Practices

My news feeds and brain is spinning with all the cool things by friends and colleagues are doing for Advent.

Whether it's reading stories with your kids, trying to set healthy boundaries on your time, working out, or praying, it seems that Advent is a great time to try a something new. After all, God is getting ready to do a new thing! Maybe we can join in!

For me, I've been feeling a little intellectually stagnant. I have lots of interests but little time to devote to them. My work days have been full of tasks and it's left little time for reading or learning. By the time I get home I find that I don't have much energy for anything that requires brainpower.

In an attempt to remedy my continual brain-fart, I'm going to watch a TedTalk every day for all of Advent. If I have time or find a particularly good one, I'll post about it here.

I'm not sure what I'll watch when, but I'll be starting with my TedTalks pinterest page every day.

Do you have suggestions? Let me know!

Here's what I'm watching today:

#SixWordTable

At church on Sunday, we sang that good old hymn “I Love to Tell the Story.”
But what it the story? We celebrate the Lord’s Supper every week, but what are we really doing here? What is the story of this table?

There’s a popular practice among people who tweet. We challenge each other to tell a story in six words. You might try to tell a six word love story, six word tragedy, or even a six word gospel or a six word bible.

Today I asked myself if I had only six words to tell the story of this table, what would they be?
I wonder what YOUR six words would be? I came up with a number of possibilities before I found one that felt true enough. I’ll read them to you now:

Filled with grace, bread
send me. (ehh, feels kind of clunky)

Receive body/grace,
offer self, service (still clunky, try again)

Belonging here,
I am sent out. (we're getting somewhere)

Room at the table for all (yeah, I like that)

I am home
Jesus is here (on to something...) 

Dear God, Dear God,
Help me. (sometimes this is all I've got when I get to the table)

But here’s the one that I settled on today:

I love you. Tell my story. 

Christian Century: Ambiguous Labor Pains

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now (Romans 8:22).

This year at Vacation Bible School I told the story of Jairus’s daughter. My plan was to have one child pretend to “sleep” and then be raised up by Jesus. But it turned out that all the children wanted a chance to be Jairus’ daughter. So around I went, taking the hands of “sleeping” children and touching their foreheads and saying something like, “Get up! Jesus makes you well.”

As I went around raising these children and sending them off to craft sheep out of marshmallows, I could not help but think of all the children who will not be raised up. I thought of my friend who had recently miscarried. This week, I think as well of the little ones on Gaza’s beaches and on our own borders. Pregnancy, birthing, raising children, losing them—all these acts leave me speechless. 

Get the rest at The Christian Century Blog!

Devotional: Scripture and the Bone of Song

I am often frustrated with scripture. It is mysterious, contradictory, out dated (on an initial read), contains varying genres, and upon reading large portions of it I feel quite sleepy.

The thing is I want more from my scripture. I want it to leap off the page and speak to me! I want to shimmer with energy in my hands. I want to see the world through the eyes and words of the author of whatever portion I'm reading. Instead, I end up with interrupting thoughts about my to-do list and a yearning for coffee.

My favorite singer/songwriter wrote about the canon of classic songs in a piece called "Bone of Song," which is linked above. 

As I've been hearing this song lately I thought that he could have been writing about the canon of scripture, too. He writes about finding an old jaw bone as he walked in the woods and when he runs his hand along it he hears songs (the fall of Troy, Auld Lang Syne, Magnificat, Your Cheatin' Heart) and though some of the songs are written in foreign tongues and dead languages he can read it all the same. There's a blessing written on the bone, older than all the rest saying, "Leave me here I care not for wealth or fame. I'll remember your song - but I'll forget your name."

I wonder if the Bible itself might be akin to the Bone of Song of which Josh Ritter sings. Full of varied music by many composers and poets, etched into the collective memory of a people who have interpreted the words differently throughout the ages. This holy text cares not for wealth or fame. It doesn't even care what I want from it. It is just here, waiting to be discovered, ready to sing if I'll listen.

