Survivorship

And I've been reflecting a lot of late about what makes someone a "survivor," and thus differentiates them from being a "victim" or even just a "patient?" Is there some sort of minimum residency requirement, or does one begin surviving the moment they know they have the disease, and decide not to be victimized by it? And how much of that is denial, and how much is wishful thinking, and how much is faith and optimistic, hopeful confidence, and how much of it is just plain old mule-headed stubborn tenacity and persistence? I don't really know the answers, of course. Guess the only way to find out is to follow the path.

Been reading a really excellent cancer book too, Kris Carr's Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips which was written by and for women half my age, but still has some pretty profound insights into this whole issue. The forward is by Sheryl Crow, which by itself was enough to get it into my Amazon shopping cart.

I've been noticing that a lot of these cancer narratives have pretty similar trajectories, kinda like a chess game.... The Opening Moves are all pretty well-scripted these days; we've done it so often now, we can predict those initial outcomes pretty accurately, at least on a statistical level. Then comes the Middle Game, a series of sacrifices and exchanges in the attempt to gain a slight advantage in position or material to take into the End Game... where like "The Seventh Seal," Black always is destined to win eventually.

I'm coming to the end of the opening now. Feeling pretty good about how things have developed, and am looking forward to still being pro-active while I "wait and watch" -- especially about moving away from my "chemo" diet to something a little more macrorbiotic/anti-cancer/holistic/organic/whatever. Lots of homework to do, in any event. Which is something I find I do pretty well.

Not that I'm planning to be fanatical about it either. There's still got to be room SOMEWHERE in my lifestyle for an occasional basket of chicken wings at Bingas.

Mostly though, right this moment I'm really worried about my little dog. The sore on her left hind leg has gotten much worse; it's causing her a lot of pain, and there's really not a lot I can do for her about it right now, except to keep her as comfortable as I can on her bed, make sure she's taking her painkillers, and take her back in to see the vet tomorrow morning. Assuming I can rustle up a ride. Which I'm confident I'll be able to do eventually.

THE ADORABLE PARKER

We've all heard how people and their pets grow to resemble one another, but this is getting ridiculous. Parker is here home with me for awhile, because her degenerative disc disease has apparently progressed to the point that she is no longer capable of bearing weight on her left hind leg, and I want to be able to get a good sense of how she is feeling so that I can make good decisions about her ongoing medical care.

My dogsitters Jeanne and Jane have both been terrific; I am so grateful to both of them (and their families) for the love they have shown to me and my "companion animal," but at this point I really do need to be there in person, just so I can know and understand what is really going on. Ironically, the fact that she is now as disabled as I am actually makes it a little easier for me to care for her...as well as motivating me to work a little harder on my own rehab, just so I can keep up with the demands of providing that care.

And it's also real obvious that just being around each other again has been good for both our morale. So what if we're both still whimpering every time we get up to pee? At least we know that we don't have to whimper alone....

PB & the Rev'nd Dr "J"

...just bangin' out with the Portland Sea Dogs on an absolutely gorgeous summer evening in August. Accompanied as well by my adult son Jacob, and the out-going treasurer of my church, who is selling his business here and moving to Belize to do the bookkeeping for his step-son's various business enterprises, and to sail a little in the Caribbean in what he hopes will be his ample free time.

Once and Future Red Sox pitcher Clay Bucholz had the start, on what was also "Clay Bucholz No Hitter Commemorative Bobblehead Night" -- but we didn't get there in time to get a bobblehead ourselves, and had to settle instead for watching an OK outing by the real thing. Clay had a hard time getting his fastball over early, and had one really tough inning where they touched him for three runs...but at other times he had both the fast ball and the change up working really well, and you could appreciate the live ballplayer who inspired the bobblehead.

His teammates played some fairly decent defense behind him too, including a very pretty tag 'em out throw 'em out double play on a ground ball hit to the third baseman, who slapped the leather on a baserunner (who had made the minor league mistake of running on a ground ball hit in front of him) before firing a rocket across the diamond to catch the batter by a step. The other side of the infield didn't fare so well though. Between the two of them the second basemen made FIVE errors; some of that has got to be attributable to the groundskeeping!

Bucholz left the game with a one run lead before the seventh inning stretch, but his relief quickly gave up a two run homer leaving the Sea Dogs another game back in the loss column instead of with a big "W," and the starting pitcher himself with no decision. And after all that hard work too!

Not that I really cared. Win or lose, it was still a great night out for me....

