#still sorry about the umc world

[kanjukucompany]

【A3! Translation】 Sky Gallery (10/11)

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it's time for the play! this took forever to translate. some images scene change images missing due to tumblr's photo limit

(translation under the cut)

(glitch text ignore)

character reference:

Kazunari: Aoumi

Tenma: Shirato

Misumi: Shinonome

Muku: Moegi

Kumon: Sakurada

Yuki: Yamabuki

Chapter 10

Izumi: It didn't take long until opening day.

Tenma: This time around, it seemed like a lot of timed passed before play rehearsals actually started.

Kazunari: True, it's been fulfilling, but also a lot of hard work~.

Muku: Kazu-kun has been working on a lot of other projects too, huh.

Yuki: The play's been running side by side with work.

Tenma: But if you can pull this off, doesn't that mean you're ready to juggle all kinds of things as an UMC?

Kazunari: That's right~! So I've gotta see this to the end!

Yuki: Kazunari, your scarf's crooked. (fixes it)

Kazunari: Oh, thanks!

Kazunari: These costumes Yukki made for us are super cute, I'm getting hyped!

Muku: Come to think of it, the costumes this time around pretty modern and kind of fresh, don't you think? They don't even feel like costumes.

Misumi: So stylish~.

Kumon: I wanna go out like this in daily life!

Yuki: Absolutely not. They'll get dirty.

Kumon: Boo~.

Manager: We're about to begin!

Kazunari: Well then, let's huddle around.

Tenma: Take it away, leader.

Kazunari: Mm~, well, our usual Summer Troupe chant is nice, but this timeーー.

Kazunari: "We're not bound to someone else's idea of value, so let's deliver something that'll leave a lasting impression on each and every person who sees it!"

Kumon: Yeahー!

Izumi: (The stage this time is set at Sky Gallery, which is rumored to bring good luck to the college-aged painters who exhibit there.)

Izumi: (Aspiring painters gather here, believing in the jinx that, if they hold a solo-exhibition here as newcomers, their work will sell and they'll be blessed with good fortune...)

Aoumi: "Great work, Sakurada-kun. The exhibition was a huge success."

Aoumi: "It's quite amazing that even though it's only your second exhibition, nearly all of your works sold. Your fan base is steadily growingーー."

Sakurada: "Oh, I..."

Aoumi: "Sakurada-kun?"

Sakurada: "Just like I thought, I can't sell them..."

Aoumi: "Eh....?"

Sakurada: "All of my works are like my precious children! To think that I... I would do such a horrible thing as selling them is..."

Sakurada: "Everyone is going to be so saddddd..... I'm sorry! It's all my fault! But I can't agree to selling them!"

Sakurada: "Even if I have to live on water and bean sprouts again, we'll always be together...!"

Customer: "H-Huh? Um, isn't this for sale?"

Sakurada: "I'm sorry! Nothing's for sale! Please go home! I'll protect you, babies!"

Shirato: "H-Hang on now..."

Aoumi: "Sakurada-kun, please calm down!"

Sakurada: "Aoumi-san, if it were you, could you do such a terrible thingーsell your own children!?"

Aoumi: "W-Why wouldn't I...?"

Sakurada: "You'd want to take care of them yourself, right!?"

Aoumi: "U-Um, well, I guess so..."

Shirato: "Aoumi-san! Don't let him coax you!"

Aoumi: "Ah, sorry, sorry."

Sakurada: "I'm sorry, Aoumi-san. I know you've done a lot for me with this exhibition... But still, I...."

Aoumi: "Sakurada-kun, I understand your overflowing love for your artwork. In fact, I think that's their charm."

Aoumi: "But one day, your children are going to leave the nest."

Aoumi: "I believe that all of the artwork displayed here are filled with Sakurada-kun's love. They have the power to spread their wings and journey into the world."

Aoumi: "Don't you want to see your children leave the nest, find their own place in the world, and empower others?"

Sakurada: "Oh... I see... You're right. This is their chance to be independent.... Oh, I'm such an idiot!"

Sakurada: "I'm a failure as a parent! I'm so stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"

Aoumi: "I-It's okay. Please settle down."

Customer: "Um... So, can I buy it after all?"

Shirato: "Of course, sir. I'll take care of it for you."

Customer: "A-Alright."

Aoumi: "We look forward to seeing you again."

Shirato: ".....I was wondering if he'd do this again."

Aoumi: "Yeah, Sakurada-kun did this at his last solo-exhibition too, huh..."

Shirato: "So troublesome..."

Shinonome: "Heyyyー."

Aoumi: "Oh, Shinonome-kun, welcome. Your reputation proceeds you these days."

Shinonome: "Heh, thanks to youuuー."

Aoumi: "I'm glad I could help. Shirato-kun, could you fix us some tea, please?"

Shirato: "Yes."

Shinonome: "Shirato?"

Shirato: "Ah..."

Shinonome: "Ahhhー!! It's Shiratoooー!! What're you doing hereeeー!?"

Shirato: "....Long time no see."

Aoumi: "You two know each other?"

Shinonome: "We were friends in high school~. We were in the same art clubbbー!"

Shirato: "I didn't know you were having a solo-exhibition here, Shinonome."

Shinonome: "I didn't know you worked here either, Shiratoooー! Didn't you get a job after high school?"

Shirato: "Ah, well, a lot happened."

Shinonome: "I see~. But I'm happy I get to work with Shirato againnnー."

Shirato: "Not really, I'm just an apprentice."

Aoumi: "Why don't you join in on our meeting, Shirato-kun? It's about time for you to learn about beginning projects."

Shirato: "Eh....."

Shinonome: "Yay~! Let's get to work!"

-

Tsuzuru: (I wrote the up-and-painter, Shinonome, after Ikaruga-san's image....)

Tsuzuru: (I knew it, he fits him perfectly. It's like he brightens up the stage itself.)

Izumi: (After meeting with Shinonome, another college student brings his work to the gallery...)

Aoumi: "I'm Aoumi, the owner of Sky Gallery. It's nice to meet you."

Shirato: "I'm Shirato."

Moegi: "N-N-N-N-N-Nice to meet you, I'm Moegi."

Aoumi: "Let's get right to it, then. May I see your portfolio?"

Moegi: "Y-Yes! Um, this is-AWAHHー!"

(thud)

Shirato: "You okay...?"

Moegi: "T-Thank you."

Aoumi: "Well then, I'll take a look."

Moegi: "U-Um.....What do you think?"

Aoumi: "I think these are really good! You have a wonderful attention to detail."

Aoumi: "These works are close to people's daily lives, I'm sure our customer's will enjoy them."

Moegi: "Really...! I love this painting, too! Oh, also, this one has a really good color balanceー."

Aoumi: "Yes, yes. I agree."

Moegi: "And this, this painting has a cloud motif..."

Moegi: "The gap between the exterior and interior appearance of the clouds expresses the inner and outer aspects of human beings..."

Aoumi: "Mhm. We'll definitely hold a solo-exhibition for you."

Moegi: "Oh..... Um.... I'm sorry.... I'm not doing that...."

Aoumi: "Huh?"

Moegi: "I'm very sorry! Excuse me!"

(moegi runs away)

Aoumi: "Ah, waitーー."

-

Juza: (Muku can play a role like that so naturally.... That'd be a hard one for me to play.)

Izumi: (Following Moegi's sudden exit, another art student arrives...)

Aoumi: "These are good. I think many customers will appreciate the fact that the head-on seriousness in which you tackle themes is very apparent."

Yamabuki: "Exactly! I think they're really good too!"

Yamabuki: "This painting tackles the theme using a multifaceted motif, it's incredibly deep!"

Yamabuki: "The more you look at it, the more you see, allowing you to approach the theme from many different angles!"

Aoumi: "Yes, yes. Let's hold a solo exhibition together."

Yamabuki: "Ah... Um...."

Aoumi: "What is it?"

Yamabuki: "That...... I can't do! Excuse me!"

(yamabuki runs away)

Aoumi: "Ehh....."

Shirato: "Is this some kind of fad."

Aoumi: "Like ding-dong-ditch....?"

Shirato: "I mean, how rude is that? You shouldn't even bother with them."

Aoumi: "Err... Maybe there's some circumstances we don't know about, and after all, it's always up to the artist to decide what happens with their work."

Shirato: "Well, that's true, but still."

Aoumi: "However, I feel that everyone, famous or not, has a desire to share their work with others. It's an expression of themselves."

Aoumi: "And more than anything, I feel their artwork is asking to be seen.... We'll check again, and if that doesn't work, I'll give up."

-

Sakurada: "Hello....."

Aoumi: "Oh, Sakurada-kun, about the other dayーー.

Sakurada: "I'm so sorry!!! I apologize for all the trouble I caused, again..... "

Sakurada: "I told myself I would be happy to send my children away this time, but I was still regretful, so I just couldn't accept itーー."

Aoumi: "That's all right. That's a part of your work."

Sakurada: "Aoumi-san......!"

Aoumi: "Well, settle down, but keep up the good work."

Sakurada: "Of course! Now, if you'll excuse me."

Sakurada: "Huh? This portfolio..."

Aoumi: "Ah, yes. A university art student had brought it to me because he wanted to hold a solo-exhibition."

Sakurada: "He’s my junior."

Aoumi: "Really? His name is Yamabuki-san—"

Sakurada: "This is Moegi’s."

Aoumi: "Huh? Moegi-san?"

Sakurada: "Yeah, and if he holds a solo exhibition, I’ll definitely come and see it. Well, I’ll be off!"

Aoumi: "Oh, yes…"

(sakurada leaves)

Shirato: "So… Yamabuki-san actually brought in Moegi-san’s, huh."

Aoumi: "Then, whose work did Moegi-san bring…?"

Shirato: "….It’s not the work of the same person."

Aoumi: "Certainly, the artstyles are way too different. The way they approach the theme too, is also different…."

Shirato: "In any case, you shouldn’t trust someone who lies to you and brings in another artist’s portfolio."

Aoumi: "Hmm…."

Aoumi: "I’m just going to drop off some flyers, have a quick meeting, and then we can head back."

Shirato: "Wow…. So this is what an art school looks like, huh…."

Aoumi: "Huh? Those two, aren’t they——"

Moegi: "Why’d you do that? If it was Yamabuki’s work, it would’ve been recognized the second you showed them your paintings."

Yamabuki: "No way, that’s impossible. That’s why I brought your artwork, Moegi."

