tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64932354229548925002024-02-07T09:51:44.977-08:00An Uncertain TrumpetAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-28044472002736201552015-01-28T08:50:00.001-08:002015-01-28T08:50:30.474-08:00Pastoral Prayer: Listen & Testify<i>I offered this as the pastoral prayer in worship at Central Christian Church, Lexington, Kentucky on January 18, 2015. The previous week we celebrated the Baptism of Our Lord and remembered or anticipated our own baptisms. The theme of the week was "The Darkness of Incivility" particularly pertaining to racial strife and conflict. </i><br />
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Holy God,<br />
Fresh from the waters of baptism, secure in the knowledge of our beloved-ness, we meet our first faithful challenge: to listen.<br />
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Not to interject<br />
or interrupt<br /> or even to interpret.<br />
To listen.<br />
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Teach us to listen before speaking, for we've had the microphone too long.<br />And before we endeavor to give voice to the voiceless, let us listen to their stories from beginning to end.<br />
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For the un-named, voiceless, hidden parts of our own stories, we pray for the courage to testify; that in sharing we may find that we are not alone.<br />
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Teach us what it means to accompany one another.<br />What does it mean to accompany Nigerians as they are slaughtered by militants?<br />What does it mean to accompany the French as they mourn?<br />What does it mean to accompany those whose homes are ravaged by typhoons?<br />To accompany those whose neighborhoods are controlled by poverty, fear and violence?<br />
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We know that when we open our hearts we will receive what we need to live faithfully. So break open our hearts. Give us eyes to see clearly, ears to listen carefully, hearts to receive, and tongues to speak wisely.<br />
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Teach us to listen first. To pass the mic. To testify. To pray and to support.<br />
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You are relentless in your love for us, and for this we give you thanks.<br />
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Amen.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-51333230132072853722015-01-13T12:51:00.002-08:002015-01-13T12:51:39.411-08:00#BlessedAreTheCrazy: Making It Work<i>What follows is part of my own journey with depression. It might resemble yours. It likely will not. Mental illness is NOT one-size-fits-all. For an awesome resource on mental illness in the church, read Sarah Lund's book <u><a href="http://sarahgriffithlund.com/" target="_blank">Blessed Are The Crazy</a></u>. For an honest laugh at depression, click the photo below.</i><br />
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<a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" Hyperbole and a Half: Depression 2" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3u6Q07VL12mZ_b2TQLRSnFbElzsA0G7jyLz37WsTTFJhxXLZMabRYoB_19lr_Tjtsg3kTsjZxA6-OKBABVhlRaS7CfIMc4s9ktj0pG5ZkjPScjgXOypz84-mu_tKwDYHh-5480rn1LA/s1600/DEPRESSIONTWO45.png" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I still remember the day it clicked. It wasn't like a ray of sunshine or a rainbow or anything, but it was an epiphany. A star shining in the night. A weight shifted into a more comfortable place to carry.<br />
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You see, I was called to ministry at age 13. This career is, literally, all I have ever wanted. I tried to try on different career options but God kept calling me, pulling me, driving me into leadership in the church. It's where I am at home. I am called. </div>
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When I began to experience depression and anxiety in college, my heart sank in more ways than one. The depression told me, and I believed it, that I could not be a good minister if I was depressed. The depression told me, and I believed it, that I would never be able to care for a congregation if I couldn't take care of myself. And depression definitely prevented me from caring for myself. </div>
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My journey with mental illness led me to see a counselor toward the end of college. Through counseling I realized that my depression would be more easily managed with medication. I began taking medication a week before I left for Divinity School. I began to identify as a person who would live with mental illness for the rest of my life. I was thrilled by all the things I was learning and experiencing in graduate school. I was terrified by my daily struggles to do simple things, though much improved once I found the right medication regimen. The rigors of grad school continually changed my schedule, routine, and efforts at being well. I continued to rely on medication to manage my stress and anxiety. Much of my stress and anxiety stemmed from a deep conviction that I couldn't be a good minister if I was depressed. I was convinced that I would never be good enough for the job God called me to do. </div>
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During grad school, I began to explore the sources of my depression more fully with therapy. I was no longer just coping, I was seeking the source. I started to question the things that depression claimed were true, but I still clung to my greatest fear: that I wouldn't be a good minister. Many people tried to tell me that I would be fine, that it would get better, that knowing mental illness from the inside would help me have greater empathy with others. I couldn't hear them over the heartbreaking things my depression told me. </div>
