Mini-sabbaticals
FROM THE PRIEST ASSOCIATE
During Evan’s sabbatical, several people have asked whether I was carrying an additional load in his absence. Nope! Writing this newsletter article is the only thing outside my usual duties that I’ve taken on.
Some of you know that I work full time at the University of Arkansas teaching classes on literature and religion and doing my own research. I aim to average 3-4 hours per week on St. Paul’s duties, like preaching, presiding on some Sundays and Wednesdays, and teaching the occasional formation class. Each year, I meet with Evan to recalibrate where I need to step back and where I feel called to do more. I joke that Evan and Sara have to do the hard priest stuff, while I get to do just the fun priest stuff.
This summer, I even feel like I’ve had some short sabbaticals of my own. While my son was at a camp in rural Minnesota, I stayed with a community of nuns at the College of St. Benedict, joining their rhythm of prayer and doing some writing. I was struck by the force of these kind and gentle women, many in their 80s and even 90s, chanting some of the most defiant passages in the Psalms. I felt more palpably than ever before that chanting the Psalms each day was one way of confronting and doing something bold against the oppressive forces of this world.
In July, I went to London to participate in an academic conference on a long, fourteenth-century poem called “Piers Plowman.” This poem has it all: theological debates, visions of social justice, and tons of alliteration. Still unsettled is the question of whether the conventions of Middle English alliterative verse prohibit anything but a schwa “e” at the half-line or occasionally allow a longer syllable in that position. I don’t have a dog in that particular fight, but I did enjoy the rare opportunity to be in the company of over a hundred people who love the same challenging poem that I do.
Lastly, I worshipped at a random church in Bentonville one Sunday while my son attended a birthday party in the area. I didn’t have time to make it back to St. Paul’s, and the timing didn’t align with the services at any other Episcopal churches, so I just popped into the nearest church that had a service at the right time. It would be easy to identify the many parts of the service that didn’t accord with my tastes or theology, but the church had some overwhelming strengths. Parking was limited, but a volunteer directed me right to a spot that someone else was vacating. Instead of me getting my own cup of coffee, volunteers poured and served it like baristas. Their protocols for child safety were very reassuring, although my five-year-old told me that in Sunday school she had to “pray like God.” The sermon directly addressed pornography and suicide, which I’ve never broached from the pulpit. In both cases, the message was about grace, not sin, as I might have expected.
All of these summer, sabbatical-like experiences have made exited for the next year at St. Paul’s. I hope to pray the Psalms with more ferocity, to find whatever quirky things each of us is passionate about, and to extend welcome and grace in new ways. Hopefully, I can manage all that in 3-4 hours a week.
Lora Walsh