Nostalgic for the Here and Now

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Took a lovely "roll and stroll" with my family through my old neighborhood in the West End this afternoon. And by family I mean My Former Wife and our two adult children, who have been here all this weekend visiting me from the West Coast, just because it's the end of the summer and they thought it would be fun to spend some time together. And it HAS been fun, but also kinda funny as we fall back into familiar family patterns after so many years of living and being apart. Because we are all very different now than we were ten years ago. And yet we are also still in so many ways the same. Fantastic weather too, which made the day truly lovely. Made our way along the Western Promenade, enjoying a panoramic view the Fore River, then worked our way back into neighborhood itself, just checking out the architecture, petting whatever dogs we happened to meet, and talking about nothing in particular. This cancer represents a pretty major curve ball for them as well. So they need a chance to work that through, and figure out how best to respond.

My own thoughts today were very much about how much this illness has taken from me already, although hopefully not forever. Just the experience of needing to be pushed around in a chair, rather than walking under my own power -- having to give up my apartment, and my familiar shopkeepers and service providers...it makes me a little angry I guess, but also motivates me to work a little harder in Physical Therapy. Felt that way most of Saturday too, after meeting Parker and her current dogsitter at the Brackett Street Vet to see about a sore on her hind leg that appeared to be becoming infected, and then watching the locals run full on the outdoor court at the Reiche School. Not just walking and driving, but hoop, golf, the daily company amd companionship of my dog, and God knows what else...hell, just reaching the books on the top shelf of the bookcase! But it's going to get better. I'm going to MAKE it better. And I am SO looking forward to getting back in the pulpit two weeks from today.

Meanwhile, having tired of their self-appointed role of gelato police, the kids both decided I was getting a little shaggy on top, despite the chemo-therapy related thinness in my HAIR that was finally beginning to express itself. Here's their solution to THAT problem...



Not quite as outrageous as the time they dyed the dog florescent green. And at least they let me eat a little dessert afterwards....

Trend Setter or Trend Chaser?

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Not that I suppose it really matters. But apparently Cancer Blogs are now all the rage, and may even have significant therapeutic value in combating the disease. Of course, I hadn't really thought about any of this when I started my blog. It just seemed like a very logical and rational thing to do, both in terms of communicating with my many friends about what was happening in my life, and also a natural extension of my life as a writer. My two biggest problems? The constant pressure to remain optimistic and upbeat in these posts (Tigger rather than Eeyore) often leaves me feeling a little grumpy. And likewise, the time I spend posting here often seems to cut into time I might otherwise have spent writing in my personal journal, or working on other writing projects (including other blogs).

But these are small worries. It's good to feel the pressure to be upbeat, and thus resist the temptation to wallow a bit in the warm bath of self-serving cynical disappointment. The Slough of Despond is hardly the healthiest place to spend a holiday. I also feel a little uncomfortable reading ahead in the blogs of others, and worrying about what awaits me down the road as my own illness progresses. Right now I'm feeling pretty good -- with the exception of my almost constant fatigue. But my pain control is good, and I'm feeling a lot more ambulatory (and thus a lot more mobile). I just miss having my family around, since I can generally count on them to push me around and get me out and about in ways that I still don't really feel comfortable asking volunteers from church or even my closest friends.

Suppose that's it for now. I really am looking forward to the start of church again in just 18 days...but I'm also a little worried about everything that needs to happen between now and then as well. Not that it all needs to happen all at once! I think this year it will be enough just to get off on the right foot, and to keep moving forward in the right direction, one step at a time, one foot after another. That's what Covenant is all about, right? Walking together. Walking humbly with thy God. It's almost as good as "a good walk spoiled."

Or who knows? If we practiced our praying as much as our putting, it could be even better.*

(*said by someone who is still stuck in a wheelchair, and wondering whether he will ever putt again....)

Rest Assured...

`
Amidst all my idle summer daydreams of sailboats and red convertibles, the anticipated return of my One True Passion is looming just over the horizon. It's hard to believe it, but Labor Day is just a few weekends away, and that on Sunday September 7th our regular Church Program Year begins again at First Parish with the celebration of our Annual Ingathering Water Ceremony. My travels this summer have been more of the metaphorical/inspirational variety, but I have a great title for my homily that first Sunday which reflects that inner journey: "From the Banks of the River Jordan to the Sheep Pool at Bethesda, God's Gonna Trouble the Water."

