Christmas Lists & Dreams Deferred

I’ve been thinking about transition, dreams, and contentment a bit lately. It’s that time of year when my family asks me for a Christmas list because, for many of us, our love language is giving gifts. Or, at least, it’s one of our love languages, a way of saying, I value you, I treasure you, I want you to be happy.

So, my cousin contacted us to let us know that our lists were insufficient. Probably because my grandpa starts Christmas shopping in July. So last night, just before we turned in, my husband remarked, “I don’t know what else to ask for that’s not really expensive.” I thought for a moment, then named 5-6 things I could imagine he could want or need. We laughed at how well I knew him and how good I am at thinking of gifts. Then I asked him to try to do the same for me, since I don’t have any idea of what to add to my list either. He was stumped. I think his exact words were, “If I knew what you wanted, I would know what to get you every year.”

As I lay down, I pondered his words. Why is it that I don’t want things? Why is it that I can’t come up with a good list of things that can be ordered and wrapped and given? Honestly, I think it’s because I’m content with my life for the most part. I have everything I need and then some. Sure, we have recurring needs – diapers, wipes, food, gas, etc. – but not the kinds of things that most folks think make good gifts.

But I refuse this year to ask for wasteful things. In the past, I’ve filled up lists with books that look good that I’ve never read, movies I like but never sit down to watch, or music that sits dormant on an ancient iPod. There’s something within me that has known this was not right, but this year, is adamant in saying, “No!”

Perhaps it’s because I’m in a different place this year. I’ve now been a mom for over a year and my perspective has been radically, irrevocably changed. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been in transition for that year and am just now finding my footing again. The transition of my body that occurred during the birth of my son – that agonizing, amazing time – was only the beginning of this transition of my life.

Recently on Facebook, I’ve been reminded of the fragility of our lives and how many things can cause these transitions. A friend posted the other day that it was 2 months ago that his daughter was born, who has since died. Then today, a friend who had announced that they were expecting shared the hard news that they had miscarried. It all made me think of this poem:

“Harlem” by Langston Hughes

  What happens to a dream deferred?
      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore –
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over –
      like a syrupy sweet?

     Maybe it just sags
     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

Sometimes transition comes on the heels of a dream deferred. And lately, in my experience, that has looked like the lives of children being tragically short. I look at my son, who laughs and plays and tries to run, feeling the precarious nature of things. Last week in youth, we talked about joy and I taught that joy is an abiding gift of God that is deeper than happiness. I wonder in those moments of watching my child, if I could still feel joy if something happened. I trust, by faith, that joy would still be waiting, like a deep pool of peaceful waters, beneath the tumult of trouble or despair.

But when you’re in transition – when all you can do is breathe and cry and curse and try to run from the inescapable pain that will not be denied because it is a part of you – it can be hard to know anything else. I pray for all of us that we will not dry up or fester or rot or become sickeningly sweet or sag or explode. I don’t believe that is the will of God. I believe the tragic times of transition in our lives are a byproduct of the broken, sinful world we live in. But I also believe that God is with us in the transition, no matter how painful, waiting expectantly to bring new life into being.

Take Our Lives and Let Them Be...

Two Sundays ago, on October 9, we had our drivers license covenant service to lift up and celebrate those youth who had gotten their license in the past year. This service grew up out of tragedy. Years ago, two young men in our church were involved in a very bad car accident and lost their lives. Since that time, we have conducted this service to celebrate a milestone but also to make clear the responsibility of joining the community of drivers.

Since July, I’ve been starting my third year in this pastorate. The first year, all young pastors are admonished to change nothing, so the service flowed as it had been designed in previous years. Then last year, I was out on maternity leave during the fall. But this year, with ordination around my shoulders, an intern on my staff, and a passion to do more and better, we revamped this service.