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The epiphany came in the fourth floor ministry suite in Swift Hall at the University of Chicago Divinity School. I was sitting with my peers in our pastoral care practicum. On the topic of chronic mental illness and pastoral care, I shared my biggest fear: that I wouldn't be a good minister because<i> </i>of my depression. Perhaps it was the vulnerability that allowed me to hear it, or perhaps she phrased it differently than others, but my professor said to me, "McKinna, you can make this work <i>for</i> you, not against you. You will likely always struggle with this, but it can become one of your strengths. It doesn't have to be your weakness."</div>
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Something shifted. I continued to question the claims of my depression, but I also began to converse with it as a respected partner. No longer did it lord itself over me (well, most days), but I stood on equal ground with it. I carried it with me in my purse alongside my Bible. Most importantly, I no longer believed that it would hold me back in ministry. Instead, I began to believe that if I learned to use it well, I could be the sort of minister I felt called to be: good, faithful, steadfast, and trustworthy. I began to realize that the more I punished my depression, the more it would fight back to injure me. But when I treated it like I would a small child, I was able to gently interact with it in a more constructive way. I started to see past the lies that depression tried to tell me about myself and into the truths it was telling me about the world. That there are shadows and they are real. That sin lingers like a scar on every human heart and undermines the foundation of all of our institutions. Depression made me come to terms with the facts of life: that many of us struggle to survive, others are handed a tool-kit for success, and there's little rhyme or reason to any of it. It was only THEN that I was able to ask, "What's God got to do with it?"<br />
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The answer to that question, "What's God got to do with it?" is for another blog post, and perhaps, I'll just be trying to live into the question my whole life long. <br />I'm okay with that.<br />
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My ability to manage and question my depression is <i>the only</i> <i>reason</i> I survive it. Throughout grad school medication was a crucial piece of the management puzzle, as was weekly therapy, really good friends and roommates, and steadfast mentors who stared down the shadowy valley with me. I had to find my way to the manageable place before I could learn to work <i>with </i>depression. Now that I am out of the stress-machine of grad school, my symptoms have changed. I no longer need daily medication, and I only see my therapist every other week. I have mostly "good days" or "okay days." I have very few "bad days" anymore, but when I do depression works me over and hangs me out to dry. On those days, depression is my enemy and I hate it. On those days I questions the truths I know: that my friends love me and care for me, and I treat my family and friends poorly. On those days I bargain with the world by saying, "I will survive this day by staying in bed, breathing slowly in and out, and eating mac-n-cheese out of the pan I made it in. And that's enough for today."<br />
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There are so many who spend weeks, months, years in that desperate place and to you I say: Fight it. Fight it hard. Please don't believe the lies. Surround yourself with people who will sit with you in the dark place and show you that you are not alone. Call the hotline, call your therapist, and pet your dog/cat/gerbil/fern.<br />
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You're not alone. Not now, not ever.<br />
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If you need immediate help, the national (US) suicide prevention hotline is 1.800.273.8255.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-24712697156732806002015-01-05T12:28:00.003-08:002015-01-05T13:02:10.223-08:00A Christmas Eve Prayer (for all year 'round)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Loving God, <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Mary and Joseph likely didn't expect a stable for the
Savior they knew was coming. The shepherds were just trying to get in an honest
night's work and a little shut eye under the stars. Fast forward and the Magi
were probably looking for someone a little more, um, royal.</span></div>
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But they opened themselves to your way of doing things in order to receive and
be a part of the greatest love story ever told. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Your way of doing things is different than ours. It is
all at once whimsical and wise, sacred and mundane. It is peace in the middle
of a war zone. It is justice rendered in a corrupt court. It is music ringing
out in the darkest night. It is light that will not be extinguished. It is
crazy, sacrificial, unreasonable love that stands up to fear. Your way of doing
things is different than ours. And we are so glad for that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Teach us your way: we need peace in the middle of war
zones, justice in corrupt courts, music in the night. We need a baby in a
manger, and a savior in Mary’s arms. We need to love our enemies and with our
food we could feed thousands if we could only learn how to share. We need
Jesus, and tonight a child is born unto us. Break open our hardened hearts to
receive your Son. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Teach us to pray with humility- for our vulnerable