And then the following Sunday, September 14th, I'll be preaching on a topic I suspect may very well prove the theme of this entire year: "Progress, not Perfection." This was a motto one of my Oncology Nurses wrote on the white board in my room at the Gibson during my month-long hospitalization there last Spring, and it has certainly inspired me many times in the many months since. The progress that I've made since those days is considerable, yet "perfection" is certainly still a far sight down the road. But I'm not going to try to preach that whole sermon now. You'll be hearing it in church (or maybe reading it on the web) soon enough.

Another thing that happened over the summer was that I filed a Long Term Disability claim under the terms of my UUA group insurance, which I recently learned has been approved. This basically means that I am now free to work as much or as little as I can, while at the same time freeing up payroll money that would have otherwise gone to compensate me in order to bring in other ministers and additional outside help to assist me with the overall ministry of the church. Again, I won't try to go into all the details here, but we are now in the final stages of assembling a fantastic team of clergy, program and support staff, and volunteer lay leaders who will not only allow us to continue "business as usual," but also represent a real opportunity for us to "take it to the next level." For my own part, for years I've boasted that I have a perfect job -- one of those jobs I can hardly believe I get paid to do, and which I would gladly do for free if I could afford to. Now I actually get a chance to prove it in front of God and all of you. And with your help, I'm confident we can make it happen.

Finally, there is one other important player on this team whose return to the line-up I eagerly await. Although I'm still not quite nimble or frisky enough myself to care for her full-time, we have found time for regular visits and the occasional "sleep-over," which have naturally boosted my spirits considerably. The Adorable Parker is looking quite fit after her summer sojourn with alternating pet-sitters Jane Cox and Jeanne Mullen. She appears to have lost about 5 lbs (or 20% of her body weight), and even though she's no longer a puppy (her 14th birthday will be in January), she still has that alert look that lets you know SHE knows what's going on. Of course, she also sleeps most of the day these days as well -- which is kinda what old dogs do for a living -- and remains an excellent reminder to me not to push myself beyond my limits, while at the same time working as close to them as I can. With Parker on watch, we can all rest assured that I will get my rest as well, and remain capable of giving my best to all of you, who mean so much to me.

A bit of history

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Now Blogger is telling me that THIS is actually my 100th post, and that my earlier posts were only 98 and 99...not that it really matters any in the greater scheme of things. It's still a helluva lot of posts in not an especially long time. Only the historians and the beancounters REALLY care about the numbers.

Comforting to know that there are also lots of folks reading my blog, and to hear back from you from time to time as well. Even if you feel uncomfortable posting a comment to the blog itself, you can always send me a letter or a private e-mail. Best address for now is probably care of the church (which should be easy enough to find). Just don't be surprised or disappointed if I can't write you back personally right away. Almost everything I have to say I say first right here anyway. Or in my column, or from the pulpit, or in one of my other several (and now mostly neglected) blogs anyway.

Meanwhile, I learned at dinner the other night at the Armistad is here in Portland for a week. Not the original slave ship, of course, but the replica I presume was built for the movie, and which now sails all up and down the Atlantic coast from its home port in New Haven, educating students and the general public about what happened aboard her and the slave trade in general. It's something I would very much like to do myself, if I were able. And who knows? Maybe I'll just round up an attendant and do it anyway. Or at least as much of it as I can. Do you wish to become whole? Arise, pick up your bed, and WALK!



I also wonder what will happen to all of my "stuff" once it becomes part of the public domain. Or maybe I should be honest and say "after I'm gone." I tend to accumulate a fair number of artifacts and more than my fair share of written information when it comes to thing like this, and I understand now why the Victorians were so obsessed with obtaining (and burning!) as many of their loved ones private papers as they could, before historians (or simply a scandal-obsessed free press and its public readership) could get their hands on them first. Haven't really seen any statistics about how sucessful they were, but I do know that the memoir I worked with for my dissertation probably wouldn't have existed if not for the Ware family's foresight. So thanks Wares! And to all you other literary pack-rats who have the space, the sentiment, and the inclination to hold on to stuff like that long after any reasonable soul would have pitched in in the recyclilng.

The RED Convertible

And even as I daydream about simplifying my lifestyle, downsizing my possessions, and someday moving aboard a floating residence where I am free to wake up, weigh anchor, and sail away with wind and current as the spirit moves me, I also find myself fantasizing about much more conventional midlife aspirations. A few years ago, on the threshold of my fiftieth birthday, it was a convertible I was obsessed with. These Chrysler LeBarons are not exactly expensive vehicles...you can generally find two or three running, high-milage models available for a few thousand dollars within 100 miles radius any time you look. It's a car you can buy with a credit card...but even so, as a parish minister it still seemed a little too extravagant and self-indulgent to me. Sure, it's just a silly toy. But is that really the kind of image I want to present to the public about my private and "personal" life?