The refrain of the song is this: "Lucky are you who find me in the wilderness/ I am the only unquiet ghost that does not seek rest."

Perhaps I have been approaching my Bible in the wrong way. Though it is old and her authors are long dead, perhaps she does not seek to rest and be still. Perhaps she is unquiet and waiting to be heard. Perhaps she is waiting for me to let go of my own "stuff" - expectations, desires, even my name - in order to hear the whisper song of the Holy Spirit. Perhaps I must leave my comfortable desk chair and wander in the wilderness before these words will speak.

God of Song and Living Word, You are unquiet. You are speaking. Help us listen. As we turn to your Word, let us set aside our own desires and expectations and listen instead for what you might say. We know that you hear our prayers and know our hearts. Let us also know YOUR heart. Amen.

Sermon: Crazy, Courageous, Changing Church

Check out my sermon on Romans 8:18-27 here.
This was delivered two weeks before our new senior minister arrives and excitement as well as anxiety is high. In the sermon I mention that every minute a woman in this world dies of complications with pregnancy or childbirth. You can help make a woman's birth a bit easier by making it more sanitary and giving her the right supplies by donating a Safe Motherhood kit here.

The scripture is below:

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

A Very Happy Birthday

Every year until this one, I've had a "summer break" birthday. That meant that I wasn't in class on my birthday (yay!) and that my friends or I were out of town (boo!). For the past few years I've been in grad school, and that meant I was writing papers on my birthday or have had them hanging over my head.

This year my life is different.

This year I am at work on my birthday. It's summertime, still, which means that as I hand out bus passes to our homeless guests here at the church I'm also handing out cold bottles of water.

This year I am church on my birthday. I'm still writing and reading, but this time I'm writing newsletter articles and doing sermon preparation.

This year I am living my call on my birthday, and that is the best gift I could have asked for.

Nearly 13 years ago, God found me in a circle of my friends from youth group. We were standing on my youth minister's front lawn as she prayed. While she said words of blessing over us I had three thoughts that came to my mind: 1) I could do this!* 2) I want to do this!* and the most important one: 3) I should do this!*

*"this" is defined broadly as ministry; more narrowly defined as being a kick-butt minister of the Word, praying prayers, singing songs, seeking to love the unlovable (which some days includes myself), and helping to build God's Kingdom here on earth. 

Nearly 13 years ago, God found me in a circle of my friends being blessed by a powerful and faithful woman. In that moment, God called me to ministry. Since that night, I have stood in many more circles of friends. I have been blessed by many powerful and faithful women (and men). I am humbled by the challenge, companionship, and hilarity my friends give me. I'm inspired by the powerful, faithful, vulnerable women and men who have shared their blessing with me. My cup truly overflows.

On my ordination day, my best friend gave me a ring that says: "I am not afraid. I was born to do this." I later found out that this is a quote attributed to Joan of Arc (who, coincidentally, was called by God through a vision at age 13, just like me). The ring is not a closed circle, but rather like a jump ring. The openness of the ring reminds me to keep my heart similarly open, but the ring itself reminds me of my commitment to God's call, the Church, and my ordination vows. I wear it daily.

This year on my birthday: I am humbled, blessed, loved, unafraid, and living God's dream for my life.

Thank you, Jesus. 

On Matthew 11:28, my newsfeed, and my yoga mat

I cried in my yoga class yesterday. I was twisting and bending in some god-awful pose that hurts-so-good and the tears just started and would not stop. After releasing from that pose, the tears cleared up but my guard was up and I couldn't help but wonder why I had cried. During our final pose, corpse pose, the tears came again. I left feeling shaky, weepy, sad, and confused. I had gone to class seeking a yoga high, and but all I got was a yoga cry. Apparently yoga crying is a thing and not all that unusual, but I'm still feeling kind of weird about it. I was unable to leave it "on the mat" as many yoga enthusiasts say.

