She's at her new blog. Which isn't on lj, but there will be fic and interesting convo in the offing, so do check her out:

http://revsarey.wordpress.com

Where has Sarey gone to? Wordpress. Go check her out at revsarey.wordpress.com ... It's likely she shan't be posting on lj anymore...

Much love,
Sarey

Hey, yall!

Yes, I'm starting a new position shortly - Vicar of Holy Apostles in the Town of Tonawanda, New York. :) I'm totally excited. It's a brand new parish - starting in the building of a parish that recently left the diocese. We were apparently just slightly too liberal for them. Well, I wish them well. (No, seriously, I do.)

There is a new website - it's nothing yet, but shall get more spiffier as the days march on. http://holyapostles.wordpress.com/ We have a domain reserved, but I haven't migrated things over yet to holyapostlesmission.org, but that's on the todo list.

Such a list, and yet, i haven't offically started working there yet. Still, better to get these things done early, than shoot yourself in the foot when they're not done as you arrive.

Anyway, I start February 1st and I'll spend the week before moving into the Rectory. :) I'm tentatively planning a house blessing for Saturday the 7th, but I'll keep you posted - and there will be an invite on Facebook.

And now, back to the job I presently have and need to finish.

Much love,
Sare

(Who honestly, is writing fic. Just not much.)

So. I was watching the movie “Ghost Rider” the other day – made from a Marvel Comic, starring Nicholas Cage. According to Netflix, this movie belongs in the Horror genre, but I’m not so sure. Now, I’ll grant you that no one else seems to have this genre but me, but still I say this movie belongs in the ‘Cute Boys Being Theologically Sketchy’ genre. In case you are interested, other movies that also belong to that exalted state include Dogma, The Order, Interview with the Vampire, Queen of the Damned… I trust you are beginning to see a trend? Movies that might be compelling, amusing, or otherwise redeeming stories in and of themselves, but that use an outdated Christian mythology (or, if you will, Very Sketchy Yet Still Somewhat Accepted Theology) as anything from a plot device, to the foundation of the primary plot. Popular themes of outdated Christian mythology (or as I say, VSYSSAT) that crop up in Hollywood on a regular basis includes the following list: supernatural beings as unforgivable creatures, or abominations, (see: most vampire lore, though admittedly not the latest emo offering from Ms. Meyers – thank you, Ma’am, for small favors); demonic beings/possession vs. God’s chosen superhero – clergy, lay, or atheist; Armageddon/end of days; Angels accidentally falling in love (you never hear of dominions falling in love, however).

Now, this is not to say that I don’t get my share of calls for exorcisms – you know I do, just as you know I hand them off to someone who is actually qualified and called to do whatever it is one does when one performs an exorcism or cleansing. Watching this movie, however, got me to thinking. And for those of you who are not in the know, Ghost Rider is based on the Marvel comic of the same name about a young man who accidentally sells his soul to the devil in order to heal his father, who shortly thereafter dies of a completely unrelated accident. The terms of the contract: to be the devil’s bounty hunter, tracking down hellish escapees (because naturally, the devil has no power on earth – don’t tell Job), and sending them back. One could see how this might make a longstanding, though perhaps tedious comic. To liven it up a smidge, add a skeletal motorcycle, a flaming skull for a head, and – please note the quotes – “The Penance Stare”. Ahem. Apparently, the devil usually only hoodwinks those who are greedy enough to agree to his terms, not just young and stupid enough to think a contract signed in blood with a random creepy stranger is going to get your dad through an ugly cancer diagnosis. So, add the plot twist: the Ghost Rider, whose name, yes, is Johnny Blaze, has morals and a conscience and has never been motivated by greed, though sometimes by sheer stupidity. So does he only send back the escapees? No, naturally not. He uses his power for good – and I use that phrase in the loosest of senses. He gets all fired up in the presence of ‘evil’ (literally – his head turns into a ball of flames and he no longer resembles Nicholas Cage so much as a pet project from Industrial Light and Magic), and without lifting a finger, stares them down. In his eyes they experience all of the pain and suffering they have caused in their own lifetime, and simply by virtue of his stare, he acts as judge, jury and executioner, for the person keels over shortly thereafter.

Come to think of it, the Ghost Rider is reminding me of another skeletal rider on a pale steed who shall remain nameless.

And so the movie moves on with an unsatisfying romantic subplot, demonic henchmen that hide in the elements (though clearly the Ghost Rider himself is the missing element of fire), and some theological drivel about the superevil son of the devil (clearly he is not the Diet Coke of Evil) who is trying to open what seems to be the equivalent of a hellmouth, only without the vampires. Blah, blah, blah, guess who wins?