Moegi: "It’s not impossible! Because, actually, Aoumi-san wants to hold a solo-exhibition…"

Yamabuki: "Huh? What do you mean?"

Moegi: "….I’m sorry. I also presented your portfolio to Aoumi-san."

Aoumi: "Ahh…. So that’s the case."

Shirato: "Aren’t they two of a kind."

Moegi: "Aoumi-san!?"

Yamabuki: "Ah, I’m sorry, I——"

Moegi: "I’m sorry!"

Aoumi: "So, um, could you two explain the situation again?"

-

Aoumi: "So in other words, neither of you were confident in your own artwork, so you brought the other’s portfolio out of instinct… is that right?"

Moegi: "I figured if it was Yamabuki’s, you’d definitely accept it. I wanted to see his solo exhibition…"

Moegi: "But he isn’t confident in himself, and insisted that he wouldn’t do it…"

Moegi: "I wasn’t aware he approached Aoumi-san with the same plan."

Yamabuki: "That’s my line. You always said it was impossible for you to ever hold a solo exhibition, even though I’ve told you over and over again you’d be fine."

Shirato: "There’s no limit to their similarities…"

Aoumi: "Their artstyles are a different story, though."

Moegi: "Well, now that that’s cleared up, I’m going to decline my solo exhibition offer."

Aoumi: "Eh!?"

Yamabuki: "Same here, Aoumi-san’s recognition is enough for me. Nobody would come if I held a solo exhibition, anyway…."

Yamabuki: "And even if they did, I’m sure they’d look at Aoumi-san like he’s made a mistake, then run out of there as fast as they could."

Moegi: "Mine would be endlessly torn apart on social media, and even though I couldn’t bear to see, I wouldn’t be able to stop doomscrolling——."

Moegi: "The only way for it to stop would be for me to drop out of college."

Aoumi: "They’re also both extremely specific pessimists…!"

Shirato: "Well, we can’t force them to hold solo exhibitions."

Aoumi: "But, you both voluntarily came to Sky Gallery, right?"

Aoumi: "So don’t you have a desire to display your work there?"

Moegi: "That’s…"

Yamabuki: "Well…"

Aoumi: "But, your lack of confidence is getting in the way."

Moegi: "Yes."

Aoumi: "However, on the flip side, Moegi-san recognizes Yamabuki-san’s artwork, and vice-versa."

Moegi: "Yamabuki should definitely hold a solo exhibition!"

Yamabuki: "If it’s Moegi’s artwork, everyone will absolutely come to see it!"

Aoumi: "In that case, why doesn’t Moegi-san exhibit Yamabuki-san’s work, and Yamabuki-san exhibit Moegi-san’s?"

Moegi: "Eh….?"

Yamabuki: "That’s….?"

Aoumi: "Of course, this time, please credit the true artist."

Aoumi: "Since it’s the other’s artwork, which you are confident in, don’t you think that could work?"

Aoumi: "Then we can treat it like a two-person exhibition."

Moegi: "If Yamabuki's work is there too, people would come... and they'd be so entranced by his work, maybe they'd gloss right over mine...."

Yamabuki: "If Moegi's work is also there... everyone would go home half satisfied... we'd might even make it out with mixed reviews...."

Moegi: "Alright, I'll do it!"

Yamabuki: "Pleased to be working with you!"

Aoumi: "Let's do our best."

-

Taichi: (This time, Mu-chan and Yuki-chan play similar roles~.)

Taichi: (Their heights are about the same, and Yuki-chan's character complements Mu-chan's perfectly!)

Shirato: "Why do you go to such lengths for people who are such a pain in the ass?"

Aoumi: "I simply want more people to experience fine artwork."

Aoumi: "And I want artists to know the power of their work. Because that feeling, can only be truly understood when art is shared with others..."

Aoumi: "That's why I run this gallery, to experience that moment. Well, I got that line from my father, but the sentiment remains."

Shirato: "You inherited the gallery from your father, right?"

Aoumi: "Correct. Like Shirato-kun, I also worked as an assistant. It took a long time, but that's how I learned the job."

Shirato: "A gallery of your own, and in such a prime location too, I envy you."

Aoumi: "Yes, that's thanks to my father. It does add a lot of pressure to the job, though."

Shirato: "......"

-

Izumi: (After the successful end of Moegi and Yamabuki's two-person exhibition, preparations begin for Shinonome's solo exhibition....)

Aoumi: "Has Shinonome-kun contacted you?"

Shirato: "Nope, nothing."

Aoumi: "This is strange... It's already 30 minutes past our meeting time.... No matter how much I call him he doesn't answer...."

Shirato: "Well, he's always late."

Aoumi: "I'm worried that we can't get in touch with him."

Aoumi: "And if we don't decide on an invitation design soon, we won't have enough time to get them printed and distributed."

Aoumi: "Plus I still need his main painting, but I haven't heard an update on that either."

Shirato: "That reminds me... Back in high school, he suddenly missed school and didn't even return home. He was missing for a few days, the police had to end up getting involved."

Aoumi: "Ehh!? Oh, that would be a disaster... Let's hurry up and look for him."

Shirato: "For now, how about we head to his place?"

Aoumi: "Good idea."

Aoumi: "Shinonome-kun! Shinonome-kun, are you there!? There's no response...."

Shirato: "I just checked, and it doesn’t look like he's been to college either."

Aoumi: "Then, maybe his parents' house...?"

Shirato: "I don't know. His parents basically spend all of their time overseas."

Aoumi: "I see. Oh, where could he be.... Maybe if we give him a few days he'll return."

Shirato: "Speaking of, when I found him in high school, he was nearly freezing to death on a riverbed."

Aoumi: "That's definitely a pattern we don't want to repeat...! We need to keep looking for him, but it'll be dark soon..."

Shirato: "I'll take you to the different places he likes."

Aoumi: "Please do!"

Aoumi: "There he is...!"

Shinonome: "Ahh, you found meeeeー. I was just about to make my beddddー."

Shirato: "Quit building here. The cops are gonna arrest you again."

Shinonome: "You always find me, Shiratoooー. Why's thatttー?"

Shirato: "...Nothing special, I just know you. You're usually near your favorite scenery."

Shinonome: "That's rightttー. As expected of Shirato!"

Aoumi: "Your favorite scenery.... I see. It's quite rugged, I can see how Shinonome-kun chose this as a motif for his artwork."

Shirato: "Why'd you skip the meeting."

Shinonome: "Umm, because the weather's nice today?"

Shirato: "Shinonome..."

Shinonome: "Sorry, sorryyyー. The truth is, I couldn't make any progress on my main painting at alllllー."

Aoumi: "Ehh!? But, we need to finalize the invitations soon..."

Shinonome: "I'll bring the painting to you on opening day, so please just find a way to design them somehowwwー."

Aoumi: "I understand. Please focus on your piece, Shinonome-kun."

Shinonome: "Thank youuuー."

(aoumi and shirato walk away)

Shirato: "You sure you can trust him? That guy's got no concept of deadlines."

Aoumi: "Still, it's his exhibition. If he isn't satisfied with the art he created, it's not worth displaying."

-

Izumi: (The first day of the exhibition arrives...)

Aoumi: "Shirato-kun, any word from Shinonome-kun?"

Shirato: "Not yet."

Aoumi: "We're about to open. At this rate, the main wall will be..."

Shirato: "What do we do?"

Aoumi: "Customers are already lining up, we've got no choice to open. I'll explain the situation to our customers."

(aoumi walks away)

Aoumi: "Thank you for visiting. Before we open, I'd like to apologize to all of youーー."

Shirato: "Aoumi-san, it's here!"

Aoumi: "Eh?"

Shirato: "The painting, it's arrived."

Aoumi: "Really!?"

Aoumi: "Pardon me, everyone. Please wait a moment!"

-

Aoumi: "So this is Shinonome-kun's latest work... It's wonderful."

Aoumi: "It's got a slightly different atmosphere than usual, I'd like to hear if he's had any change of heart. Where is Shinonome-kun?"

Shirato: "He's not here, it arrived by courier."

Aoumi: "Is that so. Then, I suppose he'll stop by later."

-

Aoumi: "Now, it's time to begin closingーー."

Shinonome: "Sorryyy, I'm late."

Aoumi: "Shinonome-kun! Thank you for all of your hard work. Your latest piece is safe andーーWhat's that painting for?"

Shinonome: "I finally finished it, so I came bring it to youuuー. I made it in time for opening day, rightttー."

Aoumi: "Eh? But, then the painting that arrived this morningーー."

Shinonome: "Huhhhー? That? That's not mine."

Aoumi: "What....? Well, then, whose...?

-

Shirato: "I didn't verify the courier company. I'm so sorry...."

Aoumi: "It's not your fault, Shirato-kun. I explained the situation to the customer who bought it, and they understood."

Shirato: "I'm sorry but, I.... I'm quitting my part-time job here."

Aoumi: "Huh? Oh, no, Shirato-kun, you don't need to feel responsibleーー."

Shirato: "Excuse me."

(shirato runs away)

Aoumi: "Shirato-kun!"

-

(phone ringing)

Aoumi: "....He's not answering his phone, huh. I wonder if he was originally planning on quitting. He always so helpful and hardworking..."

Aoumi: "And a forgery, on top of everything. Honestly, I think it's perfection, and the artstyle is so similar... I wonder who painted it."

(knocking)

Shinonome: "Ahhー, Aoumin. Nice workkkー."

Aoumi: "Thank you for all of your hard work for the solo exhibition. It was another huge success."

Shinonome: "Thanks to youuuー."

Aoumi: "Shinonome-kun, about the forgery, has that ever happened before?"

Shinonome: "Ummmー. Don't think soooー. I'm not that famous, y'knowwwー."

Aoumi: "I see... Are they any students at your art school with a similar artstyle?"

Shinonome: "Not that I've seennnー. Come to think of it, where's Shirato? He didn't come with you todayyyー?"

Aoumi: "What? Didn't you hear? Shirato-kun quit."

Shinonome: "Ehhhー!? Really!? ......That sucksssー."

Shinonome: "That guy, he suddenly quit the art club during our third year of high school, tooooー. Even though he was a better artist than meeeー. He quit painting."

Aoumi: "Really?"

Shinonome: "Look, this was the art club's exhibit at the school festivalllー. So nostalgicccー."

Aoumi: "Wow, I see your artstyle was already establishing itself. By the way, what's this one?"