The first thing was to set the table. With the help of a congregant who owns a local salvage yard, I was able to get a tire, a steering column, and a dash from various cars. Then I put the cross in the center (where it should always be, right?) and three candles in front representing our triune God. I borrowed the licenses of all the adults present and placed them around the altar. A small bowl with the items our new drivers would be receiving – an ichthus keychain and a “dnt txt n drv” thumb ring – was put on top of the tire. One of our offering plates was placed front and center for use during the service.

Following a prayer for admission to the community of drivers, these newly licensed folks came and put their licenses in the offering plate. Then a youth read this scripture:

⁴ Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. ⁵ Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. ⁶ Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. ⁸ Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. ⁹ Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you. – Philippians 4:4-9

Then I gave a message which sounded something like this: This could easily be a time of admonishment – don’t speed, don’t be distracted while driving, etc. etc. But that’s what you’ve probably been hearing from everyone else. So tonight, I invite us to rejoice! You were one thing and now you are another and in the church, we rejoice when that happens. We see it in baptism – you were outside the church and now you have been washed and united to the Body of Christ. We see it in baptism – you were two separate people and now you have been united together. We see it in a funeral – you were here among us where we could see you and now you have gone on to glory in God. So, tonight, we have come to another one of those points – you were one thing, and now you’re another.

You are a driver. You are the wielder/director of massively engineered pieces of metal. Your status has changed to be a blessing to the community. Now you can be the one who asks another, “Do you need a ride to church?” Or maybe later in your life, “Let me drive you home.” You have the capability to move people and things from one place to another with speed and care. It’s amazing.

I never thought much about my own driving until I became a seminary student and put the sticker on my rear windshield “SMU: Perkins School of Theology.” I was so proud, so excited to be a seminary student. But then I realized that everyone knew exactly who I was, and whose I was, every time I drove. The person I pulled in front of, the person I sped past, the person I gave a dirty look – they all knew I wasn’t living up to who I said I was and who had claimed my life.

You’ve put your drivers licenses in the offering plate because you are offering that part of your life to God. No part of your life is out of God’s sight or reach or care. So, with that in mind, I would simply lift up a piece of our scripture reading – “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen, and the God of peace will be with you.”

I invited them to stand before the altar, to receive back their licenses, and to receive the keychains and rings with the words, “Remember who you are and whose you are.”

For those of us whose days and lives are so fragmented – a lot of work here, a little time for family there, a little time for self shoved off to the side – it’s hard to see our lives as whole offerings to God. But that’s what I’ve finally concluded is true.

Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee.
Take my moments and my days; let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of they love.
Take my feet, and let them be swift and beautiful for thee.- UMH 399

Which makes this video funny to me, because it’s true, too: Wrong Worship. Or at least in our selfish, normal mindset it is. But God is always asking more of us – whole lives offered as living sacrifices on the altar – hands motivated by holy love – feet (and cars) quick to serve.

More Questions than Answers

I was baptized at the Wesley Foundation at the University of Central Arkansas in November 1999. I joined a church for the first time, First United Methodist Church of Denton, Texas, on February 23, 2003. I felt a call to ministry and was recommended by our charge conference on December 17, 2004. I started seminary at Perkins School of Theology in the fall of 2005 and graduated in May 2009. I was commissioned as a provisional elder in The United Methodist Church in June 2009 and was appointed back to First United Methodist Church of Denton. This past summer, I was ordained as an elder in full connection.

I list my credentials only to say that I feel like I should have solid answers. So, to my surprise/chagrin, I’m sitting in church this past Sunday morning, singing a hymn and I find I’m having trouble with the theology.

Be not dismayed whate’er betide, God will take care of you;
beneath his wings of love abide, God will take care of you.
Chorus: God will take care of you, through every day, o’er all the way;
he will take care of you, God will take care of you.
Through days of toil when heart doth fail, God will take care of you;
when dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you.

All you may need he will provide, God will take care of you;
nothing you ask will be denied, God will take care of you.
- UMH #130 “God Will Take Care of You”

At the late service, I actually leaned over to my fellow associate pastor and said, “I’m having trouble with this one.” Sure, I believe that God takes care of us. In fact, I believe that God is creatively breathing into each and every moment, sustaining us like a mother holding her toddler’s hand each step of the way. But I don’t know where I stand on “all you may need, he will provide.” I know for a fact that there are many of God’s beloved children who do not have all provision for all their needs. So I find myself questioning this doctrine of providence. Of course, this is a perfectly comforting sentiment to sing, but what does it mean that God provides?