When I opened up my facebook newsfeed this morning, this is what I found:

- #yesallwomen is still trending on twitter, giving voice to women everywhere in the fight against misogyny.
- Maya Angelou died today at age 86.
- Cute animals doing cuteness in a cute place. Squee!
- A friend's mother died after a long and difficult journey with cancer.
- Vacation pictures! Gorgeous! (Also, jealous!)
- This blog post. That blog post. All the blog posts.
- A really good sermon!
- Baby pictures! He's sitting up on his own! She has a full head of hair!
- Weird people from high school friend-ing me. No thanks.
- A Buzzfeed list.
- The Onion article.
- Another engagement.
- Multiple women have posted about the loss of their pregnancies.

What an incredible cross-section of the human experience. And it all (even the good stuff) weighs heavy on me today. Even though I'm not writing this from my yoga mat, I feel like crying all over again. My own life, like my newsfeed, seems to hold all the feelings all the time. As I hold all of my "news" items alongside the suffering and anxiety in my congregation, the lives of my friends, and my own life I understand more fully that Jesus' words and promises are for all of us, including me.

Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

How do I lay down this heartbreak, this heavy burden? Was it ever mine to hold? What does it mean to exist in this world and not be weary? I ask because I do not know.

On days like today when I walk through waves of grief, anxiety, fatigue, joy, gratitude, uncertainty...
On days when I just sit in my office and try to find the words to pray...
On days when I contemplate the promises of God alongside the realities of life...
On days when I shake my fist at the sky for the unfairness, the loneliness, the powerlessness of ministry...

Into this day God breathes life and love.
Into this day God walks with me.
Into this day God sees the tears, the shaking fists, the bowed shoulders and God hears the prayers and the sighs too deep for words.

Into this day God speaks hard-to-believe-words-of-comfort:

 “Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest. Put on my yoke, and learn from me.
I’m gentle and humble. And you will find rest for yourselves. My yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is light.” -Mt. 11:28-30 CEB

Lark

My quest to blog every day for Lent has not gone all that well, but I'm back to it as we prepare for Holy Week.

As spring continues to emerge after a cold and difficult winter, I've been listening to Josh Ritter's "Lark" a whole lot.

The chorus sings:

I am assured, yes

I am assured, yes

I am assured that peace will come to me

A peace that can, yes, surpass the speed yes,

of my understanding and my need. 

In the wilderness, it's hard to remember the trees that rustle as if to kneel and listen
Or the priestly green answers dressed in labyrinthine

I've had a hard time hearing the heartbeat of a lark, or a lark in my heartbeat. 

The chorus of "Lark" makes reference to Philippians 4:7 (the peace of God passes all understanding). The verse preceding states "Rejoice...The Lord is near." As Holy Week approaches, we grow closer to Jesus. He's coming to Jerusalem and the palms are rustling in anticipation.

The Lord is near. Rejoice. Peace is coming. Christ is coming.

Maybe soon I'll find the lark in my heartbeat.  

Still Beautiful: She Came Down

I was thrilled to be a guest preacher at First Christian Church of Georgetown, Kentucky this past week and I've posted the audio file of my sermon here, along with the most perfect photo from back-on-pointe!

It's 16 minutes long and I read the scripture (2 Cor. 4:7-12) within the sermon.

The major sources (other than scripture) that I used were Kristine Culp's book Vulnerability and Glory: A Theological Account, Amy Frykholm's See Me Naked: Stories of Sexual Exile in American Christianity, and I reference Carol Barnett's incredible composition "The World Beloved: A Bluegrass Mass" musically and verbally. 

Preaching With a Broken Heart

Shortly after my most recent move, my long-time boyfriend and I ended our relationship. The very next week, I was scheduled to preach.
As a part of a multi-pastor church my colleagues graciously offered to step in and preach in my place, but I was stubborn. I decided that I wanted - no, NEEDED - to preach.