Shinonome: "Oh, that's Shirato's painting."

Aoumi: "Shirato-kun's..."

Shinonome: "I'm pretty sure I have moreeeー. Ah, this one, that one, this one over here..."

Aoumi: "The artstyle's a bit different, but the motif is similar to yours."

Shinonome: "Yeahhhー. When I'm sketching, I always turn to them for inspirationnnー."

Aoumi: "Then, could the artist of the forgery beーー."

-

Shirato: "I painted it. I'm sorry."

Aoumi: "I figured... But, why?"

Shirato: "I wanted Aoumi-san to acknowledge my art."

Shirato: "In high school, I joined the art club. I dreamed of going to art school and continuing painting."

Shirato: "But, I couldn't. I couldn't afford it, and my parents hated the idea..."

Shirato: "So, when Shinonome obviously went on to art school, I was envious of him. But, at the same time, I was angry."

Shirato: "Is everything determined by my own efforts, or something that's completely out of my control?"

Shirato: "Honestly, I didn't really trust Aoumi-san either, at first."

Shirato: "The person who made Sky Gallery so great, wasn't you, it was your father."

Shirato: "I thought even if I got a part time job here, I was going to quit as soon as I ever made something of myself."

Shirato: "But, when I saw how seriously you take your job, and the care you extend to each artist, I was so ashamed of myself..."

Shirato: "Even so, I wanted to see if my own painting would be accepted by you, Aoumi-san."

Shirato: "I thought that if you recognized it, I could let go of painting without regret."

Aoumi: "Shirato-kun, your artwork must be properly presented to the world, as your own. Lies will never touch anyone's hearts."

Aoumi: "Please show me your work, as the real Shirato-kun. I want you to learn the power of your artwork, too."

Shirato: "Aoumi-san.... Thank you."

-

Kazunari: Thanks, everyone!

Tenma: Thank you for coming.

Misumi: Thank you~!

#ITS DONE #ONE MORE CHAPTER #hit photo limit sorry #a3 #a3 game #a3 translation #my translations #tenma sumeragi #misumi ikaruga #muku sakisaka #yuki rurikawa #kazunari miyoshi #izumi tachibana #kumon hyodo #tsuzuru minagi #taichi nanao #juza hyodo

[firstumcschenectady]

“Humans: Needing Love and Comfort”

(a sermon dialogue with Rev. Lynn Gardner of the Unitarian Universalist Society of Schenectady and Rev. Sara Baron of the First United Methodist Church of Schenectady)

Part 1: Our awareness of our need for mothering (which is our need to be loved, and comforted)

Lynn: It started when I was on my yoga mat. It was early one morning last spring. I hadn’t been sleeping well, and I was up as the sun was rising, moving through familiar yoga asanas, gently stretching, moving, breathing. I was in child’s pose… curled over bent knees, forehead resting on the mat, when the crying began. Everything that my body had been holding in was let loose in a torrent of tears, growing into deep sobs. Worry, grief, fear, sadness, loneliness and anger, pouring out. My heart ached thinking of all those who were suffering alone or separated from anyone who was familiar.

On the day we were born and received the gift of our first breath we depended on our mothers, our parents, or other caring adults in order to survive. As we grew, those needs changed, but our need to be loved and cared for is still part of us. That morning on my yoga mat, I rocked, and cried, feeling the vulnerability of being human… that we need one another. This may be our vulnerability AND our strength.

Sara: The past year has been one of developing my identity as a mother. My child was born 51 weeks ago today. It has been a very long time since I’ve needed mothering as much as I have since I became a mother. It turns out that the capacity to give my child what he needs is dependent on having enough of my own needs met and, quite often, I can’t fulfill both sets of needs on my own, and am dependent on others to hold me up so I can hold him up.

I was raised upper middle class, and I’m white, and I have internalized the message that self-sufficiency is “good.” Which means I’m REALLY BAD at asking for help, and that hasn’t made me need it less. The pandemic has complicated EVERYTHING. When I needed help the most it felt least safe to receive it. When I hit the end of my capacity and could go no further, when tears filled my eyes and I simply could not do what I needed to do, when without love and comfort and support I could no longer offer love and comfort and support… I have spent this year learning that I need to be mothered well in order to mother well. For me, at least, this applies both to parenting AND to pastoring. To offer love and comfort to my congregation ALSO requires that I have something to give, and that means I have to reach out when I need love and comfort too.

Part 2: Stories of times we have received loving, comforting care when we needed it

Support can come in a wider range of formats than I ever knew. There was, for me, one day when everything I needed to do most profoundly exceeded my capacity to do it. Before that day was easier, after that day was easier, but on that day I could simply go no further. I remember texting 3 friends. It was August, and nothing felt safe, especially not in person. One friend got in the car to come help. Another stayed on the phone with me until she arrived and let me cry while being heard. The third texted back and forth all day assuring me that I was allowed to make things easier on myself, and it didn’t mean I was failing as a mother to do so.

Those three friends comforted me that day, they let their love for me become support when I needed it. I think it is fair to say that they mothered me, and BECAUSE they took care of me, I was able to take care of my child.

In some ways this story seems too small, and in other ways it seems … archetypal. Looking back at my life there are innumerable times when my pain or burden was too much to bear. In every one of them, I reached out for support. Sometimes I reached out directly to the Divine, which for me means I disappeared into nature and silence for the hours I needed before I could form words again. Other times I have reached out to family or friends (or my own pastor), and let them hold me up. It is in being held - in any medium- that I can regain my own self-regulation and find my way again.

Lynn: Isn’t it amazing when someone shows up in simple yet deeply caring ways? 21 years ago I went to stay at my parent’s home when my Mom was nearing the end of her life. She had been diagnosed with cancer just five weeks earlier. She was at home with hospice care, laying in a bed where she could look out and see her garden, and my father and sisters and I were caring for her and for one another. A long time friend called and asked if she could come by. She arrived with three hot-fudge brownie sundaes, one for me, one for her, and one for my Dad. Let’s go for a walk, she suggested. We walked and ate. She listened, and we cried and laughed together, and also held space for the comfort of shared silence. That was the most delicious sundae I have ever eaten.

Each of these moments in our lives have served to remind us that we are not self-sufficient, we do not walk or work alone. It is because of our connections that we are.. It is because we have been nurtured that we are functional and able to offer nurture.

Part 3: Growing us into capacity to give mothering

Sara: Our sweet baby is teething. It is miserable for everyone involved. We are very thankful in our house for pain medication. But sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes he hurts, and nothing we can do makes the hurt go away, and it is awful. In those moments, all we can do is be with him and assure him he isn’t alone. It doesn’t feel like enough in the moment, but I also wouldn’t dream of letting him suffer alone.

There are many sources of pain in life, physical, spiritual, mental, and emotional. In some cases we are able to do things that change them, like feeding people who are hungry. In many cases we cannot change reality, or the pain people experience, when they are grieving. In those cases all we can do is be with one another, and assure each other we aren’t alone. It doesn’t feel like enough, but the difference between being alone and being supported is significant. Our congregations can be communities of practice… where we continue to learn about giving and receiving care.

This has been one of the worst parts of the pandemic, that the means of support and comfort we are used to offering grieving people have been taken away. I invite those who are safely ready and able to loosen their COVID restrictions to think about how to offer love and support now that wasn’t possible before.

Learning the limits of what comfort I can give has never felt enjoyable, but it seems like the capacity to be a mother grows along with my awareness of my own limitations.

Part 4: The Divine as Nurturer, and Faith as Subversive when it comes to nurture.

The Gospel lesson we read today in the United Methodist church instructs us to “abide in love,” and expounds eloquently on the subject. I believe that this is what faith is all about. In Christian and United Methodist lingo we talk about “sanctification” which is the process of letting go of whatever is not love and being filled up with love so that you can respond to every person in every moment with pure love. In our models, continued faith development is all aimed at sanctification. (John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement believed that people could reach perfection in love during their life times. ;) I share that as an interesting historical fact.)

In real life though, things are complicated. In many circumstances it is not clear what the most loving response actually is. What looks from one angle like loving nurture looks from another angle like enabling. These days I find myself reminding myself several times a day about the process of emerging from cocoons. That is, when transformed creatures emerge from cocoons it is a slow and seemingly painful process. Over the years many well meaning humans have tried to ease creatures ways out of the cocoon, only to learn that the moths and butterflies are permanently damaged by having the process eased. There is a fine line to walk in care for others, and I find I am never clear which side of it I’m on.

Lynn: Receiving care can also be complicated. Sometimes we just need someone to help us, or for someone to comfort us, but we don’t ask, and feel resentful. Or we don’t know who to ask… or we tell ourselves we don’t deserve it, or that someone else needs it more. And sometimes, it is so hard to just allow ourselves to be cared for… to really receive the love that is being offered.

Prior to seminary, I worked in child care for 20 years. Over those years, and while raising our daughter, I have held and rocked many a tired cranky little one. Whether you have done so yourself or not, I invite to imagine holding an overly-tired toddler, who is crying and pushing away, resisting their need for sleep with every ounce of energy they have. They are so tired… and so upset… not wanting to give up, to let go, and to sink into the arms that are holding them.

Unitarian Universalism affirms that each of us is worthy of love…. That we are each more than our worst mistake. That we are each worthy of care and comfort. We are all held by a larger Love that will not let us go… even when we struggle… even when we push away… I can imagine the Holy whispering, “shhh…. Shhhh….. I’m right here.”

Sara: I’m also deeply aware that while the Divine, faith, and Biblical teaching all call us to love, in our society the expectations around that love vary according to the bodies we occupy. Lynn and I have been reflecting on the human need to receive mothering - the human need to receive love and comfort - and suggesting that faith communities may be sources of giving good care so those in them can then give good care to the world. Yet, I keep thinking about the realities of “emotional labor” and the ways that female embodied people, and people of color, along with others thought in society to occupy subordinate positions are subliminally taught to offer care and nurture to those who are male embodied, white, and empowered. Kate Manne in “Down Girl: The Logic of Misogyny” talks about the ways emotional labor is thought to be the work of some and the privilege to receive of others, and how this is encouraged with “carrots” and enforced with “sticks.”

This awareness brings some of the deeper challenges of celebrating love and comfort into view. Humans need love and comfort. Humans can give love and comfort. But often the giving becomes the role of some and the receiving the roles of others. I believe that one of the subversive narratives of faith is inverting those roles, and making the giving of love, comfort, and nurture the role of all people - especially the ones in power.