About that same time, I was regularly visiting a hospitalized parishioner of mine who (as it turned out) was in the last few months of her life. The relationships one forms in times like that are really quite special, because the bonds that are developed are often quite intense and profound...and yet intimate and fun and often even silly all at the same time. In this particular instance, Jeanne had suffered several small stokes, which often left her aphasic or unable to come up with the word she wanted even when she knew in her own mind exactly what she wanted to say. This could be frustrating for her almost to the point of exasperation, but it was also a source of occasional amusement as well when the words she DID select were not necessarily ones she would ordinarily use in the presence of a minister!

Other times, she would deal with her frustration simply by remaining silent, and leaving me do all the talking. So I shared with her my dilemma -- I was thinking about buying myself a convertible for my 50th birthday, but I couldn't make up my mind -- should I buy the white one or the red one?

Jeanne's eyes lit up like an excited schoolgirl's. "The RED one!" she exclaimed without hesitation. "Get the red one!"

Jeanne was gone a few months later. And I still haven't bought the car. Afterwards her son Tommy gave me an expensive model of a red Corvette roadster from the 1950's, which I keep on the toy shelf along with all of my other special treasures (see photo posted 7/28, lower left side shelf). And I do have another birthday coming up. But what kind of idiot buys himself a used, high-milage convertible just before the beginning of another Maine winter? Especially when he has a brand new vehicle with under 3000 miles parked in a lot across the street because he is physically incapable of driving it?

And besides, if I REALLY wanted to set a good example, wouldn't I be shopping for one of these?...

My 100th post

And it's hard to believe--my initial diagnosis was six months ago, and now here we all are 100 posts later. That's an awful lot of water under the...well, let's say keel.

And I see as well that another one of my pet boats has sold...or perhaps simply been withdrawn from the market for the winter while they rethink their sales strategy. But I'm guessing sold, and at a pretty significant price cut at that. Only the willing buyer and the willing seller (and perhaps their respective brokers) know for sure.

Yet still the Windsong, out of Nantucket, shows us her stern, and we add her portrait to the collection of "doggone" sailboats similar to the one that "one day isle" be living aboard myself, God Willing -- perhaps even as soon as next summer, when I have recovered enough of my health to make it feasible. It's important to have goals, even if they are mostly fantasies and daydreams. I have other goals as well: for myself, for the church, for the wider world...and thankfully most of them are a lot more tangible (and a lot more realistic) than the ones that come over me late at night during the ravages of boat fever.

Boat Fever. Not really sure whether there's an effective therapy for that particular illness either. I've had it since I was a child, kept it pretty much in remission during my marriage, was afflicted with an especially virulent form while living on Nantucket myself after 9/11...and now. Well, let's just say that once again, it's a disease that can be "treated, but not cured." Or at least that's what they tell me. I guess I'll find out soon enough for myself.

100 posts. My God -- how the time flies. Thanks for reading. Now, it's time for me to get ready to face the day. Ashore.

Higgins Olympians

And I'm sure this is starting to sound pretty tedious and mundane to many of you, but Chris and I were out again last night at Bingas playing Trivia. This time we had his two college-aged daughters and one of their cousins with us; the girls watched the Olympics (and occasionally chimed in on a pop culture or entertainment question), while Chris and I (and eventually my brother Erik, who drove up from Boston after a day of business meetings there) played the quiz. It was a relatively easy quiz too -- we only missed one question in four rounds, and were 10 for 10 (20 points) in the second bonus round...but without Erik's help we were only 8/20 in the picture round, and completely tanked the half-time "identify the mystery celebrity" question. Who the hell is Chris Tucker anyway?

Missed the first question of the final round as well, but pulled it out at the very end to squeak into second place by a point with a score of 106. The first place team (whose name I will not repeat) managed to score 124 though -- a pretty humbling margin of victory over the rest of us (and tying the record my brothers and I set back in June). Still, we were able to sneak "into the money" again this week to win the prize we really wanted (Bingas ball caps and tee shirts for the girls), while the winners went home with more tickets to the same ball game we won tickets to last week.