All week long I struggled with the gospel text. In between jags of crying, I tried to read commentaries but I couldn't focus. I made notes. And more notes. And more notes. But all the notes were just interesting facts I learned about the scripture and little questions to ask. Nothing substantial had come to me, and when I needed the gospel to speak to me I just could not hear a thing. As I stumbled, tired and exhausted, through the week the sermon still would not come. I had no idea what it would mean to preach the gospel on that text.

Get the rest at The Christian Century blog!

 

Art credit: Kirsten Malcolm Berry

Follow up: What's at stake here?

I'm so grateful for the response that the last post inspired here, on facebook, and in some personal emails and fbook messages.

Considering my audience (mostly churchy types who, using Tillich's language, have an Ultimate Concern), your responses were totally right on. When one has an Ultimate Concern it's easy to lose one's self in the concern, worry, and work. To that end, we must also remember that God wants our well-being, and yes, happiness. Not everything must be at stake all the time. To believe that everything is at stake all the time - and that it is up to ME (singular) - is a form of ego. Many of you rightly pointed out that faith in God means believing that God is the One who will put all of our little efforts together. It's up to US, not ME, and God will assist our collective effort. And thank God for that.

My rant was more of an indictment of those who would rather distract themselves, change the channel, or avoid the hardness and heartbreak of being a person who gives a crap in a hard, hard world. For example: the girl in middle school who, lacing up her brand new Nike's, listened to me talk about sweatshops and the country her shoes were likely made in. Her response: "Well, at least they have a job. Not my problem."
[Granted: I was pretty obnoxious and self-righteous in middle school.]

Another example: Asking someone you love dearly what they want out of life and having them respond with a blank stare. There's more to life than just today? Like, a future? And maybe a purpose to life and our relationships? What a novel idea.

What can I do, then, as a pastor to folks like this? Folks who, when I'm being honest, are not that far from where I am some days. It's hard to care. It's hard to figure out how to address the many issues that confront us on a daily basis. Sometimes you just have to back away and binge-watch Buffy on Netflix.

But when you emerge from the Netflix/Buffy cave.... What then?

I am constantly thinking of Dorothy Day: "I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life, and abundant life. And I wanted it for others, too." 

How do we find that abundant life for ourselves and for others? Or, since we're all incredible and individual creations of an awesome God, how do YOU find it? 

#reLent

A rant: What's at stake here?

In my line of work, I often ask this question of myself and others.

Depending on the situation, the answer is easier or harder to discern, but there is always something at stake.

Perhaps it is one's feeling of belonging to the church and therefore to God. Perhaps it is one's perceived value as a leader. Perhaps it is a measure of control in this one, tiny, area of life. Perhaps what's at stake is one's identity. Or happiness. Or integrity.

Perhaps the Kingdom of God is at stake. As I said, it's easier or harder, bigger or smaller, depending on the situation.

I repeat: there is always something at stake. If there's nothing at stake, you're doing it wrong.

What I mean is this: life is risky. A faithful life is especially risky. You're making claims about reality, eternity, and the way things ought to be. You're making decisions not just for yourself, but for others, and you're committing to live a life that benefits and serves people beyond your immediate family. In a faithful life it's not possible to say, "That's not my problem," or "I just can't deal with that." Whether the "problem" is in Syria or your backyard, it's up to you to make a difference.

[Caveat: This is not to say that one single person can solve ALL THE PROBLEMS. Sometimes you have to choose which battes to fight. And there certainly are situations in which one has no control, whether because you have no power or your power has been taken from you. But the fact that you can't necessarily make a difference doesn't mean that you can abdicate any and all responsibility, or that you then have license not to care.]

Perhaps another way to ask the question: For what are you willing to go to bat? What do you want or desire so much that you are willing to sacrifice and fight for it?

It's a sinful and sad reality that many cannot answer these questions. When asked, many respond with blank stares. "I don't know. What do you mean? Like, I want to be happy... Does that count?"