So, dear ones, may we receive the wonderful mothering of the Divine and of the people of faith, and may we soak in love and comfort so that we are able to share it with abundance.

Amen

#Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #unitarian universalism #Dialogue Sermon #Humans need love and comfort #Mothers Day is complicated #Rev Sara E Baron #Rev Lynn Gardner #Schenectady #A Very Schenectady Worship #UMC #still sorry about the umc world #subverting and loving mothers day #Love and Comfort

[domme-by-starlight]

University of Mind Control

Part 1.2

a continuation of x

Jenna stared. She’d been prepared for a lot of things, but she had to admit a roommate who looked like a literal succubus hadn’t been on the list. 

Also, she was hot. 

The possibly-a-succubus girl purred, “Hello, roommate.”

“Um,” Jenna responded eloquently, staring at the girl. Her irises were completely black, more like two voids than just dark eyes. Fuck. Fuck this is bad. 

After a moment, the succubus stepped forward. “My name is Morgana Heartbinder. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m - I’m Jenna.” She couldn’t stop staring. I need to break out of this, fast. Must be some kind of magic - it’s way too fast to be natural. 

“Lovely to meet you, Jenna,” Morgana murmured, coming closer and reaching out a hand. Jenna watched, frozen, as it came closer, trying and failing to move away. Her breath was coming faster now, despite her best efforts not to panic. 

Then Morgana’s hand touched her cheek, and burned. Jenna instinctively jerked away, startled, and tried to use the moment to gather some resistance. 

“Shit,” Morgana said. “Are you okay?”

Jenna blinked. In an instant, the girl had transformed from an enthralling demon to a normal-looking, anxious girl. “Um, I’m okay, I was just startled.”

“Are you sure? I forgot how cold most mortals are, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry. Did I burn you at all? I’m sure there’s a healer on staff, we could go find them-”

“No, I’m okay,” Jenna replied hastily. Morgana looked on the verge of panic. “It was just hot, not hurting - at least not for the fraction of a second that you touched me, at least.” She tried to smile reassuringly. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Morgana said with obvious relief, but then her face crumpled again. “But- but I’ve fucked it all up now! Father will be so angry, he trained me so long, if I can’t even take my roommate what hope do I have for anyone else? And I was so close, too! No offense,” she added quickly. 

“Uh, none taken. I’m… sure it’ll be okay? Are we expected to take control of other students here?” 

“Well, yeah,” the other girl said as if it were obvious. “It’s mostly temporary, but it gives you important practise. If you’re lucky, you might even get to keep them.”

“Mostly temporary? What does that mean? Uh, also, if it’s okay to ask, what… are you?”

Morgana was still wringing her hands, but she looked calmer, at least. “I’m, I think humans would call me a succubus? And every week one person gets to keep a thrall, based on good classwork and such. Didn’t you learn anything about UMC before you got here?”

“I tried, but it’s not the kind of thing you can just Google. Wait, do you have Google? Are - you’re not from Earth, right? I didn’t miss literal demons hanging around?”

Morgana laughed. “No, all the students are from different universes, I think. If you didn’t know anything about this place, why’d you come?”

“Well, my world doesn’t have any magic, as far as I know. And I just couldn’t turn down that kind of opportunity, honestly.” Jenna didn’t want to mention hypnosis, not yet. Morgana seemed genuine, but there was no harm in being careful. “What about you?”

She grimaced. “My father, mostly. He’s… well, he’s really powerful, and I’m not very good at being a succubus. I think he’s hoping that I’ll somehow become seductive and confident and a proper Heartbinder heir. Who knows, maybe he’s even right.”

“That’s awful,” Jenna said sincerely. “You seem like a lovely person, and I’m sure if you tried you could do really well! But I know what parental pressure can be like.” Jenna didn’t want to dwell on that topic, though. “I should unpack,” she said instead. “We don’t have long till classes start, right? Day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah. First assembly tonight, and tomorrow to explore and make friends. Or slaves. That’s probably why the assembly isn’t for several hours, too - it gives roommates time to figure out their, uh, arrangements.”

Jenna started unlocking her suitcases as they talked. “Will there really already be students under control by the end of the first day? I knew this institution might not exactly be ethical, but still.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure many of the students are already accomplished mind controllers in their chosen field. It doesn’t last forever, but it’s still a pretty significant advantage to have a thrall this early on.”

“Mm.” Jenna looked up. “Are you planning on trying to control me again?”

Morgana looked torn. “If I don’t enslave my roommate my father will kill me. Sorry, I don’t want to, you seem really nice, I just…”

Welp. “Hm. Could I just pretend to be your slave? Or, like, you technically take control of me but you don’t do anything with it? I just think we could really be friends, and if you control me we’ll never get to find out the proper way.”

“That… might work? And honestly, I’m not very good. I caught you off guard and even then it didn’t work. I just get so nervous that I forget what to say and start shaking and it just never works.” Morgana signed heavily and turned away to start dealing with her own belongings. 

Not good enough. Maybe she’s right, but she nearly had me. Jenna shivered. She really didn’t want to be enslaved, even if Morgana seemed nice. 

She narrowed her eyes in thought. “What if we made some sort of agreement? You can practise on me as much as you like and I’ll help you try to improve, but you only control me during those practise sessions. And maybe vice versa, too? I’d far rather have an ally than spend all year fighting with my own roommate for control.”

She hesitated for a moment, then threw in, “There are plenty of other students, after all, and I’d be happy to help you capture other people if you want.” I can deal with her trying to hold me to that when we get there. Free will first, consequences later. 

“I… you would do that? Honestly?”

“Promise.”

Morgana’s smile was so hopeful that it hurt Jenna’s heart a little. She wanted words with that girl’s father. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Morgana said. “I would love to have someone here I can trust not to be constantly trying to enslave me. To have a… a friend.”

“Then we’re agreed,” Jenna declared, trying not to show her relief. “Friends it is.”

#mine #hypnokink stories #university of mind control #umc #hypnokink #hypnosis #news flash: inductions are hard #so I'm just gonna post this #releases from here on out are hereby at my whim #because writing is hard apparently #send me ideas and thoughts and things! #enjoy!

[wingedfabray]

Text || Anderbray

Tagging: Blaine Anderson & Quinn Fabray When: January 1st, 2018 Where: Respective Dorm Rooms What: A text/communication crystal conversation between the two. Warnings: None.

BLAINE:

[1/1/2018 3:07 AM] [text] I finally got discharged from the main building. I'm heading back to my dorm. I hope you're already at yours. Or at home. Just be safw. [text] Sorry about my typos that might appear. My sxreenxs cracked. I think we all know I'm not the best at alteratjon mahjx. I'll tru to get kt fixed soon. Hopefulky when the chaos dies dow . [text] I'm sorry about what happened, Quinn.

QUINN:

[text] Perhaps a new phone, Blaine. Our magic isn't necessarily conducive to repairing cell phones. [text] I haven't been allowed home, yet. [text] Actually, I haven't heard from anyone. Soon, I'm sure, or I'll be finding a way there myself. [text] Are you okay?

BLAINE:

[text] Hah, that's right, isn't it. It was my fault, though, it was rude to be on the phone during an event... not allowed home? Are your parents and grandmother alright? Miss. Francine Fabray as well? Did they contact you at least? I'm alright compared to the others. I think my father must not need to check in on me since Cooper arrived to Liberty Island. Aether. I'm still in shock at what we overheard.

QUINN:

[text] It's hardly a crime to pull out your phone from time to time. [text] I believe if there was something seriously wrong, someone would have contacted me. I have to. They must be alright, just busy. [text] I can't either. Something very big is happening, Blaine.

BLAINE:

[text] Yes... [text] I'm glad to hear that. I wish your family all the strength to overcome this tragedy. I wish you all the strength, Quinn. [text] Do you remember when we got our memories of last Samhain (2016, to be exaxt) back? What did you do then?

QUINN:

[text] Went back to falling madly in love with a pillow, if memory serves correct.

BLAINE:

[text] After when the curse nroke; I should have added on.

QUINN:

[text] I talked to my father and grandmother. Daddy didn't have anything to say, he avoided the question. Harper, she directed me towards a book, but I'm not sure if it had to do with the events of Samhain, or something else I'm dealing with. [text] I don't think my father knows anything. Not really. [text] And thank you, Blaine. I wish you all the strength, as well. [text] Did you try to speak with your family?

BLAINE:

[text] I'm sorry that I didn't get to properly greet them. I normally would and... [text] I'm sorry if I ruined yours and Hunter's gala. However I firmly stand by my choice to invite Kurt. [text] Cooper is probably overtiming tonight. I haven't spoken with my dad. I will in the morning. Strangely enough, I'm hoping that I don't have to talk to grandmother... I'll ask Eleanora. [text] ...Funny thing is that my dad said he didn't know either. This was in February of last year. Hah, a year and... and this happens. It's worse than before.

QUINN:

[text] Why did you bring Kurt? Blaine, you had to know. [text] I hope that your family knows something, anything. It can't truly be that no one knows what these...things are. It's happened twice to us, and there's no telling how many times they've covered this up in the past. [text] I'll be asking my father again as soon as I can, granted he contacts me, and I'm able to visit home. If he refuses to answer again, I'll find another way. [text] Someone has to know...

BLAINE:

[text] I... I really had to make it up to him somehow. I don't know. I just wanted him there. He likes that sort of stuff, fancy dresses and rich parties. I thought... I thought if he was there that it would... change how I feel about all of this. [text] ...Quinn I'll text you back. [text] I'm sleepy. Yawnnn. [ComCrystal rings][ComCrystal] Sorry. I didn't know how safe our correspondence was. [ComCrystal] We need to find a way to talk to each other without worrying about spies... my dad knows I am working to pursue the truth because I, um, told him.  He said he wouldn't be able to protect me. Hah. As if I need it... anyway. Do you think the cardines are actually the only ones behind the covering up or... as I am beginning to think, this is something happening within all the branches of the UMC?

QUINN:

[ComCrystal] Oh, hello, Blaine. Communication Crystals may be useful, I...hadn't thought of our text conversations being monitored. Hopefully a magical means will be safer. As for the Cardines, it's hard to believe they're acting alone. They seemed...confused. This is bigger than us, somehow. I want to pursue the truth as well. Regardless of what our elders have to say. We're not unaffected in this.