earth, for the poor and needy, for the cold and naked on our doorsteps. Teach
us to act with courage- to give more than we knew we could, to look the
stranger in the face and dare to see something holy. Teach us to believe with
abandon- that love makes a difference, and that peace is possible. Teach us to
walk in your footsteps and to be a part of your story: the story that has the
power to change the world… and maybe even change each of us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #141823; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Steal our hearts tonight, we pray, and show us the way
to your kingdom. <br />
Amen.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-78977976402112557422014-12-02T12:16:00.000-08:002014-12-02T12:16:47.560-08:00PracticesMy news feeds and brain is spinning with all the cool things by friends and colleagues are doing for Advent.<br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I'm not sure what I'll watch when, but I'll be starting with my <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/mckinna17/tedtalks/" target="_blank">TedTalks pinterest page</a> every day.<br />
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Do you have suggestions? Let me know!<br />
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Here's what I'm watching today:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" mozallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="https://embed-ssl.ted.com/talks/elizabeth_lesser_take_the_other_to_lunch.html" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="560"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-41289210678045571362014-09-11T12:53:00.001-07:002014-09-11T12:53:09.321-07:00#SixWordTable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://paintedprayerbook.com/wp-content/gallery/cache/151__450x_blog-thebestsupper.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt=" The Painted Prayerbook- And the Table Will Be Wide" border="0" src="http://paintedprayerbook.com/wp-content/gallery/cache/151__450x_blog-thebestsupper.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
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At church on Sunday, we sang that good old hymn “I Love to Tell the
Story.” <br />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?<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Today I asked myself if I had only six words to tell the
story of this table, what would they be? <br />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: <o:p></o:p></div>
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Filled with grace, bread<br />
send me. (<i>ehh, feels kind of clunky)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Receive body/grace,<br />
offer self, service (<i>still clunky, try again)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Belonging here,<br />
I am sent out. (<i>we're getting somewhere)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Room at the table for all (<i>yeah, I like that)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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I am home<br />
Jesus is here (<i>on to something...) </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Dear God, Dear God,<br />
Help me. (<i>sometimes this is all I've got when I get to the table)</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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But here’s the one that I settled on today: <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">I love you. Tell my
story. </span></b><o:p></o:p></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-30177278605842056462014-07-30T09:50:00.005-07:002014-07-30T09:50:59.568-07:00Christian Century: Ambiguous Labor Pains<br />
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<i style="line-height: inherit;">We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now (Romans 8:22).</i></div>
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This year at Vacation Bible School I told <a href="http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=272698536" style="color: #702233; line-height: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the story of Jairus’s daughter</a>. My plan was to have one child pretend to “sleep” and then be raised up by Jesus. But it turned out that <i style="line-height: inherit;">all</i> 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.”</div>
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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. </div>
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<i>Get the rest at <a href="http://www.christiancentury.org/blogs/archive/2014-07/ambiguous-labor-pains" target="_blank">The Christian Century Blog</a>!</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-28292371015860055062014-07-30T09:41:00.001-07:002014-07-30T09:41:20.943-07:00Devotional: Scripture and the Bone of Song<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">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.</span><br />
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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.</div>
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My favorite singer/songwriter wrote about the canon of classic songs in a piece called "Bone of Song," which is linked above. </div>
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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."</div>
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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.</div>
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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."</div>
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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.</div>