Every philosopher and theologian of all time rolls over in their grave whenever someone over the age of 11 says, "I just want to be happy." [Another caveat: if you're drunk and whining, you might be allowed to be awfully inarticulate and selfish. I'm talking about a real conversation, here.]

Happiness is certainly a valuable part of the equation. But happiness, in the proper sense, is a bit bigger than one individual life. For one's own happiness is in many ways dependent on the capacity and ability of others to attain their own happiness, and the capacity for society to sustain the happiness and wellbeing of the whole. If your own "happiness" depends on the slave labor of others, then that's not happiness. That's oppression.

So I ask you, what's at stake for you? For what are you willing to sacrifice? Dare I pose the existential question: What's the meaning of [your] life?

Lent

In all seriousness, though, Lent is probably my favorite season. People challenging themselves...confronting their mortality which makes God's grace and resurrection all the more powerful...purple paraments...the assurance that God is with us in the wilderness...

I would say A word (that ends with -uia), but I can't. 'Cause it's Lent. So, here's a picture of grumpy cat instead (thanks maryhomegirl)

A reminder for every day

All the little things

Today was full of lots of wonderful, small, glorious things:
Hot coffee
Sunshine
A long walk at the arboretum
Phone calls with two dear friends
One Lindt chocolate truffle
Driving with the windows down
A very adorable and happy baby
The smell of that happy baby's head
The dear friend who gave birth to that baby, who is one of the most wonderful people I know
A nap in the sun
Really yummy honey mustard salad dressing
A sweet cat who steals my pillow
A clementine orange
And a roof over my head

For all these things, and more, thank God.

Synthesis

"I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life, and abundant life. I wanted it for others, too." -Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness

Remembering My Baptism

I encountered a prayer station recently that invited me to run my hands through a bowl of water and remember my baptism. This is what I wrote on the back of my program:

I can't hold it in my hands, like I can in my mind.
It just keeps slipping through my fingers.
I had the irresistible urge to arms splash it all over my arms and my face - trying to go back to that day.
Even though it was awkward and my embarrassment over my teenage body and behavior was real, I still want to go back. To see Ian hand me my Bible, to see my grandmother's pride, to experience the wonder and strangeness. To wash away all the sadness and sorrow and grief that I've added to my life.

It's been so long since I've been wrapped safely in someone's arms and just held like I imagine God holds us. I'm lonely and my baptism day was one of blessed and beloved community. And I want to go back.
++++++++++++++++++

I don't feel lonely everyday, but I did the day I wrote this. I can't go back to a time of innocence, but you know what? I can take a bath. I can pray.  And I can always remember.

Very soon

Having turned toward Jerusalem, I can hear the disciples saying to him, "Shouldn't we go here or there instead? I don't understand your motives? Why must we be secretive about your identity? Who are you anyway?"

+++++

He came forward to receive the ashes, leaning heavily on his cane with his back bowed against the weight of the world. He was a minister. Still is, really. So he knows what this is about. Not just because as a clergy person he would have observed Ash Wednesday every year for who knows how long, but also because he is old. Wise with years. His face shows it around the eyes and mouth, his hands show it, and the shuffle of his slow and steady walk makes it clear: this man has seen the ways of the world.

I don't know him well, but I do know that he always takes a moment to offer an appreciative comment or engage me with a question whenever I lead worship. He reads the newsletter and comments on the articles inside. He's sharp as a tack, and the weight of his life and experience fill up the room with a presence that's hard to describe.

So here I am, 25 years old, drawing a cross in ashes on this man's forehead saying, "Remember that you were made from dust, and to dust you shall return." It's a bit surreal, and not quite right. No one of his age is under any delusion that death is not a reality. It's the people my own age that need that reminder the most. But still, he came forward, and we engaged this ancient ritual practice.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

As I drew the cross on his forehead, he looked up at me through his eyebrows and said, "Soon. Very soon," as he offered me a sad smile. I imagine this was his way of flipping the script. Instead of me reminding him of his mortality, he reminded me of his own mortality. He made it real and not just a figurative story. His words made me fumble, awkwardly, wanting to reassure him that it will all be okay. That I'm sure he will live much longer. But I'm not. I can't say that or make those assurances for anyone. So I just made a "mmm" sound of agreement and turned my eyes to the floor. It's true. He will return to dust soon, very soon. No one can say just when, but he knows it won't be long.