BLAINE:

[ComCrystal] Yes, the Chief and Cooper himself looked shaken. This was an impromptu thing. A thing that the government never thought could happen... I do hope we are safe here. As long as they don't know our frequency. But there's got to be a private way for us to talk and keep a record of our findings... I have no aspirations of following the Andersons. It's not about a name on the line, it's PEOPLE. Too many commons got hurt. Aetherhell, and on the news they're fooled into thinking it's the workings of a doomsday cult. It's not right to keep magic away from them when our world is the one spilling over!(edited)

[There's a pause in the conversation, the connection crackles in the silence.]

QUINN:

[ComCrystal] Many people died, yes, both Commons and not it seems. Regardless of whether or not knowing about magic would actually help Commons, or potentially harm us, whatever is happening needs to be solved, if not resolved. What if we told them, not knowing what was happening, and the solution was another witch hunt, Blaine? I–

I don't know. I only want to know what's happening, and how we can stop it – if ther's a way to stop it – before anyone else dies. My...my grandmother uses journals that can connect to other journals. As long as no one is allowed to read them, that might be a more secure method of communication. It would be nice to know I'm not doing all of this research alone.

BLAINE:

[ComCrystal] ...We can't just leave them behind when they are caught in the crossfire between us and... whatever the doors are, Quinn. Who knows? Maybe they can help us based on their technology? Magic doesn't have to be the end all...

Okay, same here. Journals? That sounds like it might work. It allows us to keep our notes in one place, our plans safe from prying eyes. What research have you done already?

QUINN:

[ComCrystal] Is it leaving them behind, if we're working to solve the issue? Blaine, we don't have the best history, and this isn't exactly a smooth situation...

But I can't argue that right now. It's not clear and cut.  Nothing is. My research has been admittedly sparse, as I've been a bit caught up in other things of late. I plan to do more, from here forward. I'll start with figuring out the journals. I do have some books that I gathered from various libraries in Europe, mostly on Witch history, some LN history. I've looked at some rare books at Grim and War, but it's been busy with the holidays. I'll see if there's anything I can purchase there that might be of help. Lazarus may be able to help with the journals, as well.

#t: blaine #cc: blaine #happilyeveranders

[sebthealchemist-blog]

Sometimes It Hurts Instead || Sequinn

WHO : Quinn Fabray & Sebastian Smythe WHERE:  A beautiful cabin in Georgia, deep in the Appalachian mountains. WHEN: May 21-24, 2017 WHAT: Discussions of Quinn’s passions and the poor ways Sebastian has reacted to her choices. Mentions of Mason McCarthy. [2.7k words] WARNING: Mentions of pregnancy. Potentially harsh language.  

Sebastian had slept well. He’d chalked removable sigils around the door frames of the cabin after Quinn had gone to sleep, each a mirror image of what Mason had made him to protect his suite and afterward, his loft. He’d activated them and, upon feeling safe, passed out soundly. Waking up the next morning, Sebastian dragged himself out of bed, brewing a fresh pot of coffee but also making arrangements for tea, depending on what Quinn would like. He’d insisted she take the largest room the previous night, because it had the most beautiful view. And perhaps a bit of breathtaking nature would soften the way they’d hardened against one another, friendship fossilizing slowly as if it were going extinct. He needed to put a stop to that now. He was, more than anything, desperate not to lose her. Not when they’d come so close to being true friends. He moved to the porch clad in nothing but his pajama pants, kicking his feet up on the railing and resting his coffee mug on the table beside him. A familiar book in hand, he settled into read. And to wait.

It was beautiful, in a way that reminded her of home. But the best parts of home; the calm breezes through evergreens, the smell of pine. The dirt that seemed to cling to sneakers, and the ever-present sound of birds. It was still cool, especially early in the morning. Moisture had gathered at the edges of Quinn’s windows, framing the mountain view beyond. Quinn sat cross-legged on the bed, clad in a plain white t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. It was just warm enough inside, the smell of smoke a gentle reminder that there was a fire going downstairs somewhere. It was peaceful. It was fresh, and clean, and so gloriously disconnected. There was no NYADaily running a story on her love life, or students staring wide-eyed as she passed. There was no Judy, or Francine, or Russell. There was only Sebastian. She’d heard him shuffling around downstairs, perking up at the smell of coffee. It was almost serene enough that she could forget they needed to talk. Almost. But Sebastian was still a drifting friend. He was still harsh texts, and doubt. She wasn’t ready to talk, but she got up anyway, bothering only with a fleece overcoat before padding down the stairs. It wasn’t until after she’d poured herself a cup of coffee that she noticed him out on the deck. She hesitated for a moment before stepping out, taking in his posture, trying to settle the uneasy feeling in her stomach. With a deep breath, she made her way out, lowering herself quietly into the seat next to him. “Morning.” She started softly, voice rough with sleep.

Sebastian was incredibly lost in a dystopian burning of books when Quinn emerged from the cabin, startling him a bit. He closed the book but left it in hips lap, smiling a bit at her. This Quinn was so different from the one he was used to seeing. He was reminded of a time when she was goofy, silly, and slumbering in his room. It was nice to see her away from everything she forced herself to be. “Hey,” he said softly, “Good morning. Sleep okay?”

Quinn hummed in lieu of an answer, giving a small nod. The bed was comfortable, mountains of pillows had piled up around her. It had been quiet in ways that New York couldn’t even dream to be. But she’d spent hours awake. “I slept fine.” She said, but didn’t expand. Once she was asleep, she was asleep, and that’s all that mattered. She pulled her gaze away from the mountains to regard Sebastian. He looked different, somehow, backdropped by hardwood and sky, a book open in his lap. “What are you reading?”

Sebastian tried to give her a bit of a smile. Holding the book up to show her the cover, he said, “Fahrenheit 451. It was floating around in my potions bag… the weirdest shit ends up in there.” He set it to the side, asking, “Have you read it?” It was quite the Commons classic, but like many Commons books, it had wormed its way into his heart. And perhaps it was easier to start the discussion with books: a subject they both held close.

Quinn eyed the book. She’d heard of it; although, it was kind of hard not to. It was one of those deemed ‘classic,’ and it had been on her list for ages. But Quinn liked to get lost, and she hadn’t quite found the nerve to tackle it. “I haven’t.” She offered, looking up. Her stomach flopped uncomfortable, and her hands tugged at the fabric of her pajama bottoms. Sebastian looked casual, something about the early morning light made him look so far from the boy she’d seen at Bloodline gatherings growing up. They’d changed, and yet Quinn still felt miles away from him. “We don’t…really want to talk about books, do we?”

Sebastian had read it a thousand time. Without a second thought, he handed the well-loved copy to her. “Give it a chance. You can return it whenever you’ve finished it.” He smiled a bit looking over to Quinn. She looked remarkably beautiful in the golden light of the sunrise, dancing across her cheeks and making her look nearly as angelic as her magic. Instantly, he sat up a straighter as he spoke, pulling his feet to the ground and clearing his throat. “Yeah. I guess that wasn’t the point of the trip.” He sighed softly, letting a silence stretch out between them before finally speaking at last. “What are your dreams?” He asked softly.

Quinn accepted the book, turning it over gently in her hands. The binding was worn in a way that told it had been read over and again. The pages turned easily and it felt soft, the same as so many of Quinn’s own books. “Thank you.” Her voice barely carried above a whisper, and it took her a moment to look back at him. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to talk. If they could have four silent but amiable days, maybe they could be the good-bye that she felt she needed. His question brought her back to the moment, however, and she swallowed thickly. Her gaze switched from him to the mountains. The golden light slowly stretching across the green treetops was much easier to look at. There were a million answers tossing around in her mind, warring for attention, tumbling over and over until she couldn’t make one out from another. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure which dreams were hers, and which ones belonged to someone else. “I want to…” Words caught in her chest, and she swallowed again, eyes never leaving the treetops. “Follow in my parents’ footsteps, and make something of myself within the UMC.”

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. “No… I don’t—“ he raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t mean politically, Quinn. I mean… are there any special books you hope to own? Do you have hobbies that you want to pursue? Where do you want to travel?” He wanted, more than anything, to hear what was in her heart. Not the generated answer that her family expected her to give. What made Quinn happy? What did she do in her free time, besides reading and church things? He wanted to learn everything he could before it was too late for them.

Quinn’s eyes finally met Sebastian once more. She resisted the feeling of frustration that bubbled up, shoving it down before it could actually become a thing. She didn’t want to have casual conversations with Sebastian. She was mad at Sebastian. But Sebastian hadn’t brought her out into the middle of nowhere so that she could sit there and be mad at him. It was obvious that he’d wanted something genuine, something disconnected. There were no politics in the middle of nowhere. “I want to get lost in the Vatican Secret Archives, and visit my Godfather in Poland. I like obscure alternative bands who play in hole-in-the-wall venues, and books that are so detached from here that you can almost f–…get lost in them. What does any of this have to do with anything, Sebastian?”

A smile slowly crept back onto Sebastian’s face the more that Quinn explained. He couldn’t picture her listening to any kind of alternative music. For some reason, he pictured Beethoven and Tchaikovsky pouring into Quinn’s ears overtime she wore headphones. “Yeah?” He asked with a bit of a laugh, tilting his head. “Have you watched any Commons’ movies? I’ve learned that some of them are nearly as good at making forget about the world around me as books are.” He sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees as he thought about her question. “I said some shitty stuff, Quinn. I’m sorry I said the things the way I said them. But I worry… and you’re going to tell me it’s none of my business and that I’m a jackass which is fine… I worry that you’re going to lose sight of all of those things if you resign yourself to a life with Hunter Clarington. He won’t take you to dingy bars for music shows, or allow you the faux pas of getting lost in the Vatican. He’s not going to want a life of adventure, Quinn. And I know you have adventure in your heart. It’s beautiful and so unique to you.” He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Someone like Mason, though? He would want to make you happy. He’d take you to far off places, all while supporting your political aspirations. He’d love you. You deserve someone who will truly love you."

Quinn’s jaw clenched, now familiar anger bubbling up in her chest. She pulled a breath in, releasing it slowly. “Aether, you just continue to miss the point entirely.” The tension in her chest refused to yield, and she felt tired. It didn’t matter how many times, how many ways she tried to explain herself. It didn’t matter, if it was what she wanted. She would still be throwing her life away. “I’m not mad about how you said anything; although, you have a tendency to say things in the worst ways. It’s that you seem to believe Hunter will ever have the power, the right, or the ability to allow me to do anything. If I want to get lost in the Vatican Secret Archives, I’m going to. And I don’t need Hunter to take me to a music show, I can go on my own.” She paused, breathless. When she continued, her voice was softer in a way that she didn’t usually allow with anyone beside Mason or Blaine. “It’s that you refuse to respect the things that are important to me, you only tear them down.” They only disappoint you.