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<em>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.</em></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-84626091681329579502014-07-30T09:29:00.000-07:002014-07-30T09:29:07.957-07:00Sermon: Crazy, Courageous, Changing Church<br />
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<a href="http://imgur.com/oRZRl9U" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwr-sTc4da2F27fY-Vs4ne1HwC73tigbWoSPhisz3yeCpwhv7xv2d5IHIrZJMy7xvZkmig5ciNBxZA3bWoyFUrGVYNjiivgxErJyXJuanAK_v47GJ_N418opXiop67mcass7qupIQCmBg/s1600/pregnancy+photo.jpg" height="320" width="127" /></a></div>
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Check out my sermon on Romans 8:18-27 <a href="http://centralchristianlex.info/cpt_sermons/2014-july-20-mckinna-daugherty/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.imaworldhealth.org/medicines-supplies-and-care/safe-motherhood-kits.html" target="_blank"> here</a>.<br />
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The scripture is below:<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0000bb;"></a> hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0000bb;"></a> for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.<br /> Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0000bb;"></a> with sighs too deep for words. And God,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0000bb;"></a> who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="color: #0000bb;"></a> intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.</i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-15197578488668482892014-06-17T08:05:00.000-07:002014-10-14T08:33:56.868-07:00A Very Happy BirthdayEvery 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.<br />
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This year my life is different.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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This year I am living my call on my birthday, and that is the best gift I could have asked for.<br />
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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!* <b>and the most important one:</b><i> </i>3) I <u>should</u> do this!*<br />
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<i>*"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. </i></blockquote>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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This year on my birthday: I am humbled, blessed, loved, unafraid, and living God's dream for my life.<br />
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Thank you, Jesus. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-84367632184452488332014-05-28T13:31:00.000-07:002014-05-28T13:31:04.192-07:00On Matthew 11:28, my newsfeed, and my yoga mat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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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 href="http://www.yogajournal.com/practice/1215" target="_blank">a thing</a> 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.<br />
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When I opened up my facebook newsfeed this morning, this is what I found:<br />
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- #yesallwomen is still trending on twitter, giving voice to women everywhere in the fight against misogyny.<br />
- Maya Angelou died today at age 86. <br />
- Cute animals doing cuteness in a cute place. Squee!<br />
- A friend's mother died after a long and difficult journey with cancer.<br />
- Vacation pictures! Gorgeous! (Also, jealous!)<br />
- This blog post. That blog post. All the blog posts.<br />
- A really good sermon!<br />
- Baby pictures! He's sitting up on his own! She has a full head of hair!<br />
- Weird people from high school friend-ing me. No thanks.<br />
- A Buzzfeed list.<br />
- The Onion article.<br />
- Another engagement.<br />
- Multiple women have posted about the loss of their pregnancies.<br />
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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.<br />
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<i>Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.</i></div>
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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 <i>not</i> be weary? I ask because I do not know.<br />
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On days like today when I walk through waves of grief, anxiety, fatigue, joy, gratitude, uncertainty...<br />On days when I just sit in my office and try to find the words to pray...<br />On days when I contemplate the promises of God alongside the realities of life...<br />On days when I shake my fist at the sky for the unfairness, the loneliness, the powerlessness of ministry...<br />
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Into this day God breathes life and love.<br />Into this day God walks with me.<br />
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.<br />
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Into this day God speaks hard-to-believe-words-of-comfort:</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span class="text Matt-11-28" id="en-CEB-23487" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; vertical-align: top;"> </span><span class="woj">“Come to me, all you who are struggling hard and carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest. </span></span><span class="text Matt-11-29" id="en-CEB-23488" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"><span class="woj">Put on my yoke, and learn from me. <br />I’m gentle and humble. And you will find rest for yourselves. </span></span><span class="text Matt-11-30" id="en-CEB-23489" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"><span class="woj">My yoke is easy to bear, and my burden is light.” -Mt. 11:28-30 CEB</span></span></b></span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-4204054391704181212014-04-03T08:37:00.000-07:002014-04-03T08:37:10.037-07:00LarkMy 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.<br />