There wasn’t time to linger on these questions in the moment. But as I started my day today, I thought about how very much I don’t know when it feels like I’m supposed to know. Even as, or maybe especially as, a newly ordained elder in The United Methodist Church, I’ve filled reams of paper with my “answers” on doctrinal matters. I have acted like I’ve known.

There’s really a lot I don’t know. During a difficult time for dear friends who are also clergy, this is a portion of the prayer I was able to find words to offer:

Dear God,
I’m a pastor but that doesn’t mean I know how this prayer thing works. Sometimes I wish it was Christmas lists or vending machines, but somehow I know it’s more and better than that. Thanks for listening to us. Thank you for your presence with us. Thank you for your love that never lets us go, no matter how we cry out and struggle. Lord, do what you do when we pray. You are our God, we are your people. Amen.

I love language, so I know I could have been fancier, more eloquent, but in the rocky, real parts of life, I think you can just be yourself with God. I believe it’s better to just be yourself with God.

So, with more questions than pat answers, I know I’m at home. I don’t belong to a church that claims to have all the answers, we don’t ask you to sign a doctrinal piece before you join, and often we readily admit that there’s a lot to the mystery of our God.

What I do know, and what has made all the difference, is that I know God loves me, loves all persons, loves all creation. And God will bear with me, with all of us, while we ask our questions and toddle along the way that leads to life eternal.

Bodies in the Body of Christ

A girl wears a bikini at church camp and it’s considered inappropriate, so instead of singling her out, the camp directors decide that everyone will wear t-shirts at the pool.

A girl is on mission trip and is repeatedly asked to change clothes since her sleeveless t-shirts and shorts do not abide by the clothing policy.

A boy at camp decides to wear short shorts at camp in celebration of 80′s day. He and his friends laugh while some of the counselors roll their eyes.

A pastor at a local church wears a skirt and top to worship since the worship leaders have decided not to wear robes over the hot summer. A few congregants comment that her skirt length is not appropriate.

How do we consider bodies as members of the body of Christ? I’ve been thinking about this for a long time since our faith is radically incarnational. God took on flesh. God was born, experienced the best and worst of human existence, and then suffered a horrible death, but that was not enough to conquer God who rose from the dead, body and all. God not only created us to be beloved children; God loved and valued us enough – desired to be in relationship with us enough – to humble God’s self to life in a body.

So what do we think of these precious bodies that God values so much? As Americans, it seems like we spend most of our time objectifying bodies, especially female bodies but male bodies more and more. Bodies are seen in everything from works of art to crass commercials. Bodies are washed, clothed, cared for, loved. Bodies are dirtied, humiliated, stripped, hated.

So what is a faithful follower of Christ supposed to do? Here is what I’ve discerned so far:
1) Respect Bodies – Respect other bodies’ needs. See their needs as no different from and just as important as our own.
2) Heal Bodies – All bodies deserve to be healthy and whole. Persons should have access to good food, water, shelter, and medical care to ensure their body’s health. Touch is a powerful remedy in itself; there’s a reason it’s included in healing services.
3) Love Bodies – Handle and observe bodies with love. I feel a surge of compassion when I see the very young and very old struggle to walk, stand, kneel. I admire the grace and prowess of athletes and youth. And when a body needs love – in the form of a hug, handshake, or gentle touch on the shoulder – I pray I might have the grace to offer what I, too, need.

In baptism we use water in the ancient act of washing a body. In communion we gather bodies around a common table to learn how we can all receive the nourishment we need. God pours out grace in ways our bodies recognize and with which our souls resonate.