Sebastian blinked a few times, shaking his head. “That’s not what I mean at all,” he said, pausing to sip his coffee, trying to quench the way his mouth had gone dry. “I don’t mean—“ he laughed drily, shaking his head again. “Quinn, I don’t think for a single moment that you’d listen if he tried to tell you what to do or how to do it. But he’s never going to do it with you. You could have more than doing things alone. You could have a partner. I just… I wish you could see that, I guess. And what if you tire eventually of doing things alone? And slowly, the things you love fade away, one by one?” The tone of Quinn’s voice caught him off guard, making him do a double take in her direction. “I’m not tearing anything down. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it that I want all of those things for you.” Sebastian wanted so much to lean over, to take her hand, to try to apologize for being an idiot, but words failed him. “I know there is more in you than vaguely racist comments and your parents’ opinions.” He didn’t want to have to say what he was about to; Sebastian wanted nothing more to fight with Quinn until she realized Hunter Clarington wasn’t right for her. But he couldn’t. “If… if you really want to be that person, I will do my absolute best to support you. But I’m never going to stop seeing the potential in you. I will always know and love the parts of you that you keep buried. And I won’t be able to make myself stop hoping that you let other people see those parts in you too.”

“Isn’t it?” Quinn bit icily, breath catching on a huff. The last time she’d checked, asking her if she’d already run off to get knocked up was essentially saying that’s all he believed her marriage would be good for. Her hands smoothed at her pajama pants, and she did her best to push past the thought. Sebastian was trying to accept her choices, even if it was obviously hard for him. Sebastian was trying to believe in her, but Quinn was caught on the ‘trying’ of it all. Mason’s support had always been quietly insistent in a way that made Quinn believe. It wasn’t about saying ‘this is wrong,’ but rather talking her through the doubts that she already had. Sebastian said he would try, but she could remember so many times when he just didn’t. His words buzzed through her mind on loop, about Hunter, about her political standings, about her friendship with Mason. For every good there was a bad, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to get past it. Sebastian was biting words over a text message, but pulling her away from the Ice Ball when she needed it the most; echoing the words that her father had said to her on multiple occasions, but quiet cabin trips because he cared enough to fight for their friendship. “This is beautiful, Sebastian.” She gestured vaguely around her, “And the fact that you’re trying, that you’re willing to try, it means a lot to me.” Her eyes found his, and for a moment she wanted to leave it there. “But…I believe this, between us, is bigger than a weekend getaway, and some kind words.”

Nearly instantly, he stiffened. “Ah. Right, of course.” His expression changed, softness leaving his eyes and his voice. He’d suddenly found his professional tone once more and became harshly aware of his comfortable clothing and lack of shirt. Had he not thought better of himself in front of Quinn Fabray? Why had he been naïve enough to think any of this trip was going to work? As if Quinn was going to magically open up to him and he’d sing some kind of miraculous cure for the canyon that had opened between them. He’d planned on talking about so many things over the stretch of days they were together. Blaine’s dream, Samhain, the election… but now, he quashed all of that deep within himself. If he buried it down far enough, away with the friendship with Quinn that had fell through his fingers like sand, he couldn’t have to feel any of it anymore. It means a lot to me. But not enough. Apologizing was never easy, and now he remembered why. Sometime apologies just weren’t sufficient. He wasn’t sufficient. “The house is big enough for the both of to enjoy the next few days. There’s food in the fridge for when you’re hungry. I’ll be running into town later to a small bookshop. You can join me if you wish. I’ll leave the items I purchase in the mutual living space if you choose not to go and you can peruse them at your leisure. I’m going to shower.” Sebastian picked up his coffee, now rapidly cooling, and headed up to his room. He’d tried. He’d put in more effort than he ever had with someone, and it had failed. This was, he remembered, the downside of building relationships and why he didn’t do it. 

#sometimes it hurts instead #cw: pregnancy

[kconi2108-blog]

December 9, 2017

On December 9th 2017 my life changed forever. In an effort to manage the turmoil during my bereavement, I've decided to blog my thoughts and feelings. I find myself obsessively thinking  about random things and I think it will help to process this grief, sadness, anger and all the other emotions and thoughts I am dealing with. I apologize ahead of time if I ramble or repeat.

I posted that picture of Abby earlier that day. I wanted to show her off to everyone. She was becoming a very lovely girl and I was moved to share her beauty with the world.

Later that afternoon, Abby called me and told me she was going Nadias for one of the kids birthday. She asked if I had 10 bucks and if I wanted to hook up. I wasnt interested and declined.

Sunday December 10th I got up as usual for work and I sent Abby a text letting her know what my day looked like and wanted to know what her day looked like so we can hook up after work. I checked my phone after work and I hadn't heard back from her. As always I was concerned. I checked the tracker that Abby installed on my phone and it showed her location but it appeared that her phone was off. Odd but not unusual  I figured her battery died. I did not check the location of the tracker and had I done that it may have revealed that the phone was at UMC Hospital.

After I got off work I went by and picked up Lucy she was going to come back to the tiny house with me until her mother came to pick her up after her shift around midnight. She and I had a pleasant evening and we went to bed around 8:30pm. Approximately 10:30 Sunday night I received a phone call from an unknown number obviously thinking it was Abigail I immediately answered. The woman on the other side of the phone said she was from Clark County coroner's office and she was calling regarding Abigail Fischl. She asked if I was related to Abigail. She proceeded to tell me that Abigail had been shot the night before and did not survive. She said they couldn't locate me to tell me in person. She said she was sorry and she gave me some information and hung up the phone. Obviously I am in shock and my three year old granddaughter is asleep in the bed next to me. My body wants to scream. I cannot scream I will frighten my granddaughter. She will not understand. I need help. That's all I could say over and over and over. I need help. I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn't wake Lucy. I reached out to Nikki but she was still at work. I called Tony he was on a job in Texas. I told him what had happened and he called Ronnie to come over. Shortly after Nikki showed up. When I had told her that her baby sister was dead she screamed like a wounded animal. We had no choice but to go tell Adam. That night the three of us sat quietly in disbelief and pure shock. Abby is dead. She had been shot. Now what?

[firstumcschenectady]

“Every. Single. Time.” based on Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15

As far as I can tell, the stories of the wandering in the desert are stories of the people learning dependence on God. Many of the stories of Exodus repeat the narrative “(1) Something was wrong, the people were worried. (2) The people complained. (3) God provided.” Since deserts aren't super hospitable to life, they make sense as places people can learn their dependence. The writer of Deuteronomy ends up worrying that once the people enter the “land of milk and honey” they'll forget that they are dependent on God. In the early centuries of Christianity the “Desert Fathers and Mothers” returned to the desert to seek connection with the Divine, and learn again the lessons of dependence.

Historically, there are some reasons to question the overarching narrative of the 40 year wandering in the desert. It may be MORE true that some of the proto-Israelites were desert nomads for a prolonged time in their history, and some of the proto-Israelites were slaves who had escaped from Egypt, and some of the proto-Israelites were Canaanites who decide to follow YHWH when the nomads and former slaves told their stories about YHWH. I rather like this idea, because it is pretty easy to see how nomadic hunter-gatherers in a harsh desert climate would definitely experience the gift of life as a gift from God. And, that their descendants who lived a more settled and fertile existence could relatively quickly change their minds about how lucky they are to be simply alive.

I rather like how these stories begin. The people are frightened for their lives. There is a lack of FOOD or WATER, and those are seriously dangerous lacks. The stories present frightened people as appropriately and realistically negative. They grumble. They mumble. They complain. They romanticize their former lives. In this case, they say, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger." And, I'll admit, I feel for Moses and Aaron. That ISN'T FAIR. It isn't even TRUE. But, I also feel for the people, because when humans are frightened for their lives, they really can't be held accountable for being “unfair” much less have reasonable perspective.

In these Exodus stories, every single time, God intervenes and provides. EVERY SINGLE TIME. Sometimes Moses and Aaron get annoyed, sometimes God gets annoyed, sometimes as a reader it gets annoying that they don't learn how to trust faster, but God provides EVERY SINGLE TIME.

And I have some feelings about that, because in our world today there is both an abundance of food and an abundance of hunger. Based on both the stories of our faith and the miraculous food producing capacity of the earth, I'm pretty sure that the story is STILL that God provides. But... human beings get in the way. We hoard (the US government is one of the worst), we promote “competition” for who gets to eat, we blame the hungry for being hungry, and we permit wealth to rise to the top no matter the cost to the bottom.

God provides.

Humans intercept.

The challenge is not scarcity – there is enough. There is MORE than enough. The problem is distribution . That is, the problem is acting out the belief that all people are worthy of surviving and thriving, as beloveds of God.

Around here, we try to do our part to change that story. We promote the humanity and belovedness of all people. We have a free breakfast, and we give people extra food to help them make it through the week. We advocate for policies to alleviate hunger everywhere in the world. We donate to SICM and help with summer lunches. We educate ourselves about food distribution, and work with “Bread for the World.” Our tithes and offerings promote justice and compassion programs around the world, and our extra gifts to UMCOR just add on to it.

But, it is a big problem and there is lot of work to be done to BOTH feed all of God's people AND change policies so we don't allow anyone to be hungry.

Some of the reason I said all that is because it is true. Another reason is because I'm about to take this story metaphorically, and I could not do so in good faith until I also took the literal meaning of hungry people seriously as well. Especially now when A LOT more people are hungry world wide then were before the pandemic.

When I first considered this passage, my attention was drawn to that complaining and yearning for Egypt. It seemed worth talking about our yearning for what used to be, and how the yearning can erase the realities of the past – things like slavery for example. Much of what I hear, and a good portion of what I experience these days is a yearning for pre-pandemic times. Recently, after I'd shared a bit about how odd it was to give birth during a pandemic and how unexpected parenting a baby during a pandemic has been, a perspective person said, “Well, and you got pregnant before the pandemic, you didn't sign up for any of this.”

