Sausage and Tortellini Group Soup

1 pound sweet or hot Italian sausage (out of the casings)
1 cup chopped onions
2 garlic gloves, minced or pressed
1 can diced tomatoes with juices
1/2 diced red pepper
1 stick celery, diced
1 large carrot, sliced
5-7 cups beef broth (I use Swanson's 50% less sodium beef broth)
1 TBS dried basil
1 TBS dried oregano
8-10 ounces fresh cheese tortellini
1 bag baby spinach

Saute sausage in large soup pot over medium high heat until cooked through, crumbling with the back of spoon, about 10 minutes. Transfer with slotted spoon to a bowl reserving drippings. Add enough olive oil, if needed, to make 1 TBS in bottom of pot. Saute onions and garlic until onions are translucent, about 5 minutes. Add vegetables, sausage, tomatoes, beef stock and herbs to pot and simmer for 40 minutes or until veggies are soft. Salt to taste.

10 minutes before serving add tortellini to simmering soup. 2 minutes before serving stir in the spinach. Serve with Parmesan cheese (optional). If soup becomes too thick add more broth or water.

6 servings



Enjoy.

Living a Story Worth Telling

Both the Mexican tradition of El Dia de los Muertos and the Celtic tradition of Samhain can be traced back thousands of years. Both ancient cultures believed that at this time of year, when the harvest had been gathered and the dark is replacing the light, that the veil between the living and the dead becomes thin. As we have heard, Mexican families gather at their loved ones gravesides, spread blankets out on the ground, eat a meal together and tell stories. It is through those stories that beloved mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters and children are made real again. Those stories are living memory.

I love stories. I love telling them and love sitting and listening to a story well told. My grandmother, Cece, was a story teller. Her full name was Cecelia Chase Lasbury but I called her Gran. Gran filled my childhood with stories of her youth and of my ancestors. She was a powerful woman, my grandmother. Tall, elegant and strong willed. She taught me many important life lessons: not to chew gum in public (I looked like a cow chewing my cud), which fork to use when there was more then one in front of me and that a well bred lady never needed to resort to profanity in order to express herself. And she taught me not to make important life choices based on fear. One of my favorite stories of my grandmother happened when I was a teenager and we were traveling together in England. We were waking down a street in a small English village when she spied a garden she admired over a fence. Before I knew what was happening she had walked through the fence gate and asked me to take a picture of a bush she liked so that she could show it to her gardener in Camden. I was mortified. I was also sure that we were going to be arrested at any moment. Instead, due to her charm, we were invited in for tea. By sharing this story with you this morning, by speaking her name out loud, I have brought my grandmother into the room with us. The veil between the living and the dead can be made thin at any time of the year when we tell their stories. Gran’s spirit lives on within my family whenever I tell her stories.

But what happens when we do not tell the stories? When evoking a name or a memory causes such pain that we hesitate to speak? My sister died when I was nine and she was 5. As you can well imagine, my parents were devastated. As a child, I soon came to understand that it was not O.K. to talk about Katie. To this day, my mother prefers not to talk about my sister. This silence has meant that her stories have passed from living memory. When we shy away from speaking of a dead loved one because it is uncomfortable or we are told not to tell the stories, something essential is lost.

What does this mean to all of us this morning? I think a good sermon or homily should give us something to chew on. It challenges us to live better lives. Here is my question: What stories do you want to be told about you after you are dead and gone? What stories will my darling children and their children tell about me when I am gone? Will you tell the story about the time that I forgot your sister’s birthday? Or when I set the oven on fire cooking Joshua’s birthday brisket? Or when the police came to the house when we were having the minister over to dinner because two of my children, who shall remain nameless, were hanging out of the upstairs bedroom window yelling to passerby’s that they had been kidnapped and were being tortured? Yes, those stories will be told but the part that I want to be remembered are the choices that I made. That I chose to laugh and not to yell. That I lived with humor and joy and love. That is the essence of my spirit that I want those stories to contain. So my question for you is this: Are you living a story worth telling? And how do you want that story to be told?

November Stone Soup

This afternoon I had the most extraordinary experience. I sat in the familiar pews of First Parish surrounded by over 600 people from all over the State of Maine who had come to an interfaith rally and service against discrimination. The Meeting House was packed with folk who were old and young, gay and straight, rich and poor and all of the colors of the rainbow. Yet in spite of the diversity we were united in purpose; that Maine be the first state to uphold the right of all people to marry. Catholics and Lutherans, UUs and Jews, Episcopalians and Congregationalists affirmed with one strong voice that Love was the only path. Love is the way we heal our world. Love is always worth striving for in the end.