Picking a good team name each week is a unique challenge all its own. My all-time favorite is still Carpe Scrotum, (and I still sometimes play under that name when I'm playing by myself without teammates), but generally we try to pick something fresh every week, just to keep the opposition guessing and a little off-balance. I'd originally suggested "The Bi-Coastal Beach Babes...with Bums" but eventually we rejected the double-entendre ("that was no babe; that was my daughter") for the more mundane "Higgins Olympians." Not that there was anything especially Olympian about our team...with the exception, perhaps, of my uncanny resemblance to the Greek (or was he Roman?) God Bacchus...

Also had Parker here visiting with me this past weekend, which was a real treat as well...at least for me. She's still pretty frightened of the wheelchair, and I'm still not quick enough to get her outdoors when she needs to go...so a lot of the weekend was spent dealing with those issues. It's funny, how we have so many of the same problems...including the neuropathic pain in our legs and the occasional scramble to answer the call of nature...but having lost probably 20% of her body weight on her new kelp and kibble diet, she's looking pretty durn frisky for a 13 (going on 14) year old pup. See what I have to look forward to? She's off again now with her other set of petsitters, while the ones who've been hosting her take a little vacation time in Canada. Meanwhile, I can't open the door of my apartment now without briefly experiencing this gut feeling that she's there now waiting for me, sleeping comfortably on her little pillow at the foot of my bed.

Parker and a lobster-themed mailbox at Higgins Beach, August 10, 2008

I'm also starting to count down the days now until I'm back in the pulpit again...Sunday September 7th for our annual Ingathering Water Ceremony, and then my first real sermon since last Easter on September 14th. "Progress, Not Perfection." I can sure think of plenty of things I can say on THAT theme. But I'll try to save a few of them for the 21st as well....

Medical Updates 8/8/08

Saw my Oncologist yesterday afternoon, so that he could interpret for me my CT scan from earlier this week. First question out of his mouth was "so how are you?" to which I immediately responded "I don't know; isn't that what you're supposed to tell me?" That made him smile, although I'm sure he's heard it a hundred times before. Bad news is that my tumors are still there and haven't really shrunken any; good news is that they don't seem to be growing any either, and that there are no additional metastases (which is actually VERY good news). So the plan is to complete these last two cycles of chemotherapy, and then to wait and watch for awhile. I'm free to return to work any time I like, but need to be sensitive to my energy levels and try not to overdo it. And, of course, the walking and mobility issues continue to be a challenge...although again it feels as though I am experiencing almost daily improvement. Oh yes, and I'm anemic again and my platelets are low...so he's lowering the dose of my chemo this next time around to help compensate for that.

I have to admit that I was nervous going in for this appointment, and then disappointed to learn that the tumors were still there. On some naive level I think I really was hoping that they would somehow be showing the effects of this treatment by shrinking dramatically, or that they might even have disappeared entirely. But I suppose if I haven't lost any weight as a result of this chemotherapy (and have actually gained about 10 lbs instead), there's no reason that I should expect the cancer to be any smaller either. Or at least that reflects my Dad's theory; that if I lose weight, my cancer will get skinnier too Haven't really seen any clinical evidence supporting that. But I am starting to do a little more serious research about how best to change my diet once I'm out of 75 State Street (whenever that may be) and back cooking for myself again. Whole grains, fresh vegetables, that sort of thing. All food that I like, and is nutritious, and satisfying, and relatively simple to prepare. So what's not to like? And you can eat such large portions....

In any event, afterwards Erik and I went out for sushi with my friend Steve at King of the Roll. Steve was feeling pretty under the weather for most of the meal, but afterwards he wasn't quite up for going home to an empty house either, so we rolled down to Whole Foods for a little gelato, and to (discretely) race the electric shopping carts through the back aisles... (Not really. But we THOUGHT about it). Steve is having a terrible time keeping his weight up, but no matter how good an example I try to set I just can't get him to eat like a pig. Miso soup, a little white rice, a few pieces of sushi, and a taste of my teriyaki salmon. And then the gelato -- which I think he truly relished. He literally weighs half of what I do, even though he's at least an inch or two taller.