There are things only having a body can teach us. Think of learning to ride a bicycle. When I try to describe the intricate art of sitting, balancing, peddling, racing over pavement or dirt trails, it sounds ridiculous. Even watching my son as he learns to stand and, eventually, walk gives me new appreciation for the skills I’ve taken for granted for years.

So it’s no surprise to me that God teaches us through our bodies, too. And maybe, as we give and receive respect and healing and love, we’ll be better at living as the Body of Christ, too.

An Unlikely Little Monster

Just after I last posted, I was doing my typical stuff on Facebook – scrolling through the newsfeed, checking on friends, uploading pictures and videos – when something caught my eye: “the lakers are a bunch of homosexuals.”

This was one of many times that one of my friends has used “gay” as an insult. So, I posted my standard response – "Gay is not an insult. I know you can be more creative." I’m not saying I’m spotless in this regard; I grew up in the generation that used “lame” and “retard” as standard insults. But I’ve grown up, matured, and realized that this kind of use of language is harmful and dangerous. I really do want us to be more creative when we are expressing our displeasure with something. 

But it was what followed my remark that bothered me the most. Another friend of my friend wrote, “are we kidding, gay is as big of an insult as there is.”

Really?!

As you can tell, I’ve deliberated for weeks before responding, but even now, when I went back to my friend’s page and read the posts again, to make sure I was remembering it accurately, my gut responds the same way. Really?!

I like to keep some of my convictions and beliefs to myself in the course of ordinary pastoral ministry. I deeply respect all persons and believe them to be children of God, just like me. I am hesitant to put any stumbling blocks between me and my congregation or anyone else. I really do want to live and let live as we all stumble our way toward God. As the obscure 16th century theologian Rupertus Meldenius said, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; and, in all things, charity.”

To appreciate the juxtaposition of life, at the same time I was mulling this over, I found a few other things. One was the It Gets Better Project featured in a commercial. While I am straight, I can understand the loneliness and pain that accompanies most people at some point or another and the reassurance and hope that a community of people who have been there can offer. I have felt the same way as the sisterhood of mothers has surrounded and supported me as I began my own floundering way in this new calling.

And, through Glee, I came to appreciate Lady Gaga. The anthem, “Born This Way” is awesome and helped me articulate what I was wanting to say to the person who thinks “gay” or “homosexual” is an ultimate insult.

I’m beautiful in my way / ‘Cause God makes no mistake
I’m on the right track, baby / I was born this way
Don’t hide yourself in regret / Just love yourself and you’re set
I’m on the right track, baby / I was born this way

I’ve preached on the power of words. I believe our words can participate in the power of the Word of God, which does not return empty, but accomplishes that which God purposes and succeeds in the thing for which God sends it. And yet we use our words to wound with vicious apathy. Why do we use the gift of language to hurt others for who they are? It would be like saying, “That’s so blue-eyed” and meaning it to be an insult.

At the same time, I know God calls us to live redeemed lives. I’m not perfect, but I earnestly believe that I am going on to perfection in love, with God’s help. And I know that by the power of the Holy Spirit, we can all be our best, most-redeemed selves. Using our words wisely and offering courageous love is a part of that. So be more creative.

There's a leaf in my purse...

I realize it’s been more than a month (but only by one day!) since I posted last. I had a lot of wonderful, deep thoughts that I thought about posting, but the time kept slipping through my fingers, across my calendar, and into the past. I was going to write a post called “I hate this story” about the darkness we experience through Lent, but how, even though it hurts in a real and visceral way, it’s ultimately healthy for our spiritual growth. Maybe next year…

Today I am frustrated by my desk. I have so many things that are crying out from my to-do list, helpfully located on a sticky note on my desk in front of my computer. I would love to mark at least one of them out, but so many are waiting for the response of another person or just plain inspiration. And then there are the piles on my desk. Bibles are balancing on curriculum on top of information packets, with a nametag from camp last summer hanging out – and that’s just one pile. My materials for Annual Conference arrived today, so that’s on top, for the moment, of mission trip registrations and VBS training material.