The rally and the upcoming vote are personal for me. My eldest daughter fell in love 2 years ago with a lovely person. He is intersexual. He loves my daughter and treats her with dignity and respect. To be honest, I would not have picked this path for my beloved child as it will be a hard path to walk in the years to come. But we do not get to pick who our children will love. All we can hope for is that the relationship is healthy and nurturing to all concerned. And even though their path will be hard, it will be less so if Prop 1 is voted down. And when they marry, as they plan to do at some point in the future, they will be able to do so with all of the legal safeguards our government has to offer.

And I will dance with joy at their wedding.

Peace

Stuck in my Shoes

It's happened before and it will happen again. The lure of an open microphone and a captive audience will prove to be too much of a temptation to a person with an agenda. This morning was one of those occasions. I noticed her as I was standing by the side of the lectern listening to the first announcement. I know all of the members of the congregation by face, if not by name. The well dressed woman who marched up and stood at the back of the announcement line was a stranger to me. As discretely as possible I walked down to stand by her side. I asked her in a whisper if her announcement pertained to the life of the congregation. She answered in the affirmative but would not meet my eyes. Her manner was tense and purposeful. If I had gone even one step further and asked her what the announcement was, the situation might have been averted.

She walked up to the lectern and started speaking. At once I knew that I had made a mistake. The woman was clearly angry at everyone; a member of the congregation whom she named but whom I did not recognize, her custody situation, life in general. As she continued to rant she frequently looked over in my direction as if she were waiting for me to stop her. Kitsy stood up shortly after she had started to speak but was as hesitant as I was to interrupt. So the rant continued. I was in turn horrified and transfixed. Stuck in my shoes. Finally, a member of the congregation came down from the choir loft and whispered in my ear that it was time to act. She and I approached the lectern together and we gently each took an arm and assisted her from the chancel area. As she walked down the center aisle and out the doors she continued to speak her truth in a loud and clear voice.

It was then that I heard it. Voices from the congregation. I did not hear any of the exact words that were spoken to her as she walked from the church but I do remembered the tone and it was harsh. I was shocked.

As this day has worn on I keep coming back to the incident. I am troubled and confused. When we open our doors each Sunday morning we claim to welcome any and all who choose to join us. Does that include the mentally ill? Does it include the stranger who has an axe to grind? The woman was not a danger to the congregation but where is the line? Do we have an obligation to let anyone say anything they wish, whether it be during announcements or Joys and Sorrows? She could have easily taken the microphone during Joys and Sorrows. Who decides that the content is not appropriate? The minister? The worship leader? The Head Usher? And then what? Where is that line between compassion for the speaker and the sanctity of the worship service? If I had been less kind, less trusting, less hopeful that she would finish at any moment, would the outcome have been different? If the choir member had not come down and taken the initiative would she have spoken for another 10 minutes?

The most troubling question of all for me: why were angry voices raised in response as she left the Meeting House? Yes, she should not have acted as she did but what of compassion? I have felt the same level of anger, the despair and the deep, deep frustration at a world that did not feel fair or just. I have walked in her shoes. As a faith community what do we owe the wounded, troubled souls in our midst? Why did I not follow her out of the meeting house and ask if she needed help? I have none of the answers only many, many questions.

Peace.

Miracles

In coffee hour after the Water Communion service a long time member approached me and complimented me on how I had addressed the congregation at the beginning of the service. Naturally, I was flattered and I thanked her for her kind words. She asked if I had any formal training in public speaking. I explained that all of my training had been of the "on the job" variety right here at First Parish.

As I reflect back now I can't help but marvel at the personal growth I have experienced as a member of our faith community. When I joined the congregation 17 years ago I thought of myself as a true introvert. Happier alone with a book or in a small group setting, the idea of standing up and speaking to a group of strangers made my blood run cold. Coffee hour was no picnic, either. For many years I used my small children as an excuse to leave as quickly as possible after service. Coffee hour felt too much like a dreaded cocktail party for my taste. And for many of those years I avoided stepping up and offering service to my community. Having not been raised within a faith community, I thought that all that was required of me was to attend worship as often as possible and then to go home. Again, using my large family as an excuse, I said "No" whenever I was asked to serve First Parish, even if that service was of a small and limited nature.