Instead of turning his eyes away from it as I did he faced it with courage and not an ounce of denial. I am dust, and I shall return to dust. Very soon, I will return to dust. And for a moment we held that sacred and human knowledge between us. And then he shuffled away, leaning on his cane, and I looked to the next person in line as I took a deep breath. Every breath a little closer to my own death.

+++++

They asked him, "Who are you anyway? When will you explain all of this to us? When will we understand?"

"Soon. Very soon," he replied.

Remember that you are dust...

For the benediction of our Ash Wednesday services, my colleague Kyle found this great poem. To me, it was so perfectly Ash Wednesday... reminding us of the mess and beauty God walked into when God became a man. More ashen reflections to come soon, but I just wanted to get this photo up. It's incredibly moving to be the one to impose a cross of ashes on the foreheads of friends and congregants and strangers, and this is only the second time I've done it.

Here's the full text from Debra Avery:

Imagine
The hands of God
Cradling
Holding
Relishing the beauty of her creation.
The scars,
the bumps,
the open wounds
the bits and pieces of shattered dreams,
of fragmented existence
Notwithstanding.

Imagine
The hands of God
Salvaging
Re-creating
Redeeming
the wreckage
the mess
the broken
the pain-filled and pitiful creatures
Unconditionally.

Imagine
The hands of God
In the evening.
In the morning.
It is good.

©2011 Debra Avery

ReLent: Photography Challenge

I'm way behind the times and have only just joined Instagram, so in addition to blogging daily I'm going to do a Lenten photography challenge!

I found this great resource and adjusted it a bit for myself, then printed it small so that it would fit in my planner. The bolded days are Sundays! I'm sure I'll post some of these here. I'm looking forward to my first photography/instagram challenge! You can follow me here or on instagram @mckinnarae, on twitter @revmckinnarae or you can be my friend in real life... however that works.

Blurts and Affirmations

In my clergy peer group, we are doing a 12 week program called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. One of the exercises is to write down some of the negative “blurts” that we frequently say to ourselves in our nasty self talk. We are then asked to turn them around into affirmations. 

This was surprisingly and embarrassingly hard! The affirmations sound so cheesy, and the blurts are so mean! 

I found this to be a super helpful exercise because at the very least, it revealed how mean I am to myself. I would never tolerate it if someone else spoke to me the way I speak to myself. 

Here’s my list:

I am too busy and stressed. I have enough time. I am enough.

I am irresponsible. Give yourself a break. No one is perfect. 

I too tired. Be gentle to yourself, and go to bed early tonight.

I can’t have the kind of relationship I want because of my career. God wants me to be happy in life, love, and work.

I am not smart enough. I am actually really smart! And other smart people have told me so! I went to the University of Chicago for heaven’s sake!

I’m too demanding. I deserve good things. 

I am too naive and privileged. Awareness of my own privilege is a strength, not a weakness. 

I can’t sing AND do ministry. Music is part of who I am as a minister. That’s not going anywhere. 

Nightmare in Maryville

In response to this story

O God, we pray for our sons and our daughters. 
In a culture of patriarchy, sexualization, and rape we pray for change. 
That no boy would ever again interpret “no” for “yes,”
That no boy would ever again be assured of his innocence because his grand daddy is a state representative. 
That no boy would ever again believe that “she was asking for it.”

In a culture of shame, inadequacy, and fear we pray for change. 
That no girl will ever again be taught, “Don’t get raped,” as if she ever had a choice. 
That no girl will ever again fear dark alleys, dark basements, or even her crush. 
That no girl will ever again be denied the right to see justice done upon those who hurt her. 