It’s bordering on ridiculous. During staff meeting, I was reminded to turn in all my receipts for April, so when I got back to my desk, I grabbed my purse to start fishing out receipts and figuring out if this was spent for me or for the church. Which is when I found the leaf…

…it was a perfect, brown little leaf. Since it is now spring, I really have no idea how long it has been at the bottom of my purse. Despite its dryness, it was not broken or even cracked. I laughed out loud. How bizarre! Why on earth was there a leaf in my purse?

Thank you, God, for giving me laughter in the midst of the tidal wave of everyday life. When I feel overwhelmed by it all, not sure where to start, you remind me that there is beauty in the simple and ordinary. And I remember how grateful I was to see my youth playing on Sunday night. I thought our evening had been ruined since we were having to go to the back up plan – playing in the gym – rather than going to the awesome Denton Arts & Jazz Festival. I was sure there would be no one there and that we would all be bummed, disappointed.

Instead, I got to see high school guys play basketball with middle school girls, the football player carefully guarding the 5′ 6th grader. Laughter rang out as youth and adults played cards and someone went out. Ping pong balls were batted around. Pizza was offered, although not quite enough, but it all was overlaid by grace. Because we love each other, there is joy. Glory be! Now, on to that to-do list…

Inner Body Bright

I started taking yoga again around 6 weeks ago. I think the instructor is one of the best preachers I’ve heard regularly even if she probably wouldn’t think of herself in those terms. Two weeks ago she started the session by talking about how beautiful the variety of shades of green are in the spring. And it’s true, even in Texas. Spring brings a freshness, a vibrancy that gets dulled and finally burnt to a crisp over the summer. She went on to say that looking at all of us was like seeing the spring’s greening. It was a core truth for me – we are all beautiful, various expressions of life, of the imago Dei.

Later in class, our instructor talked about standing in mountain pose with our inner body bright. I stood a little taller, rooting down through my feet into the mat, into the floor, into the foundation, into the earth. I stood a little taller, stretching up toward the ceiling, toward the sky, toward the universe. I imagined my soul shining brightly and wondered what color it might be – a vibrant purple? a beautiful yellow? a tired grey?

Following this thought further, I thought about how many times we all try to be something we’re not because we feel like we’re supposed to be. It may not be anything dramatic, just little, but constant compromises that we make that chip away at our character. If green tries to be yellow, how washed out does it become? If yellow tries to be orange, how might it strain?

This past week at yoga class, we worked our shoulders and talked about our inner strength, the strength that comes from integration. Our instructor made the point that many people think that being strong comes from being hard on the outside, but when we are truly strong on the inside, we are able to be softer, more flexible on the outside.

I think it all comes from being authentic, even as I strive to grow in to perfection in love by the grace of God. If I am fully me, living out who I am called to be, then I shine brightly. I express my gifts fully. I don’t become dim or burned out by trying to be someone I’m not.

It was interesting as I expressed these thoughts with my residency group since some seemed to respond as though this fullness of being was bordering on sinful pride, on being content with where we are, of denying growth. But I don’t think it’s that at all. I forget where I read it in seminary now, but for some people – particularly women who are often socialized to sacrifice self in the service of others – the sin that we struggle with is not pride, but un-being. We collapse in on ourselves, become invisible. That’s not to say that we serve out of the hope of being recognized, but that we should be inner body bright – authentically our true selves as God intends.

I walk these streets...

One of the new things we are doing as a pastoral staff is Pastor on the Square – an hour each Thursday morning when one of the pastors hangs out at Jupiter House. This was my idea after our lead pastor, Matt, came back from a workshop and shared the expert’s recommendation that pastors spend more time out of their offices, out of their churches, in order to draw others into the church. It makes sense. From my desk, who am I reaching? Sure, I’m planning programming or writing sermons that I hope will reach folks, but how much more effective might it be for me to go outside and actually meet people.

So today was one of my turns. I love this experience since it affords me an opportunity to walk the streets of my city and meet people. My fellow associate pastor, Lisa, often teases me since I’m a huge extrovert and am always looking for ways to interact with folks. It feeds my spirit!