I've also been thinking some more about Randy Pausch, and some of his observations in The Last Lecture. Randy was four years and a day younger than me when he died on July 25th; now he will never get any older, while I continue to gain on him in life and (presumably) wisdom and experience. Yet the influence he will continue to exert on others will endure well beyond his death -- granting him a certain degree of immortality, as well as an on-going presence in and influence on the lives of his children, which was really his intention all along. And I'm guessing that the royalties from this book will provide them with a fair amount of wealth as well -- or at least a high level of financial security in what might ordinarily be considered a very tenuous situation. Widows and Orphans (along with the infirm, impoverished, the diseased, the disabled and yes, the elderly, who often suffer from many of these other afflictions) have typically been identified as the most vulnerable members of a society. And likewise, how generously a society deals with its less-fortunate members is a good measure of both its humanity and its progressiveness. Friends and Family. Neighbors. Strangers. It's easy to be generous to those who are close and kind to you. But...well, I've preached on this subject many times before. Go to one of my other blogs if you're really feeling in the mood for a sermon....

Right now, I'm just in the mood to feel happy. And a little relieved....

More Late Night Coffee-Inspired Musings

Made the mistake the other night of enjoying a cup of coffee with my dessert, not thinking that no self-respecting Seattleite would serve anything but high-test at their table...which meant that I was up until about 3 am yesterday morning with Randy Pausch, author of the New York Times bestseller The Last Lecture. I'd already seen the actual lecture itself on You-Tube, so the book didn't really have that many surprises...still I often found myself nodding in agreement where my insights into life, cancer, and childhood dreams coincided, and it certainly came as no surprise at all to discover that Randy (who passed away on July 25th from complications of his pancreatic cancer) was/is in fact a Unitarian Universalist: a member of the First Unitarian Church in Pittsburgh, where he apparently actually even regularly attends!

In his book Randy writes: "I was raised by parents who believed that faith was something very personal. I didn't discuss my specific religion in my lecture because I wanted to talk about universal principles that apply to all faiths -- to share things I had learned thorough my relationship with people."

I totally agree.

Don't get me wrong. I don't really have any problem with things like "the elevator speech," and I'm delighted by the renewed emphasis on hospitality, generosity, humility, service and gratitude I perceive throughout our liberal faith. What bothers me, I guess, is the "branding." I just don't care that much anymore about "Unitarian Universalism TM." I'm much more interested in what we do together every Sunday morning: not just in my church, but in healthy, dynamic, progressive faith communities of every stripe and flavor all over the world.

I don't really care whether Unitarian Universalists are best thought of as Liberal Christians, or Post-Christian Protestant heretics open to the wisdom, insights and inspiration of all the world's great religions, or an eclectic amalgam of "mystics, skeptics, and dyspeptics" bound together by a common covenant to seek and speak the truth in love, or even our own new religion. I no longer own or wear any flaming chalice jewelry either (although, God knows, maybe I should). We are what we are, we were what we were, we will be what we will be. The "correct" answer is always "All of the Above." And then some. But even that doesn't really tell us much. Which may explain the traditional Unitarian (and Universalist) preference for hagiography rather than dogma in the first place.

Here's another thought Randy's book and lecture raised in my mind. How "scaleable" is the Unitarian-Universalist experience in the first place? Randy talks a lot in his book about "enabling the dreams of others" -- and specifically about how the experience of mentoring and "paying it forward" can be even more rewarding than achieving one's own dreams. This has certainly been my experience as well. Institutions like the church (or a University like Carnegie Mellon) can allow us to leverage our efforts by serving more than one individual at a time, but there are also limits to how much hot air one can blow into a balloon without distorting its true shape, or even bursting it apart.

So what are those limits in our religious practice? In the aftermath of the Tennessee Valley shootings I've heard a lot in the media about how we are a "small" denomination. One thousand congregations and a quarter of a million people doesn't really seem that small to me, but I suppose that "small" is a relative measure. How would our denomination look (and feel!) different with two thousand congregations and a million members? Or two million? Or ten? How does the UU experience change when the "norm" becomes a "Program" church of 350 "contributing units," rather than a "Pastoral" sized congregation of 100 households? Will there still be a place for the "Family" sized Fellowship of fewer than 100 members? These are the most common sized congregations we have; it seems foolish to neglect or ignore them (and how would you get rid of them even if you wanted to)? And what the hell would a "Corporate" sized UU megachurch look like? Almost by definition, Megachurches are driven by the compelling vision of an individual, dynamic pastor; are UUs willing to accept that much authority so tightly held in the hands of a single person?

I certainly don't have the answers to all of these questions, and (as I suggested earlier) I'm not even really that certain I care about them. What I DO care about -- desperately -- is how to be the best pastor I can to the one hundred and eighty-some souls who have already decided to honor me by entrusting me with the privilege of serving as their minister, together with all the others who may just happen to step through those big red doors on a Sunday morning, like what hear, and decide to stick around.