What I did not know then but know all too well now is that by saying "Yes" I opened the door to the possibility of miracles. If one definition of a miracle is an "awakening," then service to my community has awakened aspects of my personality and spirit which might have remained shuttered and dark if I had said "No". It happened with small, cautious steps. Saying "Yes" to service on the Children's Religious Exploration committee helped me make my first real friends at First Parish but more importantly taught me how to play well with others. Saying "Yes" to ushering taught me that I could be in front of a large group of strangers without fear or nervousness. Saying "Yes" to serving on the Governing Board taught me to speak my truth with courage and to listen to others with respect. And saying "Yes" all those years ago to reading "'Twas the Night before Christmas" from the high pulpit taught me that not only could I speak in front of strangers without dying of fright but that I enjoyed doing so.

When we say "Yes" to a call for service to our community, that service is never one-sided. The community is enriched and nourished by the gift of our talent and time. But the individual is also enriched and nourished, often in surprising and miraculous ways. We are afforded the opportunity for truly transformational personal growth: of our minds and our spirits. Serving our community helps turn strangers into friends and a church into a loving community that offers us shelter and warmth in these trying times. As I enter into this first year of my presidency, I remind myself often that I said "Yes" not only for the personal joy of serving my beloved First Parish community but for the possibility of miracles.

Peace

Hello and Good-Bye

Was I the only one who felt a sense of shock, who was caught flat footed, when I read about Tim’s passing? Tim, with his eternal optimism and strength of spirit, had me convinced that he was going to be with us for many more years. Stage 4 lung cancer was not going to slow him down. I took great comfort when I thought of him in California with his family, waiting for the birth of his first grandchild, finally having a chance to read as often as he wanted and writing in his blog about his daily adventures and challenges. In the grand scheme of things, he was only with us for a very short time but his effect on our congregation, and on many of us as individuals, has been profound. His challenges and struggles become ours and as we traveled the road together we learned how to live with courage, grace and boundless love. His strength gave us strength. Before Tim joined us we talked about wanting to be a Warm and Welcoming Place but under Tim’s leadership we learned how to walk the walk. Thank you Tim for all you have taught us. You will be missed.

As we say good-bye to our friend and minister I am mindful that he would be telling us to prepare to say Hello to those who will be walking though our Meeting House doors soon. He wrote these words in his last post, “300 Households”, on our leadership blog on June 2^nd:

….we don’t want to grow to 300 households simply for the sake of being 300 households. Rather, we have a duty and an obligation to grow this congregation to whatever size the greater Portland community requires us to be, and 300 households is merely the next easily-defined “plateau” at which we might rest. And I’m VERY confident that there are AT LEAST an additional 200+ households “out there” who would very much appreciate having First Parish in their lives, if only someone would be willing to take them by the hand and show them around. They may not even realize that this is what they are looking for; instead, they may simply be feeling a little discouraged by what they witness going on all around them; they may be feeling discouraged, unfulfilled, angry and frustrated by their inability to make a real difference. We can help them change all that...or at least help them in making a start. Besides, we need all the partners we can find in our own efforts to make this world a better place.

(To read the full post go to firstparishportland.blogspot.com/.) Tim suggested later on in the post that we get aggressive. No, we are not going to be dragging people in off the street! But we are going to practice intentional, dynamic growth. Starting in early September we will run a 3 week advertising campaign on WCLZ (98.9 FM) and a 3 month campaign on WMPG (90.9 FM). We will be broadcasting to our city who and what we are. And I have faith that they will come flocking to our church. Our great challenge is to then receive them with open arms and hearts. If you were at the Annual Meeting in May you will remember that I appointed all present as members of my Transition Team. Now I am appointing every member of the congregation to the Welcoming Team. If we do not all make the effort to welcome the stranger in our midst then it is far less likely that they will put down roots in our community. And that’s the whole point, is it not? If we just bring the newcomer through our doors but do not help them to become a vital, involved member of our community, then we have failed. (If you are interested in more information from the UUA about intentional, dynamic growth check out these two videos at http://www.youtube.com/user/newUUorg ) I am not asking you to teach the New UU class or host a pot luck supper (though let me know if you want to!); all I am asking is for each of us to smile at a stranger. Possibly extend a hand of welcome. Or ask if they enjoyed the service. This is the way the stranger becomes familiar and the familiar becomes friend. If we are all willing to take these simple steps then our dream will come true; the dream of reaching our full potential as Portland’s oldest faith community with a large and vital congregation to fill our beautiful Meeting House.