But today, I’m tired. I had a long day yesterday followed by a night of wonderful meetings that are helpful to the life and work of church, but take a lot of energy. So I’m dragging. I take a couple of Reporterswith me (the newspaper of our national church, with a local North Texas Conference edition included). I rarely have time to read, so I feel like this will be a good investment of time if I don’t happen to strike up a lengthy conversation with anyone.

I have to confess – I had to make myself keep reading many times. Not because the content wasn’t good, but because I’m so tired. And it was a good exercise to ask myself why? Of course, my baby boy did have a hard night last night and we were up a couple of hours together, but beyond that, sometimes I’m just tired of maintaining the level of programming and the thought of taking on anything new is daunting.

I read an article on the Latchkey program at Floral Heights UMC in Wichita Falls, and wonder why we haven’t shared the good news of our own Children’s Day Out/FunStop programs lately. They are amazing gifts to our community and draw in more new persons to faith and membership at our church than many realize.

I read an article on Grace Church, a multi-site United Methodist church in Florida. “The church’s strategy is expressed in four words that seek to summarize a Wesleyan vision of sanctification – reach, connect, form, send.” The lead pastor, Rev. Jorge Acevedo, states, “We want to reach people, welcoming them with the radical welcome of God. We want to connect them to the family of God in relationships. We want to help form them into Christ’s likeness, and we want to send them out as missionaries.”

I’m encouraged, because that’s what we’re trying to do, too, through our Neighborhood ConneXion groups. Since I started at the church 5-6 years ago, I wondered what it would be like to have block parties, to get to know neighbors who were already members of my church and show our other neighbors what fun we were having and invite them along. With the advent of some very helpful software, we were finally able to map the members of our church, divide them into groups, and launch a ministry led by the laity in their own neighborhoods. After co-leading the facilitator training last night, I’m excited to see how it goes. I hope it starts to satisfy that deep-seated need we all have for meaningful relationships, for spiritual running partners to encourage us in our faith.

I turn the page and find the column Gen-X Rising by Rev. Andrew Thompson. This is always one of my favorites. This one is called “Virtual church will never replace the body of Christ” and the funny opening talks about a 1989 article in the New York Times which wondered if computer (or electronic) mail would ever supersede fax machines. Of course we all laugh, but just last night I was sharing with a youth how communicating electronically – texts, e-mails, facebook messages, and, well, even this blog – gives you a sense of anonymity that can be dangerous to the body of Christ. We misunderstand, we say things we would never say in person, we miss that personal connection that is so foundational to our identity as followers of Christ.

Real, in the flesh human relationships are tough. People disagree. Love takes a lot of hard work. But the digital universe? That’s easy…We see attempts by the church to grapple with our changing society in a number of new ways. There are some promising ones that use technology to bring people together in the flesh. But others do more harm than good…God did not tweet salvation. He didn’t send an e-mail, or a podcast or even a fax. God came in the flesh, so that all flesh might be redeemed. And the church he is building even now to proclaim that good news is meant to be a body – just as real as Jesus’ own body was and is.
- Rev. Andrew Thompson

I feel challenged, but invigorated by the reading and conversations and a good cup of chai tea. As I walk back to the church, I think about the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In one section, when she’s in Rome, she talks about how a city has a word that sums it up, something that defines it to the core. I think about Denton, about the bikers and students and lawyers and doctors, about the hospitals and universities and repair shops and churches and quirky little coffee shops and restaurants. I’m struck again by how just plain cool my town is. What word could define this city? What word seems to sing from the street corners and whisper from the redbud trees?

I finally settle on create. In Denton, we create as naturally as we breathe – art, music, scholars. Sure, some of the things we create will fail, but that doesn’t mean we stop creating. Maybe I’m a little theological in my definition, seeing us in all our imago Dei glory, partaking in God’s own creative energy, but I’m definitely more optimistic, and a little less tired, as I step back into my office.