I sighed with relief, like you do when someone really understands. Also, I think that applies to all of us a little bit. The things we were thinking about, planning, and even worrying about 2 years ago all changed on us in early 2020. And we didn't sign up for this! The stressors and conflicts we live now we wouldn't have been able to dream 2 years ago. And we didn't sign up for this.

2 years ago wasn't great. It really wasn't. There were serious injustices happening, and the things we were worried about were real. Comparatively though, I see why we want to go back. I can even see why the people grumbling in the desert would have wanted to go back. With death looming, anything else looks better. But Egypt wasn't their future, it was their past. And we aren't going back to pre-pandemic times either.

The wandering in the desert, as the story says, was important for forming the people, forming their faith, teaching them their dependence on God. It got them ready for the Promised Land, but it was so hard and so terrifying, there were a lot of times they thought going back was worth it. Without knowing what the Promised Land would be like, or when they would get there, the only things they knew were the terrifying lack of resources of the desert and the utter oppression of slavery.

For most of us, our pre-pandemic times weren't THAT bad, but I hear people saying now, “Having had a break from it all, I don't want to live like that anymore.” We're different. We've been formed by this time in the desert. We're still being formed by this time in the desert. I'm not sure when the Promised Land is coming.

As much as the desire to go back to Egypt caught my initial attention, I couldn't help but notice that it is only the beginning of this story. This isn't the story of landing in the Promised Land. This is a story of having God provide. This is a story of there being BREAD on the ground in the desert that would sustain the people AND quails flying overhead for protein, and both of them being gifts of life from the God of life. (In the desert, where other people didn't interfere with God's gifts.)

This is the story where God says, “'At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.'" And then when it happened, and the bread showed up, the people said, “What is it??????”

And this is where I think God is leading me today.

We're in the desert, dear ones. Whatever our roles and circumstances were in Egypt, it is far behind. Whatever our roles and circumstances will be in the Promised Land, we aren't there yet. We are DEEP in the desert, learning our dependence on God. And that means that God is giving us gifts that we desperately need to survive.

And most likely we're responding along the lines of “Huh?” or “What is THAT?” Or “I'm not sure I want that.” Maybe more than anything we're thinking, “I'd rather have bread from Pereccas, or Gershons, or Friehofers.” These gift that God is giving, we might not even recognize them. We might not want them. We might be a little horrified.

Today's story ends with Moses telling the confused and hungry people, “It is the bread that YHWH has given to you to eat.”

What is the bread that God is giving to you to eat right now? How are you feeling about it?

Holy One, help us see what you are giving us, and help us receive nourishment from what you offer. We are tired, weary, weak, and frightened people. Your nourishment is what we need to go on, and we know that this desert wandering is not your final plan for us. Amen

August 1, 2021

Rev. Sara E. Baron 

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 

Pronouns: she/her/hers 

http://fumcschenectady.org/ 

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

#Desert #Manna #What is it #Every Single Time #God Provides #Thinking Church #Progressive Christainity #Rev Sara E Baron #FUMC Schenectady #UMC #Sorry about the homophobic UMC world #We're working on it #Pandemic desert #God STILL provides #Hunger

[wingedfabray]

Merry Go ‘Round || Self-Para

Tagging: Quinn Fabray with mentions of others When: September-October 2017 Where: New York, Connecticut, Italy, Switzerland, & Poland What: In which Quinn finds her number. Warnings: None.

She was sitting at her desk, when the package arrived. The soft knock on her door was enough to make her jump. Her focus was far away, drifing over campus, drifting up. Too much had happened, since Harper had slipped a note into her hand and walked away. There was too much to do, too much chaos, too much noise. The note had been slipped into a bedside drawer, and she had settled into casual research. But the knock at the door brought everything right back.

The package was obviously a book, wrapped in brown paper and tied with pale string. Her grandmother's looped handwriting was scrawled in one corner, "This should be everything you need." She opened it slowly, carefully, peeling each corner back with shaking hands. It was an old journal, the edges soft and worn. Her hands shook as she layed it upon her desk. This was important. This was something from her grandmother's past, something that she'd held close for so long. Quinn could tell. It was in the way the leather gave easily when she opened it, how the pages were bent and frayed at the edges. It was important, she felt like she was holding history.

Quinn hadn't expected much, when she'd asked for help. She'd expected silence, a nod, or perhaps another string of numbers that would take her months to decode. That would take Sam Evans giving her a nudge in the right direction. This was so much more than a nudge. This was so much more than a nod, or silence. Her grandmother had handed her a journal. She was almost afraid to turn the first page. What if it was empty? What if it was just another mystery?

Finally pushing past the initial hesitation, Quinn turned the first page. It was full. Her eyes widened as they trailed over the looped handwriting, the first entry was signed and dated Harper Fabray, but the second entry caught her eye. It wasn't her grandmother's handwriting at all. It was dated and signed Regina Isolde Anderson, the handwriting sharper, more succinct. It wasn't just a journal. It was a correspondence.

She had her own. It was bound in black leather, with the imprint of two angel wings imprinted in the bottom right corner. Harper had given it to her when she was very little, just after her Godfather had left, when things seemed to hurt the most, and there was no way up. Their interactions were sparse, but years had filled the ledger almost to the end. Quinn was familiar with how the worked, with the magic soaked into the pages. While she’d never heard it, Quinn felt like her grandmother’s voice was hidden in the looped scrawl of her ledgers.

Quickly flipping through, she found that some sections were blurred out, as though the writing was there, but hidden behind a filter. The pages felt warm, hinting at worse if she tried to lift whatever spell kept them from her sight. Resolving herself against knowing all of Harper Fabray’s secrets, Quinn turned to the beginning once more. A small flame of excitement flickered to life somewhere in her chest, and a grin spread across her face. Jenna’s tail twitched in interest, paws shifting against the carpets in response to Quinn’s mood.

September 23rd, 2017

“October 3rd, 1967: Yale is a storybook in Autumn. The leaves have turned contrasting shades of orange, yellow, and red. Sidewalks are adorned in bright colors, shiny with rain. I wish I could take you, my dear Russell. I do hope you’re doing well with your uncle. They’ve taken quite an interest in you. They’ll have you running numbers from dusk ‘til dawn, but my son, do not forget the sun, your swing set and the little wooden sword you made from birch, do not forget me. I’ll bring you a book back from Yale: something 'with pictures’ you said, yes?”

Yale wasn’t quite the way her grandmother had described it. The leaves were just beginning to turn, but they had not yet fallen, and a bright sun beat cool light onto dry sidewalks. Quinn wonders if her grandmother had walked those paths. If she’d taken the same route to the library, cutting through old brick buildings, past well-manicured lawns, dodging students absorbed in their texts. It was so long ago, she wonders how much it had changed.

The library itself was grand, sweeping views leading the eye down floors and floors of books. Somewhere deep inside the rare books section was buried, and Quinn barely paused as she made her way through, a pass clenched tightly in her hands. Her grandmothers decimal number was burning a hole through the pocket in her sundress, and she wondered why she’d even brought it. The number was emblazoned in her mind, she’d likely never forget it again, even long after she’d discovered exactly what it meant. Her footsteps only faltered through the literature section, her eyes catching on ‘Austen.’

Everything smelled like old books, dusty paper, and ink. Beinecke was quiet and still, her footsteps echoing off of the protective glass. It was clean, techs handling books and manuscripts with gloves, holding them out as though they were bombs, ready to burst with a simple draft. A tech shook his head gently, when Quinn asked about outdated listing systems. “Manuscripts are brought in and transferred out all the time. Sorry, can’t help ya there. Is there anything else you need?”

October 4th, 2017

“December 12th, 1968: Dearest Regina Isolde Anderson, I have finally arrived in Venice. It’s colder here, and the cobblestone is dusted in frost. St. Mark’s has proven to be an excellent suggestion, but I expected no less of someone as savvy as you. I’ll be spending a few days here, the corner cafes are exceptional, and I’d rather I never had to leave. I’ll be brief, as I’ve said this many a time in the past year, but thank you for your support. In light of recent events, this trip has been something of a necessity for me, one that has been made possible through the care and support of friends and family. I shall be back before too long, do keep me up to date on the happenings with the UMC.”

It looked like a church. Quinn’s heels click clicked against the stone floors, and her wide eyes caught on every arch, every contrast in the stone, every globe, railing, and leather bound book. Light filtered in through windowed walls, and she had to resist the urge to run her hands along the spines of each book as she walked by. If Quinn had ever dreamt of traveling, if she’d ever sat down and thought about where she would go, what she would do, this library would feature every single time.

Too many days were spent in Venice, even after she’d rifled through every possible answer it had to offer. She wore her hair in curled up-dos, gloved hands wrapping silken scarves around her neck, sunglasses shading out the bright but cool sunlight. Days were spent in corner cafes, just as Harper had done so many years before. When she left, she was no closer to an answer, but she felt lighter, and closer to her grandmother than she ever had before.

October 12th, 2017

“June 26th, 1974: Daniel Fabray, I’ve found myself lost. Please, do not be alarmed. There’s no need to send for me, it is in..

I am in St. Galen, Switzerland. It’s so different here, than it is in New York. It’s different in ways that feel more like home than New York ever has. You see, Daniel, I’m lost of mind. I’ve found myself surrounded by books, so full on information that I should be content. But there’s no way for me to voice it. What good is knowing what I know, if I can’t use it? You know better than anyone, dearest brother. You know what this means. We’re capable of so much, you and I. What we can do is beautiful, grand. I remember how it felt, how wonderful and quiet and peaceful it could be. Now I’ve seen so much more, inked into ancient pages. The words sound so beautiful in my  head, Daniel. But I’ll never know what they feel like, will I?

My apologies, I’m simply missing home.”

There was something darker about the cobblestone streets of St. Galen. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, stones wet from a recent rain were painted in the golden light of the streetlights. It was just cold enough to warrant a coat, which was drawn close against her chin, a scarf covering her mouth and nose. Most people passed by her with their heads turned down, unconcerned with another lost tourist.

She’d spent hours in St. Galen, most of which running over Harper’s words over and again. It hurt, somehow, even years later. She wondered if her grandmother had ever learned what those words felt like. There was a difference, she knew, between reading a spell, and saying it. Enochian felt different. It wasn’t just conveying a point, it wasn’t just another way to say ‘hello.’ She knew that, even before Harper’s cryptic note, even before her journey around the world.

She knew that, when she stood outside St. Patricks, asking the doors to open and feeling empty instead.

