National Cranky-pants Presbytery met today, and in spite of a seemingly interminable meeting, they actually weren’t as cranky as usual. The divine miss m stayed in the nursery where I stopped in to feed her during the dreary bits of the meeting.

I detest fighting the traffic each and every time I have a meeting downtown, so this time I took Metro. Man alive, I am going to do that every single time. Even with miss m in tow, it was effortless. There’s something lovely about gliding through a dark tunnel, underneath a bustling city, with a book, an ipod, and a sleeping baby for company—especially when the alternative is white knuckles, radio traffic reports “on the eights,” and the burning of way too much fossil fuel. I also refrained from printing the 65-page packet. I will often print 2 or 4 pages to a single page anyway, but this time I just followed along on my laptop. All in all, a fairly virtuous day. Small changes…

We celebrated the retirement of two sweet old white guys, although the second one praised his wife for her unending patience regarding his relationship with “my mistress, the church.”

Of course there are times that ministry trumps family; still, on the list of Things I Will Never Say, that was the Grand Prize Winner. Reminds me of the retired minister I know of who had a church meeting on his 40th wedding anniversary. Um, no.

Our worship was led by some members of a new church development in town, a congregation that does the happy-clappy music thing. Which I actually like when it’s done well. I am all for variety. I suppose I’m traditional enough in temperament to appreciate the organ and hymnal; yet I’m young and Baptist enough to like a diversity of instruments, a good praise chorus, and even [gasp!] clapping. But for goodness’ sake, is it too much to ask that the language be inclusive and the theology have some depth? And just say no to Jesus Is My Boyfriend songs.

Finally, here is a portion of a vision statement for the local camp and conference center which we discussed today. Just reading the first line makes me say “Ouch!” as Lorna likes to put it, otherwise known as “not me, Lord!” But as I keep reading, I can actually feel my breathing slow down. Here’s hoping you find some sacred space in the midst of your day.

In this helter skelter world of email addicts who bow to the tyranny of the urgent,
in our type A, overworked, Sabbath-breaking world,
We need a sacred place,
a place of grace and beauty that is our offering to God,
a place that our congregations can know as their own,
a place where weary servants of the Lord can escape from busyness,
a sacred place…