The Walking Wounded

I could see it the moment the words came out of my mouth. How I wished the words had little tethers so I could pull them back in, but it was too late. His face shifted, his posture changed. I had wounded him. Whatever my intent, the damage was done.

This past Monday, I got to attend the Wallace Chappell Lecture at Perkins School of Theology. It featured Rev. Jeff Kirby of Church of the Resurrection in Kansas City talking about “Evangelizing Men in a Culture of Noncommitment” and Rev. Dr. Elaine Heath talking about “Evangelism in a Culture of Violence Against Women.”

Now, some of you may have stopped reading right there. Just in those two sentences, there are many words that make us shudder to a stop – violence, evangelism…

But in listening to Dr. Heath, who I had for my one and only evangelism class when I attended Perkins, she brought up a point that I had forgotten in the busyness of my everyday life. In her reading of Genesis 3, she lifts up that perhaps it is not willfulness and pride that lead to the Fall in the garden, but a childish exuberance, inexperience, and immaturity. After all, how can a child know what “to die” means if they’ve never experienced it?

So it is, through the agency of the serpent, that they are tempted and wounded. They want to be like God – what child doesn’t want to be like their parent – but they first thing the come to “know” is shame. The good gift of their bodies and their relationship with God becomes tainted with guilt.

Dr. Heath used this scripture passage along with her readings of St. Julian of Norwich to talk about our original state to be one of woundedness that inevitably leads to actual sins. We enter the world unknowing, with basic, primal needs for love and sustenance. We learn from the faces we encounter every day, whether they smile and coo or grimace and snarl.

And at some point, by some word or deed or something left undone, we are wounded.

Having just had a child, I know this will happen, may already have happened, and it makes me so indescribably sad. And yet I know it happened to me, has happened to everyone I love, and continues in circles, ever-spreading outward as subtle as an epidemic and terrible as a tornado.

Sin is the sharpest scourge that any chosen soul may be smitten with: which scourge thoroughly beateth man and woman, and maketh him hateful in his own sight, so far forth that afterwhile he thinketh himself he is not worthy but as to sink in hell,—till [that time] when contrition taketh him by touching of the Holy Ghost, and turneth the bitterness into hopes of God’s mercy. And then He beginneth his wounds to heal, and the soul to quicken…
   – Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, Chapter XXXIX

Sin, which I have always described as a turning away from God, leads to the wounding of self and others. But the hope we have is that our God in Christ endured these same wounds and pours out grace. So, my prayer this day and every day, is that I may not wound others. God, help us find ways to turn our woundedness into avenues for grace.

Communication Breakdown

“Hey girl, stop what you’re doing!” - Led Zeppelin

On Monday, I had my ordination interview with the Board of Ordained Ministry. I was justifiably nervous, hopeful that I would adequately communicate my theological understandings as well as my effectiveness in ministry. But one of the points I made in one of my answers to the questions posed in the Book of Discipline has stuck with me all week – how all language is metaphor.

Specifically, I was talking about my understanding of God. I often say that it’s like holding the ocean in a Dixie cup – it’s true as far as it goes, but it’s certainly not the whole of it. Language is just an agreed upon system of squiggles and grunts that we take to mean other things. No wonder we misunderstand each other so often!

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:11-12, NRSV)

The next day after this life-changing interview, I was plunged headfirst back into the everyday challenges and joys of ministry. And through the circuits of e-mails, phone calls, messages, texts, and face-to-face conversations, I got to thinking about how often these communications break down. Our words, as well-crafted and well-meaning as they may be, often don’t do our thoughts or feelings justice.

So I’m looking forward to the realization of the Kingdom of God. I have a feeling that not only will I know God fully, but I will have the joys of knowing my brothers and sisters fully, even as I will be fully known. In the mean time, I feel God calling me to stop what I’m doing, take time to sort out the messages, and struggle to find the ways that communicate more clearly.

After all, we’re called to be witnesses to the good news of God in Jesus Christ, empowered by the Holy Spirit. And that takes communication.