And naturally I want to make that process as easy and "user-friendly" as possible. I want to create a sacred space where people feel safe no matter who they are or where they've come from, where people feel comfortable inviting their friends, where the values we profess in public are privately practiced by every person there...not always perfectly, but with sincerity, devotion, and commitment. And out of this "promiscuous assembly of believers and seekers," I hope to mobilize an authentic "community of memory and hope" dedicated to the challenge of changing the world for the better -- perhaps not immediately and all at once, but a little at a time, one piece at a time. And this, for me, is what it means to be a "Church."

There's nothing uniquely Unitarian or Universalist about my aspiration. And yet, that's who I am and that's where I find myself, and I'm certainly not ashamed to let people know it. Whenever it comes up, that is. Which is actually a lot less often than you might think....

Cioppino at Higgins Beach

This is my good friend Chris, the other half of the Bi-Coastal Beach Bums, after finishing our second helpings, but before the arrival of dessert. Yum-o!

More Photos:



The whole family takes turns washing up the dishes afterwards.



Our Cioppino Chef

The Bi-Coastal Beach Bums at leisure

Late Night Monday Musings

Today's scheduled CT Scan turned out to be a big bust; someone apparently neglected to mention to me that I wasn't supposed to eat or drink anything for at least four hours before the test, except for a special chemical contrasting agent which they had also neglected to mention and which I didn't have anyway. So I showed up dutifully at the appointed hour, and was sent back home ten minutes later with a new appointment Thursday AND the appropriate materials to prepare for it.

This round of CT images are to assess the current size of my tumors, and whatever effect the chemotherapy is having on them. Either they are shrinking, growing, or staying the same; and whatever that turns out to be will pretty much determine the next step in my therapy. Part of me is looking forward to a very aggressive Round Two that will really break the back of this cancer (for the time being at least, since I'm also told it is technically "incurable"), but part of me would also like a bit of a break, since I'm REALLY anxious to get back to work as well, and am finally starting to feel frisky enough to do that in a reasonably meaningful way. Still don't have the spunk or the energy to go full time, full speed -- but with my increasing mobility and improved pain management I can actually manage a fair amount...provided I prioritize, and don't squander my "good time" on trivial pursuits.

Speaking of which (and I probably shouldn't admit this) I won four more Sea Dogs tickets tonight. My friend Chris and his family are here in Maine for two weeks visiting relatives at Higgins Beach, so tonight I dragged him up to Bingas just to show him what it was like, and sure enough we finished in the money -- second place rather than my accustomed first, but I still ended up with the prize I wanted. Hadn't actually intended to stay and play, but there was a problem with our order and we didn't get our food for nearly an hour...and then when it arrived the game was starting and we decided to play along and the next thing we knew.... Anyway, it turned out to be a lot more fun than either of us thought it would be. Played under the team name "Bi-Coastal Beach Bums," which actually describes us pretty well. Still, I feel a little guilty spending a late evening out, given the tall stack of papers piled here next to my computer.

Because it is now the first full week in August. Summer is half-over, and the beginning of the new church year just around the corner. Don't need to start up with a bang; just need to get off on the right foot, and keep putting one foot in front of the other. But we still have lots of staffing and leadership issues to resolve before we really get going at full speed. Things are in process, and I like the trajectory so far, but until I'm confident that we're right on target it's going to be constantly on my mind.

Not tonight though. I've used my brain enough for one night. It's time to shut my eyes and recharge instead....

Dancing in a Circle of Kindness

I finally gave in today, and curled up with Forrest Church's last and latest Love & Death: My Journey Through the Valley of the Shadow. Not that i was really avoiding the experience; it's just that I was worried that it was all going to hit a little close to home, and I wasn't really certain how I was going to respond. And of course, no surprise, dead center. But why should I be surprised? After all, Forrest and I learned our theology in exactly the same places: at the Harvard Divinity School, and from shared mentors like Rhys Williams, and mutual friends like John Buehrens, to name just a few. Hell, a lot of my theology I learned directly from Forrest himself, as he worked it out in the some twenty-three books he's written and published over three decades of ministry at All Souls NYC, beginning way back in 1982 with his little-known "Born Again Unitarian Universalism." Metaphors like the Cathedral of the World, or the insight that "God is not God's name..." are part of my everyday theological worldview; and I've quoted his observation that "Religion is our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die" at just about every memorial service I've conducted in the past 15 years. Close to home? Come on in and pull up a chair; I'll see what's in the fridge.