O God, how do we get there? Our hearts are broken.

Photo credit: David Eulitt, KC Star

Leaving seminary and entering ministry is like...

hogwartsseminary:

this is so true. I feel like I’m finding Jesus again. 

Clutter

 

Lord, help me now to unclutter my life, to organize myself in the direction of simplicity.
Lord, teach me to listen to my heart; teach me to welcome change, instead of fearing it.
Lord, I give you these stirrings inside me. I give you my discontent. I give you my restlessness. I give you my doubt. I give you my despair. I give you all the longings I hold inside. 
Help me to listen to these signs of change, of growth; help me to listen seriously and follow where they lead through the breathtaking empty space of an open door.

Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals, p. 552

More Mary

Indifference

“Indifference is the antithesis of the faithful life.”

—	Dr. Michael Mooty

Saying Goodbye

Saying Goodbye

What an odd and rare thing it is to say goodbye these days. There are so many ways to be in contact, to stay in touch, to remain on the periphery of someone’s life. 

Today, I said goodbye to a person who knows me quite well: my therapist. During seminary, I sought out counseling as an additional way to process what I was learning in school and to help me navigate the murky waters that are one’s mid-twenties. It was one of the most rewarding decisions I’ve ever made (and one of the wisest investments). My weekly meetings with my therapist have shaped me for ministry just as much as any class or sermon or mentor. I am stronger, smarter, and more aware of myself than I ever could have become on my own. Having sat with such an intelligent and insightful woman nearly every week for two years, I learned how to be pastored. I learned how to receive care and help. I learned how to observe myself in my many contexts.

I also learned what sort of pastor I want to be, what sort of confidante and friend and girlfriend and daughter I want to be. And I began taking steps to become that person: the person who is more fully “me.”

But, I’ve moved to a new city, begun a new ministry, and it is no longer possible for me to sit in my therapist’s cheerful office overlooking Hyde Park. It’s time to move on. So, today we said goodbye over the phone. Awkwardly trying to tell one another what this relationship has meant, I cried and told her, “I don’t think I would have made it this far without you.”

Her reply was this, “I’ll accept that with gratitude, but only if you own the fact that whatever assistance or help I offered was just that: assistance and help. You did this, you made it this far.”

And it’s true. Graduating from seminary and landing a great first call was my accomplishment (guided by God, but I made the choice to follow). I wrote those papers. I walked that road. 

But, my, what a difference a good companion makes on the journey. 

And that’s the point, right? We walk with one another.

A Prayer Before Academia

Check out my submission to an amazing forum for young clergy women writers!

Thank God for Mary Oliver

“it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world”

—	mary oliver

Ash Wednesday

 

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Anxiety

“Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.”

—	1 Peter 5:7

Vulnerability

http://imgfave.com/view/2491017

faith and frenzy

“choose life: faith, rather than frenzy”

—

ann weems

Love: It's a Pain

I’d like to amend Paul’s statements about love in 1 Corinthians 13. Love may be patient and kind and all of that, but Love is also a giant pain in the butt.

I mean, let’s be real here: love is hard, and complex, and confusing, and involves a lot swallowing pride and trying to be gentle when really you just want to scream.

Here’s the worst thing about love: sometimes, even when you’re trying really hard to be a good person and be “loving” it’s met with all sorts of non-loving reactions. And the loving response is to be patient.

I have a confession to make: I’m not patient. At all.

Also, Love is really difficult to talk about in the English language. We have one word. Most other languages have at least three. Obviously, we have some problems with love built into our very framework of communication.

What I’m trying to say is this: Love is lovely. We like to talk about it and write poetry and feel a little righteous about it. But when it comes down to it, love is hard and frustrating and elusive and confusing. Too often, when love is really needed I respond in fear. Too often, when I know I am hurting and so is my conversation partner I choose to focus on my hurt. Too often, when love is really needed… I chicken out.

