Like anyone who is seeking Ordination, I was required to do my Internship time. While I was in Madison, I wrote the following blog, filed it away, and promptly forgot about it. After rediscovering it today, I thought I would post it.
So... sitting here at the Motherhouse, during my time of Internship, I am drawn to consideration about the nature of service. After all, I have for many years signed my emails and correspondences with the phrase "In Her Service, and so Yours." Upon reflection, I realize that my idea of serving Her has changed radically over the years.
As a young hotblood warrior, my idea of service came from the annals of the Marion Zimmer Bradley series about the planet Darkover. In my mind, I was a fierce young guild member who would ride off into the mountains wearing riding leathers and my sword, slaying the hated misogynist bandits, and righting the injustices of my world.
Over the years as I grew, I took on political issues that believe in. I carried hundreds of picket signs, wrote countless letters to editors, congressional representatives, Senators and others. I marched on Washington and New York and other cities and towns. I was arrested many times during demonstrations over war, poverty, choice, HIV, equal rights, unfair laws and practices and other issues.
In joining WTI and beginning my work as a scholar, my sword began to drip ink instead of blood or sweat or rage. I began to write.
And while all of these ideas and actions and plans were noble and courageous, I performed a service today that may have been just as vital as any of the others.
Today, I fixed the Motherhouse toilet. It was running all the time, and sometimes, the water would just not re-fill. Now, while I count myself butch, I am no plumber, as my closest sisters well know. I am FAR more likely to call a service person than to try to fix something myself. But there I was, doing my service time, and it needed some attention. I must say I am a little proud that I figured out exactly which thingy was shirking its duty and was able to replace it. As I put the lid back on smiling at myself, the thought hit me that I was doing Her Service. Perhaps not the glamorous and laudable quests of my youth, but Service just the same.
And so I send a respectful salute to all of those who toil in anonymity: Those who do the unglamorous and sometimes plain grimy tasks, Those who face their fears and do it anyway, Those who try knowing they may well fail, Those who soldier on through despair and hardship, keeping the faith and enduring much. I salute you and commend your Service. You are as much as warrior as the young hotblood with the sword. Thank you.