Oh, and if you hate your job and need to update your resume, Kevin’s president of Northwest Resumes. 

I’m looking forward to a good conference. This is my fourth one with this group and it’s one of the most creative and interesting assemblies of folks you’ll ever want to know. Most of them are diocesan communications directors and editors of their respective newspapers. I think it’s one of my favorite gatherings of the year because it’s mostly lay people; I’m one of the few token priests. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brothers and sisters in ordained ministry – but try being around them in large numbers with an open microphone. Oy. Wait, I think I just described diocesan convention.

Well, it’s 5:00 am here. The jet lag kicked in and there’s no way I can fall back asleep. Off to get a cup of coffee.

Bryna’s been dropping hints about getting another dog. Subtle things like bringing up pet adoption websites, clicking on some cute dog with, well, puppy dog eyes and exclaiming, “Isn’t he so cute?” And of course he’s cute — perhaps the most adorable ball of fur I’ve ever seen. But so are the 20 other dogs on the website.  

Her other tactic has been to look at Delilah and say, “Don’t you think she needs a friend?” But wait a minute. I’m Delilah’s friend. Don’t I count? Who takes her to the office with me nearly every day? Who takes her running? Who takes her to her favoirte coffee shop every week? If anything, I’m Delilah’s faithful companion rather than the other way around. Man’s best friend? I’m her best friend.

Bryna’s hasn’t been pushing too hard yet. Just dropping these little hints. I’m worried she’s going to enlist the boys in her campaign. I can withstand one set of online puppy dog eyes but I’m not sure about a dinner-table full of them. 

In some ways it probably doesn’t matter — it’s not as if another dog would add anything new to the already overflowing family chaos at our house. I might not even notice. But I’m trying to stay strong and hoping this second dog idea is just a passing (dog) fancy. In the meantime I’ll just avert my eyes whenever she brings up the online puppy photos. It’s just too tempting.

I heard a piece on NPR this afternoon about napping. It wasn’t that interesting — for some reason I kept yawning. But they interviewed some woman who works at an organization called MetroNaps. They operate out of the Empire State Building where they offer napping areas. For $14 you get a 20 minute power nap inside an “energy pod.” You’re supposed to wake up refreshed, healthy, and productive. With my luck I’d oversleep and end up with a $200 bill.

But it did give me an idea. Since most churches are relatively quiet during the day, let’s start competing with MetroNaps. What’s an energy pod but an empty confessional? Heck, take a pew. We’d have to charge extra for ones with comfortable pew cushions but let the napping begin!

Of course you could argue that the MetroNaps concept is nothing new. The Episcopal Church has been offering the 20 minute power nap for generations — it’s called the sermon. 

Well, as Paul once wrote to the church in Corinth, “Christ has risen from the dead and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.”  I really need to get a leather couch for my office. 

Baseball season starts today. Oh, not the major leagues — the Orioles have already lost their first game and are well on their way to an 11th consecutive losing season. But Ben and Zack have their first little league practice tonight. They’re on the same team this year, much to Ben’s annoyance. And I’m not sure why a third grader got put on a team with mostly first and second graders. But that’s Briarcliff baseball for you. Try and ask questions of the powers-that-be and you encounter Kremlin-like secrecy. 

Some of these guys think they’re GM’s for pro teams. They have tryouts and drafts. I wouldn’t be surprised if the boys were subjected to a random drug test at some point during the season. If either one of them ends up linked to BALCO in Jose Canseco’s new book, we’ll have to switch back to soccer.

But this doesn’t diminish the boys’ excitement. They’ve been asking all week, “Is it Wednesday yet?” And to prepare we’ve spent a small fortune this week on baseball cleats, a new glove for Zack, baseball pants, and socks. They’re also thrilled that their new team is sponsored by Squire’s, their favorite burger joint in town.

 Play ball!

Delilah and I are spending the waning hours of my sabbatical at (where else?) Coffee Labs in Tarrytown. It’s fitting since this has been my regular hangout for the past ten weeks. Some clergy might spend their sabbatical at a Tibetan monastery with the Dalai Lama. They probably drink a lot of green tea and meditate all day. I’m drinking a few cups of El Salvadorian Santa Rita coffee before I get Zack off the bus to go baseball cleat shopping. The parallels are uncanny.

I know the barristas at CL (or is that barristi? — there’s a debate in coffee circles) will miss seeing me everyday. Or at least that’s what they tell me when I don’t have my back turned. I’ll have to get back to my once a week trip here for my Thursday morning sermon writing routine. Which may be a shock to my (well-caffeinated) system.

And I’m going to have to start shaving on a regular basis again. No one wants a priest with lousy facial hair wandering around at coffee hour. So I’ll just come clean and hope I don’t end up like a modern-day Samson — losing my superhuman strength by shaving. And what would Delilah think?

But it’s time to get back to work. I’ve just started to get in Bryna’s way as I wander aimlessly around the house. She hasn’t said anything but I can tell. And I think that’s a sure sign that she’s ready for my sabbatical to end.

So tomorrow it’s back to the salt mines. My sabbatical has been productive and renewing. But it’s time.

Last week Ben got a retainer to help straighten his teeth. It’s actually been installed (like a rector) and he’ll have it in his mouth for up to six months. It’s tough watching your son struggle to speak. The dentist told us it’ll take about ten days for Ben to get used to talking with it — he’s got to learn where to position his tongue.

He’s been a great sport about the whole thing and his friends have been supportive. But still those first couple of days, when even I was having trouble understanding certain words, were hard to take.

 No one likes to watch their children struggle with anything. Whether that’s hitting a baseball, doing multiplication tables, or sitting still in church. Some things we can help with (flash cards!) but others we cannot. And that hurts. But it’s also part of the maturation process for everyone involved, including parents.

At this point, Ben’s fine with it. The toughest cross he’s had to bear has been laying off Peeps during Easter season. I’m the one who still struggles occasionally when I hear him saying words like “suspicious” or “success” (S’s present the greatest challenge).

The good news is that come September he’ll be all ready to once again whip through Fox in Sox, that dastardly Seussian series of tongue twisters.

Baseball’s back. And there’s joy in Mudville or at least Japan. Today is Opening Day – the Red Sox and A’s played the season’s first game at the Tokyo Dome. And, boy, was it bizarre to be watching a Major League Baseball game at 8:00 am while on the StairMaster at the gym. That’s what a 13-hour time difference will do for you. Of course, it won’t really feel like baseball season for me until the Orioles open their season against Tampa Bay on March 31st.

I can’t remember the last time Opening Day took place during Eastertide. Come to think of it why, exactly, didn’t I go down to Florida for Spring Training during my sabbatical? Doh! Next time.

Bryna and my 13th anniversary is also today so there’s a great confluence of joy. It beats last year when it fell on Good Friday (we transferred it to the following week — the anniversary celebration, not Good Friday). I wonder what the gift is supposed to be for 13 years. Papier-mache? Styrofoam? Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.

My favorite baseball name this year? Mets left fielder Angel Pagan. Gotta love that yin/yang thing.