I started at Harvard in 1978, the same year Forrest graduated and headed off to All Souls, a newly-minted PhD with an M Div in his back pocket. And I also started working as a Field Education student at the First & Second Church in Boston that same autumn, where Forrest had worked as the assistant minister while completing his doctoral studies. So it was hard not to identify with him, and even harder not to admire him -- the young, brilliant, talented, charming son of a Senator who represented so much of what I thought I aspired to be at the time. Especially since I inherited his desk...or at least had a key to the secluded office in the steeple where he sometimes had worked when he happened to be at church.

Oldtimers may recall that there was some irregularity about Forrest's call to New York; he basically went there as a candidate without ever having had his name submitted through the Department of Ministry, or even having seen the Ministerial Fellowship Committee. Rather, Rhys apparently suggested his name directly to the Chair of the Search Committee at All Souls, who followed up with an invitation to an informal, low-key "pre pre-candidating weekend" that eventually led to his formal call. Only years later, in the midst of my own doctoral studies, would I recognize this as just another manifestation of the long-established ecclesiastical relationship between All Souls NYC and the Second Church in Boston. In many ways, the former had started out as something of a "mission" of the latter, and called its first settled minister, William Ware, only after William's older brother Henry (minster of the Second Church) declined a similar invitation himself, and recommended William as an alternative!

But that was a long time ago. And even 30 years seems like the distant past now, as I think back on how far we all have come since 1978. Rhys died of pancreatic cancer in 2003, at the age of 74. Forrest will turn 60 on September 23rd; his esophageal cancer, in remission for the past two years, has now returned but is also responding to treatment, and Forrest writes: "I shall happily renew my lease on life with each new offering sheet." At age 51, I am the youngest of this cadre; and my diagnosis of lung cancer is only four months old. I have no idea how the future course of my disease will run, but like Forrest I too hope for a new lease on life and many long renewals.

In the meantime though, don't go looking to Love & Death for some great new insight into the theology of F. Forrester Church. Rather, go for an easy and comfortable reminder of everything you have loved about Forrest for the past 30 years, and to be reminded that sophisticated theology can still be simple without becoming simple-minded.

"What Ifs" and "Do Overs"

And it appears that my new-found standing and ambulatory abilities have arrived just in time to help me navigate the late-night emergency quick-step to the toilet -- no doubt too much information for many of my devoted readers here, but hey -- it happens; just be grateful you weren't here to have to deal with it personally! Meanwhile, I'm just telling myself that THIS is where old cancer cells go when they die, and good riddance!

Also turns out that this week when I stepped on the scale again on Wednesday for the SECOND time in nearly three months, I'm actually about 10 lbs lighter than I was the week before, which is probably a much more accurate reflection of what I truly weigh -- minus the water and whatever...about a 9 lbs weight gain in a period of three months, which isn't TOO bad considering how little exercise I've really done, and how much I've been trying to keep a "good appetite."

The good/bad news though is that now nothing really looks or tastes good anymore, which means that the long-expected sudden and dramatic chemotherapy-related weight loss may finally be just around the corner. Think my hair is finally starting to fall out too, although it's hard to tell. Sigh. Just another boring existential travail in the life of one more fat, balding, bearded, spectacled, privileged, over-educated middle-aged white guy.

In any event, due for another CT Scan early next week, to see whether my primary tumor has actually shrunk, grown (God Forbid!) or stayed the same. Depending upon how that goes, I may get a little break from therapy for awhile...but most likely we will be starting something new based on whatever new information we receive. Meanwhile, the start of the new church year is just a month away. I'm both excited and anxious...but that's nothing new. I feel that way EVERY year.

I've also been thinking way too much about What Ifs and Do Overs this past week -- no doubt two of the most profligate time-sucks every devised by the human imagination. Still, it's hard not to wonder from time to time: What If you you really did have it all to Do Over? Would we really make better decisions than the ones we made before? And this so quickly degenerates from mere fantasy into full-blown science fiction: how every decision-point from before the beginning of time is the beginning of a new trajectory in an infinite number of parallel "timelines" of possiblity...

It's no wonder that so many theologians took one look at that and decided that Free Will was a Big Joke -- that in order for the Universe to make sense at all God must have decided how it all would turn out since before the beginning of time. But who are we to second-guess the Mind of God? The other half of the puzzle is just as perplexing. Suppose you could only change ONE thing about your life? What would that be? And if it's really so important to you, what's to prevent you from doing it now? Discernment. Dedication. Devotion. Discipline. One day, one step, one person at a time....