This is all well and good, but the point of the blog was to share my musings on this anthropomorphic personification of humanity’s perceived separation from God – also known as the devil.

You see, it dawned on me that in some ways we as a modern culture (and perhaps this has happened much earlier than I suspect– I haven’t researched it yet, but given works like ‘The Monk’ I imagine there has been quite a foundation for this, laid throughout all of history) have created a minor deity of this figure that in the old testament was merely one of court of the Almighty God, as it was understood in the myth of Job. Between the gospel account of John (written 60-80 years after the fact, and NOT as an eyewitness account), and the Revelation to John (different John, written even later), suddenly we have a devil, a Satan that looks a bit like Caesar and everything that Christians thought to be wrong in the world – a poser god that while obviously unimportant, gets blamed for everything inconvenient to lay at the feet of God, is actively working to undo the justice and peace of creation, and is someone/thing with something like parity to God.

Alternately, the devil is simply seen as some kind of malevolent keeper of the underworld, some kind of Hades perpetually missing his Persephone (which could make any husband cranky, really) and suffering from Narcissistic Personality Disorder with a focus on passive aggression.

And it’s so easy to see the threads of Roman and Greek mythology. It’s easy to see the threads of even more ancient Mesopotamian legend. It’s easy to see where Greek thought mingled in with the middle ages movement of Scholasticism. It’s easy to see were Enlightenment came in and where and when Science, Rationalism, Modernism, and Quantum Theory all started to affect how we tell ourselves stories of Those Things We Still Don’t Understand.

But where does that leave us? It may be that the old man in a toga on a cloud, the beautiful one in white with wings, the guy with red horns, and the aforementioned skeleton with a scythe on a pale horse are the only remaining anthropomorphic personifications left to us. Certainly, Justice has already been buried and sealed in her tomb. And perhaps there are good, rational, sociological reasons for this shift. But where does that leave us?

Perhaps now we can begin to look at our religious stories with new eyes. (As we were always meant to? As we always do anyway, whether we’re given permission or not?) Perhaps it is time to look at our stories and see what parts of them are trying to teach us the wisdom of the ages, and what part of them are cautionary tales to a danger that no longer exists.

...xposted at work blog...

One more reason for me to play, again. Beautiful music, man. Beautiful music. Our organist and I were having a conversation about this, and about my inclination to composing. (I know, you'd never know it about me - okay, perhaps a few friends could have guessed it was possible.)

Composing isn't something I'd ever received permission to do, permission being something very important to me, previously. But I've since realized that I don't require anyone's permission to be who I am. And who I am, you may not be surprised to know, is musical. And if I want to try my hand at composing on the piano (as opposed to just in my head), who is going to stop me? Only me.

And yes, it's true that I don't actually own a piano, but it's also true that there are no fewer than four of them in my workplace, and three of the four are grands. And one of them is really quite a nice stienway.

Of course, I'm rusty as all get out, but that is easily remedied. Really, it's about permission. Do I give myself permission to play imperfectly? Do I give myself permission to create? Do I give myself permission to learn and try new things?

It's funny. In voice, or on guitar, I can play - literally, play like a child would play with blocks. It's fun, it's liberating, it's joyful. On the piano... I think I carry so much baggage to the bench, I might need to meditate every time before I sit down. Just to get rid of the baggage.

All that to say, I can't wait for Hal Lenard to release the sheet music of this piece, which they say, will happen by the end of the year.

Yays.

Twitter. Love twitter. Do you love twitter? Do let me know if you do and we'll follow each other. It'll be loverly.

Also, love Adam Ant.

And, love Severus. Am trying not to notice that current love interest looks a lot like Severus.

Also, love Cornish Pasties. Am going to go make some from scratch, right now. Dinner. Also love dinner. My dinner.

Oh, the joy of present mindedness.

video.vh1.com

Why?

Because.

Neither exist: the technology, nor the man.