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As spring continues to emerge after a cold and difficult winter, I've been listening to Josh Ritter's "Lark" a whole lot.<br />
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The chorus sings:</div>
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<i>I am assured, yes</i></div>
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<i>I am assured, yes</i></div>
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<i>I am assured that peace will come to me</i></div>
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<i>A peace that can, yes, surpass the speed yes,</i></div>
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<i>of my understanding and my need. </i></div>
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In the wilderness, it's hard to remember the trees that <i>rustle as if to kneel and listen</i><br />
Or the <i>priestly green answers dressed in labyrinthine</i><br />
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I've had a hard time hearing the <i>heartbeat of a lark, or a lark in my heartbeat. </i><br />
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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.<br />
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<b>The Lord is near. Rejoice. Peace is coming. Christ is coming. </b></div>
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<b>Maybe soon I'll find the <i>lark in my heartbeat</i>.</b> </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-19923219759312126902014-03-19T20:41:00.001-07:002014-03-19T20:41:35.237-07:00Still Beautiful: She Came Down<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I was thrilled to be a guest preacher at <a href="http://fccgeorgetown.org/" target="_blank">First Christian Church of Georgetown, Kentucky</a> this past week and I've posted the audio file of my sermon here, along with the most perfect photo from <a href="http://backonpointe.tumblr.com/post/35578234429" target="_blank">back-on-pointe</a>!</div>
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It's 16 minutes long and I read the scripture (2 Cor. 4:7-12) within the sermon. </div>
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The major sources (other than scripture) that I used were Kristine Culp's book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vulnerability-Glory-A-Theological-Account/dp/0664235220/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1395286681&sr=8-1&keywords=vulnerability+and+glory" target="_blank"><u>Vulnerability and Glory: A Theological Account</u></a>, Amy Frykholm's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/See-Me-Naked-American-Christianity/dp/0807004669/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1395286730&sr=8-1&keywords=see+me+naked" target="_blank"><u>See Me Naked: Stories of Sexual Exile in American Christianity</u></a>, and I reference Carol Barnett's incredible composition <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-World-Beloved-Bluegrass-Mass/dp/B000XLQGNQ" target="_blank">"The World Beloved: A Bluegrass Mass"</a> musically and verbally. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-905800527274641772014-03-18T19:31:00.001-07:002014-10-14T08:13:09.986-07:00Preaching With a Broken Heart<div dir="ltr">
Shortly after my most recent move, my long-time boyfriend and I ended our relationship. The very next week, I was scheduled to preach. <br />
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. </div>
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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. </div>
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Get the rest at <a href="http://www.christiancentury.org/blogs/archive/2014-04/preaching-broken-heart" target="_blank">The Christian Century blog</a>!</div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/Photo%20credit:%20http://civa-artists.ning.com/photo/in-him-all-things-hold-together-colossians-1-17?context=user" target="_blank">Art credit: Kirsten Malcolm Berry</a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-5626037510183971052014-03-12T21:14:00.001-07:002014-03-12T21:14:53.002-07:00Follow up: What's at stake here?I'm so grateful for the response that the <a href="http://anuncertaintrumpet.blogspot.com/2014/03/a-rant-what-at-stake-here.html" target="_blank">last post</a> inspired here, on facebook, and in some personal emails and fbook messages.<br />
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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.<br />
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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."<br />
[Granted: I was pretty obnoxious and self-righteous in middle school.]<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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But when you emerge from the Netflix/Buffy cave.... What then?<br />
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I am constantly thinking of Dorothy Day: "I wanted, though I did not know it then, a synthesis. I wanted life, and abundant life. <b>And I wanted it for others, too." </b><br />
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<i>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? </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-39284707896146744912014-03-12T20:48:00.005-07:002014-03-12T20:48:56.413-07:00#reLent<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="710" scrolling="no" src="//instagram.com/p/ld96ceE-ht/embed/" width="612"></iframe>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-41124008466166227642014-03-11T20:21:00.001-07:002014-03-11T20:21:25.754-07:00A rant: What's at stake here?<p dir=ltr>In my line of work, I often ask this question of myself and others. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Depending on the situation, the answer is easier or harder to discern, but there is <b>always </b>something at stake. </p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Perhaps the Kingdom of God is at stake. As I said, it's easier or harder, bigger or smaller, depending on the situation. </p>
