Life at the Rectory
A great bit of my laxity in posting has been due to the move I made around the time I began blogging. This is the first time I've ever really lived in a house, other than the one I was raised in. And with it, comes all of the intricacies of a house.
My roommates are two wonderful women from church. Like me, they are seminary graduates. We live in northeast Washington, close to Gallaudet University, and next to a cute little Roman Catholic Church. On the other side of the church is the rectory, which has caused me to call our home of rogue theologians, "The Other Rectory."
Friday was a day where everything seemed to go wrong. The plumber couldn't finish his job, the phone company didn't arrive in their declared time frame, the water company was working on the line on our street and turned the water off without notifying us, and I broke our lovely glass front door in a passive-agressive moment.
I suppose I could try and make some simplistic theological statement here: Rely on God, or Peace, Peace, or even my mother's Presbyterian answer of "Well, I guess it was just supposed to happen." But I think what I desire most, is not an easy theological answer. You know, the funeral response of "well, he's in a better place," just doesn't cut it. And simplistic statements don't give much hope either.
So I live in the tension of wondering if God wanted me to break the door or if the door just had it in for me. I also wonder if the phone company would be a good description of sin. Whatever God intended, things are getting fixed.
My roommates are two wonderful women from church. Like me, they are seminary graduates. We live in northeast Washington, close to Gallaudet University, and next to a cute little Roman Catholic Church. On the other side of the church is the rectory, which has caused me to call our home of rogue theologians, "The Other Rectory."
Friday was a day where everything seemed to go wrong. The plumber couldn't finish his job, the phone company didn't arrive in their declared time frame, the water company was working on the line on our street and turned the water off without notifying us, and I broke our lovely glass front door in a passive-agressive moment.
I suppose I could try and make some simplistic theological statement here: Rely on God, or Peace, Peace, or even my mother's Presbyterian answer of "Well, I guess it was just supposed to happen." But I think what I desire most, is not an easy theological answer. You know, the funeral response of "well, he's in a better place," just doesn't cut it. And simplistic statements don't give much hope either.
So I live in the tension of wondering if God wanted me to break the door or if the door just had it in for me. I also wonder if the phone company would be a good description of sin. Whatever God intended, things are getting fixed.
posted by Chett Pritchett at
8:40 PM
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