A fun survey I picked up from a member of my Autumn Book Group. More on this later. Two word answers, no more, no less…

1. Where is your cell phone? ...............On desk
2. Your significant other?....................completely imaginary
3. Your hair? ..................................pulled back
4. Your mother?...............................stressed out
5. Your brother?...............................what brother?
6. Your favorite thing?.......................good fic
7. Your dream last night?.....................no recollection
8. Your favorite drink?.......................Mate! Mate!
9. Your dream?................................Tony Stark
10. The room you’re in?......................My Office
11. Your ex?....................................Don't mention
12. Your fear?..................................absolutely unrepeatable
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years?....experiencing enlightenement
14. Where were you last night?.............knitting? knitting.
15. What you’re not?.........................many things
16. Muffins?....................................wheat? no.
17. One of your wish list items?............worm composter
18. Where you grew up?.....................Buffalo suburbs
19. The last thing you did?...................work blogged
20. What are you wearing?..................my dinner
21. Your TV?...................................8" screen
22. Your pets?.................................The Boys
23. Your computer?...........................Severus!Mac
24. Your life?..................................still unfolding
25. Your mood?...............................somewhat neutral
26. Missing someone?........................best friends
27. Your car?.................................All-weather Turtle
28. Something you’re not wearing?.......working watch
29. Favorite Store?..........................Home Depot
30. Your summer?............................Summer? Really?
31. Like someone?...........................several someones
32. Your favorite color?....................Periwinkle, mostly
33. Last time you laughed?.................just earlier
34. Last time you cried.....................this week
35. You are with?............................fictive muses
35. Who will re-post this?..................good question

You know, I was worried about this. The whole, 'Can I really keep up two blogs at once? A work blog and a personal blog?' I was right, I can't. Or, I couldn't. But not at all for the reasons I first supposed. Because what has occured was something that I hadn't considered at all: Nothing on either of them.

Now, sure, I go through periods of waxing and waning interest, attention, and energy. So it goes. But there was something else going on there, in and amongst the fact that the last two years of my life have been slightly more stressful and draining that I would have ever imagined, for reasons entirely personal and familial. And I've finally figured out my conundrum on the blogging issue, avoided so long because of my complete lack of energy to be introspective about it, as would be my norm. Anyway, the issue:

Where does work end and personal begin? Where does personal end and work begin? Boundaries. There are people from work (not staff, but members of the community for which I work) who read this blog, and they are welcome to do so. There are people who read this blog who are purely personal friends and compatriots in writerly and ficcly pursuits. Yet my work is a large part of my personal world view. And certainly, I am asked to give quite a bit of what I might otherwise consider something very personal to my work, particularly in preaching and theological reflection, to say nothing of getting to know other people and their stories.

Frankly, the issue reminds me of one of Huw's blogposts on God and Caesar, and my comments therein.

Which is interesting, because as I read the blogpost, I wasn't sure where I fell in that question of violated boundaries, and yet, as I wrote, I thought (behold, the introvert), and by the end of the post comment, I'd come away with a clearer understanding of how I felt about the topic.

And that is exactly what I'd been avoiding in this topic. To think, I must write. I know this. And yet, I avoid it when I am afraid of finding an answer that I think I might not like.

Well, I still don't have an answer, but I think I'm no longer afraid of working it out, in those ways that I do.

Random Sidenote: I need to update my lj icons.

So.

Today is the 25th Wedding Anniversary of one of my co-workers. Yay for Holly & Patrick!

Yay, indeed. And after going upstairs to wish her a happy 25th and hear about her fun evening plans of a fabulous meal and a show, I came back downstairs, ready to start in on Sunday's sermon (don't get your hopes up, oh ye who attend my church - I'm preaching at the early service). But upon approaching my office with the door wide open, I saw the magic 8 ball...

My somewhat hazy thought was, "So, this is going to happen for me, right?" This, even as I thought, "You know, whether or not this happens - this, being happily married to someone I adore - the Magic 8 Ball is unlikely to have the insiders scoop on it."

I received the following response: "My sources say No."

"Second opinion," I muttered, picking up the bright pink Jesus which also functions as a magic 8 ball. I shook him hard and flipped him over, only to be told, "Beware of the lightening."

"Come on, Buddha!" I muttered. I picked up the white plastic Laughing Buddha, rubbed his tummy and flipped him over. "Life is suffering," the Buddha informed me.

I snorted. "Unhelpful!" I informed them all.

But you know, just now I was reading in a scholarly commentary about Aragorn and whats-her-face, sheildmaiden of the house of Eorl. Eowyn, that's it. Anyway, the commentary was discussing love and duty, infatuation and devotion, and pointed out that love, if anything in our world, was inadvertent over intentional. We fall into love, after all, the commentator pointed out.

So it goes. And my track record for falling in love hasn't, so far, been anything like convenient, if by convenient I could be allowed to mean 'a remotely good idea, in any sense of the word'.

So it goes.