There was a book, tucked away in Abbey Library of St. Gall. It was old, the pages dusty. It wasn’t it, Quinn knew, but it was more than she’d had before she began her journey. She’d pulled out an empty notebook, whispering a quiet << Transfer >> and stepping back. The words inked themselves into the empty pages, her circle hovering above them, spinning slowly.

She’d tucked the book back where she found it with a sigh, fingers lingering over the spine.

“June 27th, 1974: Dearest Sister, Please come home.

I’ll be back soon; I’ve only one more stop. Please give Russell my love.”

October 25th, 2017

“September 19th, 1974: Daniel Fabray, I have found it! Daniel, I do believe Father was expecting me. I asked for their records, and he simply smiled. This text is beautiful, but it is old. You wouldn’t believe the kind of magic it proposes. It’s everything that I’ve ever wanted. It’s what I would have made of myself, had I still...

There is no use dwelling. I will record what I can, and return home as soon as I’ve had my fill of Poland. Father has expressed interest in visiting New York, perhaps I’ll bring a visitor. I’ll see you before too long, dear brother.”

Quinn traced the words over and again. Poland. She couldn’t help but wonder what she was truly looking for, when she stepped through an obscure portal in Kraków. There was still a number in her pocket, but...Quinn knew who her grandmother was talking about, she was sure of it. She knew he had bushy grey eyebrows, and a kind smile. His accent was strong, but his voice was gentle. He spoke with a slow patience that settled her, even when all she wanted to do was scream and cry. She could still hear his quiet “You are loved, Lucy.”

When she walked through the doors of the Parish of St. John, she was looking for him.

But the pastor was young, and he spoke very little english. Quinn quelled her disappointment with a sharp breath, fists clenched at her side. She offered a smile and inquired about their records. He smiled, as though he’d been waiting for her.

They made their way down a set of stone steps, leaving the grand architecture behind, replaced by plain cement walls. The air was dry, and it smelled of paper. Flickering lights illuminated rows of books, each with a number written in crooked ink at the bottom of the spine.

When she found hers, it had two angel wings imprinted into the bottom right corner.

#paras #p: merry go round

[firstumcschenectady]

“Bread for the World” based on Isaiah 25:1-9

In 2005 I was commissioned as a probationary Elder in The United Methodist Church, and immediately thereafter I went to Cuba on a Volunteer in Mission Trip (VIM). Cuba was fascinating and the trip was meaningful and educational. We started and ended our time in Cuba at the Methodist Hospitality House in Havana. On our last night, we were to have closing worship and the other clergy on the trip informed me that I was to preside at the communion table (for the first time). As a seminary student, I'd been involved in a lot of conversations about bread and grape juice; particularly around the idea that the the bread and wine that Jesus had used were the common elements of food for the people of his day, and that in places where bread and grape juice are not common food, perhaps they should not be the elements of communion. I found it convincing, particularly after having learned that grape juice is SUPER expensive in Cuba as grapes are not native and embargoes limit trade.

Thus, I decided to preside over the table with the elements of the people: salines and mango juice. Once our Cuban hosts heard about this, they wanted to partake as well. So, in one of those strikingly holy moments of life, I stood as an American woman in a rooftop in Havana, and presided over a bilingual communion service with salines and mango juice.

Not so long after that, I was back at school and back at my pastoral internship, helping to serve a Thanksgiving meal at the Hollywood UMC. It was a Sunday night, and the large room was filled with tables and the tables were filled with people. After serving most of the crowd, I looked up. What I saw took my breath away. It was the church's Thanksgiving Dinner, so many of the people who were present were church members; but they also made all meals open to the community, so many of those present were people who were homeless and hungry. The two crowds were intermingled at each table, sitting together and sharing a meal. The tables were diverse in other ways as well: age, race, country of origin, sexual orientations, gender identities, and even religious faith. On that day when I looked up and saw God's beloved people talking, laughing, and eating together I knew I'd seen the kin-dom of God on earth (if only for a moment).

Somewhere along the line, those two powerful moments have bonded in my brain, the communion meal intermingled with the shared meal of church fellowship that also fed the hungry. Perhaps they were tied together by the reflections of Rev. Dr. Barbara Thorington Green, who often speaks about the ways that God's Table (communion) invokes and also blesses the tables we share fuller meals at. Food is sacred, shared food even more so, and whether it is meals that fill the belly or tiny pieces of bread meant to satiate the soul, they matter.

Isaiah shares a vision of God in our reading today, and it is one that invokes and expands both of the stories I just told you. In this passage God prepares a table, a feast actually, of rich foods that would nourish bodies, and invites ALL people from ALL nations to the feast. God makes the food, for God's people, and all can eat together. It is so spectacular, so marvelous, that it makes sense that within such a God-drenched experience that God would also bring an end to death and bring God's presence fully to the people.

Abundant, life-giving food, prepared for ALL people by God's own self is equivalent, it seems, to swallowing up death itself.

This is not the world we live in. (Sorry to break it to you.) Death is here, still. Abundant, life-giving food is not available to all of God's people, and while the presence of God may be here with us, we often don't feel drenched in its goodness. According to the resources provided by Bread for the World, “Nearly 15 percent of U.S. households — approximately 49 million Americans, including 15.9 million children — struggle to put food on the table.”1 The problem is not limited to the United States. They also share, “The number of hungry people in Asia has also declined substantially, by 217 million between 1990-92 and 2012-14, according to the U.N. Food and Agriculture Organization. Yet Asia still has to two-thirds of the world’s hungry people.” Specifically, “More than 40 percent of children in India are stunted (being too short for their age group) due to malnutrition.” The other area of the world in greatest need is sub-Saharan Africa, “Just over a quarter of the world’s undernourished people live in the countries south of the Sahara Desert in Africa. Progress against hunger has been slow in this region. In 1990, one in three people in the region were undernourished. Today, one in four suffer from hunger”.2 “All added up, worldwide, 1.2 billion people still live in extreme poverty—on less than $1.25 per day.”3 This is WAY down from the recent past, but still unacceptable.

Bread for the world links to the United Nations Sustainable Development goals, which include the information that “In 2016, an estimated 155 million children under age 5 were stunted (low height for their age), down from 198 million in 2000, ”4 and “The proportion of undernourished people worldwide declined from 15 per cent in 2000-2002 to about 11 per cent in 2014-2016. … Globally, about 793 million people were undernourished in 2014-2016, down from 930 million in 2000-2002.”5 The decline in global hunger is a great thing, but it is still way too much.

We don't live in a world where abundant, life-giving food is available to all of God's people, not at all. And while global poverty and hunger was on the decline this year (praise God!), within the United States it rose, and is expected to keep rising. In previous years we have participated in the Bread for the World offering of Letters, asking our state and federal elected officials to pass expansive legislation to make food available to hungry people, this year we are aware that it will fall on deaf ears. We aren't fighting to expand programs to hungry people anymore, we are now fighting to keep resources that exist, insufficient though they are.

It is especially difficult right now, in the US and in the world, because the impacts of Global Climate change are drastically impacting food production, droughts and floods, wars and migration, transportation and food prices. All of this means that access to abundant, life-giving food is very difficult for many. Thanks be to God for the many organizations committed to finding ways to get food to hungry people, and thanks be to God that in the world at large there was a DECLINE in hunger despite these extra challenges!!

Isaiah's dream, however, still feels far off. I want to retell you the dream, in slightly different language, because I think we all need to soak in it a bit.

Our God, the one who never abandons us, the one who holds us together, We remember all that you have done, all the acts of liberation, and justice, all the ways you've sparked creativity, nurtured love, and healed brokenness. You have acted, and you have guided us to destroy the fortresses of oppression, and you ensure they will never be rebuild. The powers that deny anyone's humanity are over. The systems that privilege one over another are no more. Awe has struck all of us, the strong and the weak alike, at what you can do. You have reminded us of your values, and brought them to life. You are the sanctuary for the poor, the one who is safe shelter to those in need and in despair, protection from from hurricanes and rainstorms, a fireproof haven from the sun and from the fires, a sturdy foundation that not even an earthquake can harm. When the powerful attacked the weak, like a blizzard attacking a disintegrating home, when the cries of those calling for injustice seemed to drown out the voices calling for justice, you acted. You provided reinforcements and insulation for the homes, you reminded those calling for injustice of their own needs, and they stopped yelling and started listening. Here, here in this place, this place that has known such tragedy, fear, anger, sadness, and despair, here in this place you will give gifts to all your people. One will sit by another, and no characteristic of humanity will separate them. Here, in this place, you feed us all with delicious food, nourishing us, healing us, reminding us of goodness once again. Here, in this place, comfort will be shared, tears will be dried, shame will be destroyed, and death itself will lose its power to frighten us or bring us pain. Knowing that this will happen, let us be glad and rejoice in the goodness.

Commentators say that this vision won't necessarily come true exactly as written. #spoileralert Yet, I'm told that we can't be part of creating what we can't dream of, and we can't see what we can't conceive of. In the midst of the brokenness all around us, we need reminders of what goodness looks like, what hope would create if it could, what dreams God is dreaming over the long run. Some of us (me included) are so busy being concerned about the present that we lose sight of the idea that God is very good at playing a very long game.

So, bread for the world, that's the dream. All people being fed with abundant, life-giving food. Isaiah says not just bread but delicious soups and sauces, not just food but drink as well. No one going hungry, no one in need, not in body nor in soul.

That's one of God's dreams, and it is surely a God sized dream.  Bread for the World and the United Nations are actually dreaming it with God, the goal is to eliminate hunger in the world by 2030. They say it is going more slowly than the hoped – but it is GOING. God's dreams might just be in reach, this one and all the rest as well. May we take the time to soak in the goodness of God's dreams, to trust in the visions God has for an abundant and just world, and give our attention to what might be – God is so good the dreams and visions are nourishing for us. Amen

1Bread for the World “About Hunger” http://www.bread.org/where-does-hunger-existaccessed on 10/12/17.

2Grassroots Advocacy Resources, Facts on Hunger and Poverty,http://www.bread.org/sites/default/files/downloads/gar-issues-poverty-hunger-us.pdfaccessed on 10/12/17.

3Grassroots Advocacy Resources

4United Nations, The Sustainable Development Goals Report 2017,https://unstats.un.org/sdgs/files/report/2017/TheSustainableDevelopmentGoalsReport2017.pdf accessed on 10/12/17.

5United Nations

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Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

October 15, 2017

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