Important Disclaimer

Since I currently have several employers/supervisors/churches/etc., please know that none of the words on my blog represent them or their beliefs. This blog is my own creation.

It also does not represent my children's perspective, nor my mother's; they think I am funny, but misguided.
(Quick update: only my mother thinks I'm funny now.)

Saturday, September 27, 2014

The Herky Jerky


I've been re-reading C. S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters after a conversation with a colleague reminded me I haven't read them in years. It's been two decades, in fact. I am so clearly different from the just-barely-woman I was at 20. Since then I have married, divorced, borne (and partly raised) two sons, buried my mother-in-law, finished two degrees and dropped out of a PhD program. I have moved 8 times and have been ordained as a pastor. I've buried 4 cats.

So many joys and sorrows, each leaving their mark--laugh lines, stretch marks, ragged scars. This business of carrying the marks of what we have done, what we have experienced, goes back to Cain, doesn’t it? Who among us dares to deny sanctuary to another?

It’s been a difficult year—perhaps my most difficult. The landscape of this life is familiar, but surreal, constantly shifting, and I feel out of step, as if I am dancing to the wrong song as the rest of life moves to a proper rhythm. My feet aren’t planted—like a kid carrying too many balloons on a windy day. I have longed this year to float away into fantasy and wishful thinking. As unbelievable as life has been this year, my daydreams are just as

Monday, September 22, 2014

you weren't made for this world

Once
I met a man
in a psych ward, who
came by ambulance
after
they peeled him off a street in Manhattan, on which
he had blocked
4
lanes
of
traffic
with his body
by lying across the center line.

After they picked up his miraculously unbroken
body
they deposited him in the psych ward, where
he grinned about the traffic
when he wasn't grimacing about the meds.

The traffic, tho
it kept moving.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Where You Go, I Go


Sunday, September 7, 2014
Sermon by Katie Mulligan

Scripture Reading: Ruth 1:1-18 (and Matthew 10 was on my mind too)

The audio for those of you who prefer it. I confess that I still talk too fast, and it exhausted me to listen to it.

I have been struggling in these weeks since Mike Brown was killed in Ferguson, MO to find something coherent to say about racism, violence, divided communities, and the gospel. Those of you who follow my social media will laugh at the idea that I struggle with words—after all my facebook and twitter have been awash with articles, blogs, opinions, rants, news stories, etc.  I have not been silent—I have lifted up the voices of many, many individuals, amplifying the anger and despair and frustration that has tumbled through my social media connections. I have added my own thoughts to the chorus, and over the last month several people have messaged me, asking if I am ok. The conversation goes something like this: “All you have posted for the last few weeks is about Mike Brown and Ferguson. You haven’t posted a cat picture in weeks. Are you ok?”


I don’t know how to answer that except to say that in these last few weeks it has seemed unthinkable to post cat pictures in the midst of the real grief and anger expressed by people I care deeply for. And since I have been working with black and brown youth in Trenton and Ewing and Lawrenceville these last few years, I have grown fiercely protective of these students, whose lives are more prone to violence from all sources. When I saw the initial reports of Mike Brown’s death on twitter, I knew immediately that this could have been one of our children, one of our students, here in our church. So no, I’m not ok.