(I mean, come on: he only needs to be brilliant, creative, remotely attractive, and at least somewhat aware of the world around him. Honestly, am I asking too much?)

So it goes.

And, Grumble.

An entire scene of beautiful dialogue gone. Gone. Just the most fleeting of impresions remains.

Grumble.

At least I'd already finished the fic - this scene was a left over. But it was LOVELY! Damn.

Tis over on ff.net, for those who are interested and in the know. I know, I know. ff.net, is the lowest of the low, but I was feeling lazy, and that, my friends, seems to be where some of the good iron man movieverse fics reside. Now that we've written them.

Don't you love getting in at the bottom floor of a fandom? Only problem: there aren't already 3000 good fic for you to lose yourself in. You've actually got to produce.

Well, it's a good thing that Tony Stark just happens to be a sane, playboy, superhero version of my father (who, in case you wanted to know, explained to me the science behind the arc reactor, and his own research into the subject - which i'd heard about before - because, of course, he knows. Because, a slightly unhinged, remarried, non-superhero version of Mr. Stark, is Dr. Gordy), or else I'd have no 'in' to his character and wouldn't be able to write any passible fic at all, after only a few days. Usually takes longer than that for me to get inside a character's head.

Hell, it usually takes months. And then, if I'm a very good writer and an exemplary person in general, the muse shows up some months later.

Guess, I ask you, who stormed into my living room and asked about a certian ... um, well, he was upset about something i'd failed to write, even by the end of the fic. Yes, that's right. Muse!Tony. Who knew? I was just as shocked as anyone. I was writing back to someone who'd left a review, commenting about the proper placement of lemons (I had a later date in mind) and in stormed Mr. Stark, just a smidge upset with me for holding my stated opinion.

He would have thoroughly approved of the scene that I lost. He would have. It would have had the Stark Industries stamp of approval.

::sigh::

Maybe it'll come back?

So, I was reading Real Simple the other day... ( Click the cut for Sarey's ramble on clutter and emptiness )

Sarey's Five Essentials for 'Decluttering'. (Can you call a major life shift like this, 'decluttering'?)

1. Realize you've got more shit than you need and begin to deal with the stuff that you clearly have absolutely no use for, what so ever. In this case, 'deal with' is the painless euphemism for sell/donate/throw away, or otherwise get rid of.


2. There's ancient wisdom about how your space affects your life. It's ancient, and more importantly, enduring for a reason - there's a serious amount of validity to it, and whether or not it's been proven by modern science is completely besides the point - it's been proven by centures of human experience. Learn up on it, start to apply it.


3. Differentiate between the person who presented you with something and the thing they presented to you. Feel free to sell/give away/donate what you no longer wish to have in your space. And don't forget that even family heirlooms are maintained by you - at some point you'll give them up. Do you only wish to declutter when you die, or do you wish to reap the rewards of decluttering in this lifetime?


4. Put your life in a global context, because that's the context you actually exist within. At what price do you own your stuff? Is that the price you're willing to pay? If these questions make no sense, continue your research on the price of consumerism, and the ethics of consumerism.


5. Take a good hard look at your life, your activities, your assumptions, your spending habits, and your possessions. What do they say about your values? Do you like what you see? When you've finished doing this, do it again. And again. And again. And next year, do it again and again. And the year after that, and the year after that, and the year after that. If at any point you don't like what you see, do something about it. After all - it's your life. You can change it, if you wish. In fact, you're the only one who can.

So, my rector preached the best sermon I've heard from him yet. You can find a text copy of it on his blog, here: Cam's Good Friday Sermon .

The following entry will make much more sense if you take five minutes and go read the sermon. I promise you that it will be worth your while.

So, we had a conversation afterwards and after I told him that, in fact, this was the best I'd heard from him, etc, and I talked to him about what I see as my calling, or dharma, if you will. He knows this already, and you probably have put two and two together, but surprise: I write. I need to write. I'm called to write. It's my dharma to write. And I don't do near enough of it. Okay, whinging aside, I mentioned to him that part of what I see that writing is to be is to use my storytelling and my own imagination to write what the world could be like, should we, the human race, make an effort. And while I didn't say it outright, I was thinking: fiction. Novels. SciFi. Romance. Magial Realism. Even fanfic, really. Really, all those things I do when I'm not at work.

And he was thinking: Sermon.