And yet… our faith is built on this difficult verb/noun.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind & Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Occasionally, these verses slap me in the face. It’s not about me. There’s something greater here. I may not be able to see the way and it may be incredibly difficult and frustrating and it may cause me a ton of anxiety BUT love is, somehow, worth it.

A worthy cause. Some people pray and want their whole lives for a purpose and a worthy cause. So here it is: Love.

It may be a pain in the butt, but we could always use some more.

God, we know that you are very proficient in loving us and we ask that you guide us in loving each other. It’s hard. Soothe our anxieties and angers so that we can learn to be beacons of your light even in the most trying times. Over and over, you have stood faithfully in our midst and have patiently loved us. Thank you for your wisdom and love. Help us to reflect what we see in you to our family, our friends, our neighbors, and our church. Amen. 

Elementary Kindness

“The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof. What I want is so simple I almost can’t say it: elementary kindness. Enough to eat, enough to go around. The possibility that kids might one day grow up to be neither the destroyers nor the destroyed. That’s about it. Right now I’m living in that hope, running down its hallway and touching the walls on both sides.”

—	Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

Spiritual Autobiography (2010)

Frederick Buechner says that “at its heart most theology, like most fiction, is essentially autobiography. Aquinas, Calvin, Barth, Tillich, working out their systems in their own ways and in their own language, are all telling us the stories of their lives, and if you press them far enough…you find an experience of flesh and blood, a human face smiling or frowning or weeping or covering its eyes before something that happened once.”

This reading is one a few meant to introduce my class of Masters of Divinity students to our first experience together. The assignment is to share, out loud, in writing (and photos and music and art) a chapter of our spiritual autobiography. The flesh and blood and tearful experiences that are the birthing waters of our theologies.

And I’m a little bit speechless. I can feel the tide receding, all those words on the tip of my tongue and just a little bit out of reach. And that’s okay. The tide will return, and with it the waves will soften my jagged, un-matched thoughts.

But here’s what I have right now: a prayer I wrote a few years ago, and I returned to it last night in an effort to choose “a chapter” to share with my class. I prayed this prayer nearly everyday (and multiple times, too) of my junior year of college, and perhaps after a year of saying it out loud some of it stuck. Saying this prayer did not make me the image of grace by any means, but it kept me hoping. Maybe it will help you, too, on a day of jagged edges.

I know that you are a master of taking the broken and making it whole.I trust that when my world, my heart, and my will are broken you will heal me and make my life something beautiful to bless your world.
Help me add to the beauty of your grace. Amen.

What the world needs now...

“What the world needs is people who believe so much in another world that they cannot help but begin enacting it now.”

—	Shane Claiborne

El Higueral

The water came out of no where, and it fell from the sky so quickly. The truck had gone ahead with all the supplies and made it across the creek-turned-river before the storm came, but there they were. Hiking. In El Salvador. A few miles from town, and one river away from the village that was their destination.

They thought about turning back. There was no way they could cross, but where would they stay? What would they do? They had come so far- to share and eat and write down family histories and give out medical supplies and eye glasses- it seemed a shame to be stopped by some flash flooding.

As they stood there thinking, some men appeared on the other side. One scrambled up the slippery trees in the storm with a length of rope and found a path from branch to branch and created a tight-rope across the river between trees. Another man thew another rope across and hollered for them to tie it around their waist.

One by one, all of the visitors and the man from the village made it back across. Holding on to the tight-rope, feet swept out from underneath them, trusting that the guys on the other side had their safety rope tight in their hands.

The truck didn’t make it back across the river for three days.

For strong hands and strong wills, for sturdy rope and a prayer, we give you thanks. May we always find a friend on the other side to help us across, and may we learn a bit about anchoring the rope for each other too. Amen. 

Synthesis

“I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life and I wanted the abundant life. I wanted it for others too.”

—	Dorothy Day,The Long Loneliness