On a personal note, some of the shock and awe of becoming President has worn off in during the lazy, damp days of summer. One of the reasons I will miss Tim is that I knew if I stumbled that he would have picked me up, dusted me off and then found a way to make me laugh about the situation. My personal goal over the next two years as President is to remember to laugh and to never, ever take myself too seriously.

Off to make dinner for my children. Peace. Ashley

The Big Basketball Court in the Sky

We had gone to my Mother's house in Belfast for dinner. After two days of camping I was looking forward to her good cooking, a glass of wine and some fine conversation. Being at my Mom's also afforded me the opportunity to check my e-mail. The subject line that jumped out at me right away was about Tim. As I read about his passing I was overwhelmed with a sense of shock and disbelief. After all, I had just read a blog post from him late last week and he had sounded his usual peppy self. How could he be gone? Yes, he was sick. I understood that. But I also had believed Tim when he told me that we was going to be around for several more years. He had so many things he wanted to accomplish. So much he wanted to read and to write about. I was stunned.

God Bless my Mom. I asked her permission to leave before dinner. (My children were spending the night.) I knew I just needed to be alone. As I drove back down Rt. 1, the tears rolled down my checks. Not heaving sobs, just tears of profound sadness. When I arrived back at my father's farmhouse in Camden I put my Irish terrier on his long lead and headed out to the back fields. The sky was streaked with the early pinks of a summer sunset. Those back fields on the top of Melvin Heights are one of the places I go to find God. With my Dog. So I walked and cried and talked to Tim. Out loud. That is my way when I am upset and am trying to find peace.

The conversation went something like this:

A: I am mad at you! Why now? Why so soon?

T: Ashley, trust me, it was not part of my plan either. But Ashley....listen to me....I am not in pain any longer. I had lived with the pain for so long that I had forgotten what it is like to be free of it. It is wonderful!

A: O.K....I get it. I'm not mad anymore. But Tim, do you forgive me?

T: For what? There is nothing that I need to forgive you for.

A: Oh, but I think that there is. Tim, I know that you did not want to retire this past spring. That being our minister, that serving our congregation, brought you immense joy. And that if I and others had not pushed you gently to retire that we would have saved you much heartache.

T: Ashley, there is nothing to forgive. That's just a remnant of your old Catholic guilt talking. Yes, at the time I wanted desperately to stay with you all in Portland. Being your minister and serving First Parish was what I had worked for all of my days. I was living my dreams and it doesn't get any better then that. But I can now see that if you all had not helped me to let go and to move on that I would not have had the very special and important time with my family and friends that these last few months afforded us. As you know from being a faithful reader of my blog, I was able to spend quality time with all of those who were so dear to me. And now we both know how important that time was. It was my chance to say good-bye.

Ashley, your challenge is to stop remembering those times I cried in our last months together (damn those drugs!!!) but of all of the times I laughed. And all of the times I made you laugh. Remember those times when you think of me. Can you do that?

A: I can try, Tim, I can try. You certainly knew how to make me laugh. Although, can I tell you a secret? You were so much smarter then me that some of the time I didn't get the joke but laughed anyway. Is that wrong?

T: No. No. No. Not wrong, just kind.

A: So, Tim, what the heck do I do now?

T: You know what to do, Ashley. First you help the congregation mourn and heal. Honestly, I hope that you will gather everyone together and just tell "Tim" stories. And laugh together and comfort one another. Maybe order some wings in my honor.

Then you do what we talked about. You lead with humor. You help grow new leaders. You help folks find their ministry. You continue to be the warm and welcoming place that we dreamed First Parish can be. Keep it simple. Delegate. Find cause to celebrate. You already know this stuff. When in doubt, just go back and read this blog. It is all there for you and whoever else is looking for wisdom and guidance. Hey... now that I'm dead can I claim that I was wise?

A: Oh, Tim....yes, you can claim wisdom. You were also courageous, generous, patient, funny and compassionate. I'll miss you. We all will miss you.

T: Don't miss me too much. I will be with you in spirit. Hey, I got to go. There's a pick-up game about to start and I want to be on the same team as Emerson and Thoreau. Man, is it great to be able to go up for a jump shot again! Peace, Ashley.

Peace, Tim.