He said as much, and he pointed out that I don't do any storytelling in my sermons. And I realized that I looked at sermons as a genre apart, and one I was none too good at, considering my ability in other genres. He pointed out that I could make the genre into whatever I wanted, and that I really needed to not be him. (Sure, easy to say and easy to agree with, but the truth of the matter is that, of course, some part of me says, "Wow, he does it really well, I want to be like him. He's really inspiring, and I think he's got it right; I want to be like him.")

So, I'm thrown for a loop:

a) the sermon was good and challenging, and hopeful (in that way that hearing it gives me hope for the church as an institution - if we can bust out with stuff like this, there is hope for us yet), and really set me to thinking about what traditions are unhelpful in our church and in our culture, and how deeply ingrained some of the unhelpful stuff is. And what, exactly do I want to do about that? Yes, I'm only one person, and no I feel absolutely NO CALL to be a politician and change the church or the world in that way, but I do feel called to be a storyteller, and so how do I propose to change the world in that way?

b) I think I might need to integrate my storytelling with my preaching. It's the bud of an idea, but beyond it, I'm utterly and completely at a loss. For some reason I find repugnant the idea (a possibly good suggestion of Cam's) to read some Barbara Brown Taylor and see how she does it. Maybe it's just the flush confusion of the moment. ...But I know that I have a tendancy to absorb the voice of another author and then, if I wish, parrot it back with something like precision. That can come in handy if you write fic (not that I've done it in a while with fic, mind you). And I don't want to do that with the Rev. Taylor. (If I'm going to copy someone, dammit, it's going to be Rev. Miller!) But I am, after all, trying to find my own voice. (Erm, I suppose that would be, Rev. Gordy's voice.) I feel like I've done that, to a certain extent, in my fic. Granted, it only took me 15 years to do get to that point. But I wouldn't mind being able to do it over night - to find my voice more or less instantly - with my sermons. Really, I wouldn't.

So, it's Good Friday. And there's pain, there's angst, there's an eyes-wide-open look at ourselves and the world. There is confusion, a broad path, a cross-roads, and provisions for the way forward, though which particular way forward has yet to be discerned.

It's Good Friday. And somehow, it feels like our world has been living in Good Friday since the first Human bashed the second Human with a big rock to steal his fire. And it feels, somehow, like it will remain Good Friday until we can all, somehow, decide to use rocks only for building and not for bashing, whether or not we agree with one another. Only then will Easter be true in the here and now sense, which of course is how we generally celebrate it, either here and now or proleptic and escatalogical (a tiny taste in the here and now that tells something of the after-life experience), neither of which seem true. Only then will Easter not be a false prophet in the truest sense: if the prophesy doesn't come to pass, it wasn't true. Until then, to celebrate Easter like we've done it, we managed it, we've fought the good fight and won, won, won - that seems like vacationing along the banks of Denial and taking a dip when it gets too hot out.

And until then, there is much to think about, and much to be written.


...And I'm still in my cassock. It's a 'paint it black' sort of day. I'm still gonna eat, tho. A food-less Sarey is an unconscious Sarey.

Title: A Quiet Embrace
Author: Sare Liz
Rating: PG-13, for vague references to adult situations
Warnings: Resolved angst. Hermione’s age could be in dispute. Let’s say she’s of the age of consent, shall we?
Disclaimer: Well, no, I didn’t create the characters. Were you confused?
Series: none
Continuity: OotP only. Pre-war.
A/N: This story is a departure from my normal, if I’ve got one. And it makes much more sense if you have “Get Me Through December” by Natalie McMaster playing softly in the background while you read.

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( Follow me for the fic! )

Hm. So. Lots of interesting things have been going on. More on that later. But one of the upshots for you was that I was sifting through my fic for this ship, reorganizing my file folders, and rereading to see what was finished, unfinished, a perpetual WIP, you know - same old, same old, and I came across this one. And I don't think I ever posted it. And I have no idea when I wrote it, but here you go - one of a few I'll be posting, should time permit. Consider them a little Valentine's Day Prezzie.

Title: Rearrange
Author: Sare Liz
Rating: PG
Pairing: SS/HG
Continuity: DH+bezoar, EWE.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Of course they don’t belong to me.
Author’s Note: This is not the first fic that has been spawned by the entirely wonderful U2 song, “The Fly” – see end note for lyrics. No, this is not the only fic I've written inspired by this song, but possibly the only one for this fandom. ...No, that might not even be true. Hm.

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( Click for the fic... )

Sometimes I'm just on a roll, though I'm not sure it usually happens on my work blog. Nevertheless, I'm proud of the latest entry, and I humbly direct you to it.

Sarey's musings on Lent.