<p dir=ltr>I repeat: there is <b>always</b> something at stake. If there's nothing at stake, you're doing it wrong. </p>
<p dir=ltr>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 <b>ought </b>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>[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.] </p>
<p dir=ltr>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?</p>
<p dir=ltr>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?"</p>
<p dir=ltr>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.]</p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>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?</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyQB4bDzA_jXiyaATmO6MtekWMs09JLaHipQlzWu-NNk72RUMVk_h3s3pZ5RmAOdvK6vsjstpj3QZh-ixuDVjSf1RjHIms8kyyeHCQFjE26sCsS4q-G4SdRccrUnF26Fvz8nb3O3TQZU/s1600/48af12be293f5dcc930d206165ffcd79.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGyQB4bDzA_jXiyaATmO6MtekWMs09JLaHipQlzWu-NNk72RUMVk_h3s3pZ5RmAOdvK6vsjstpj3QZh-ixuDVjSf1RjHIms8kyyeHCQFjE26sCsS4q-G4SdRccrUnF26Fvz8nb3O3TQZU/s640/48af12be293f5dcc930d206165ffcd79.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-70364718775930596912014-03-10T08:09:00.000-07:002014-03-10T08:09:09.612-07:00Lent<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://maryhomegirl.tumblr.com/post/78637206626/grumpy-cat-on-the-liturgical-year" target="_blank"><img alt="Grumpy Cat 1 - it's the most wonderful time of the year lent" src="http://cdn.memegenerator.net/instances/400x/34777189.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://maryhomegirl.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"> maryhomegirl</a>)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-32244031723182982962014-03-09T04:29:00.001-07:002014-03-09T04:32:52.343-07:00A reminder for every day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXy20r4434VCEQUd98en0RIQO-74vczG_P1l8szHQqnH2cOtvn64UppZesMhAZfgGISxuzf5vziQZIR5cCLgDdsjAovsaM81j4krU3i5hvv3-120XCD-i_ILqZDYtUE-eB_0ire00sOI/s1600/db9c440bd2d11825080462994e5fc2d8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXy20r4434VCEQUd98en0RIQO-74vczG_P1l8szHQqnH2cOtvn64UppZesMhAZfgGISxuzf5vziQZIR5cCLgDdsjAovsaM81j4krU3i5hvv3-120XCD-i_ILqZDYtUE-eB_0ire00sOI/s640/db9c440bd2d11825080462994e5fc2d8.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-5798978520449440742014-03-08T20:42:00.001-08:002014-03-08T20:42:57.314-08:00All the little things<p dir="ltr">Today was full of lots of wonderful, small, glorious things:<br>
Hot coffee<br>
Sunshine<br>
A long walk at the arboretum<br>
Phone calls with two dear friends<br>
One Lindt chocolate truffle<br>
Driving with the windows <u>down</u><br>
A very adorable and happy baby<br>
The smell of that happy baby's head<br>
The dear friend who gave birth to that baby, who is one of the most wonderful people I know <br>
A nap in the sun<br>
Really yummy honey mustard salad dressing<br>
A sweet cat who steals my pillow<br>
A clementine orange<br>
And a roof over my head</p>
<p dir="ltr">For all these things, and more, thank God.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a6Q97UjltPksAJ9bx624NxStg7GiFnUZlQw-IklgGmRNLzDYSxOc5PM2K1BzHR6x5t3nyJe4Xaygxw81rWqlDlPKM_bIPP2eGUVqXTE4oas3bWYTGspiHP7hg2X75Bk6NzAs7Q30s3k/s1600/70f9f6c7be17310555c7f6a0af5bb675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9a6Q97UjltPksAJ9bx624NxStg7GiFnUZlQw-IklgGmRNLzDYSxOc5PM2K1BzHR6x5t3nyJe4Xaygxw81rWqlDlPKM_bIPP2eGUVqXTE4oas3bWYTGspiHP7hg2X75Bk6NzAs7Q30s3k/s640/70f9f6c7be17310555c7f6a0af5bb675.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-28985429051237307252014-03-07T21:13:00.001-08:002014-03-07T21:18:14.352-08:00Synthesis<p dir="ltr">"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, <i>The </i><i>Long </i><u><i>Loneliness</i></u></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgjoGXmyZteBrwnu6VaqAYdCb9_rFQYG0DpyKaC5f2aEwqVtUmUl_C_N0PcQKsRYKnOaBONLX_6545yfBAesBn0Qg7I2rAtH06kkmopbNRD3uLhyphenhyphennHxAMBSnSlijoWNSng4pyP8Qqu_E/s1600/e7edd7a32553137fe61fff05c2c013a1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGgjoGXmyZteBrwnu6VaqAYdCb9_rFQYG0DpyKaC5f2aEwqVtUmUl_C_N0PcQKsRYKnOaBONLX_6545yfBAesBn0Qg7I2rAtH06kkmopbNRD3uLhyphenhyphennHxAMBSnSlijoWNSng4pyP8Qqu_E/s640/e7edd7a32553137fe61fff05c2c013a1.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-71227958161529616852014-03-06T07:30:00.002-08:002014-03-21T18:44:53.629-07:00Remembering My Baptism<p dir="ltr">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:</p>
<p dir="ltr">I can't hold it in my hands, like I can in my mind.<br>
It just keeps slipping through my fingers.<br>
I had the irresistible urge to arms splash it all over my arms and my face - trying to go back to that day.<br>
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.</p>
<p dir="ltr">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.<br>
++++++++++++++++++</p>
<p dir="ltr">I don't feel lonely everyday, but I did the day I wrote <u>this</u>. 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. </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetZOcXdqzsfK9qYHRKk6dNXr9laZwv18E_IrBb5ROvQjZhtyjst-2NbuZdrrkW1ba4SJV4XYckxTB6WJ7ydl9Fb-RGk2_evPOfYoFB1y2WX9rLyuD6t-jDCOF0ZUUX3s_eEg8T2xonjY/s1600/3a214f4618b3d6f53f51b8a3b4ce332b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetZOcXdqzsfK9qYHRKk6dNXr9laZwv18E_IrBb5ROvQjZhtyjst-2NbuZdrrkW1ba4SJV4XYckxTB6WJ7ydl9Fb-RGk2_evPOfYoFB1y2WX9rLyuD6t-jDCOF0ZUUX3s_eEg8T2xonjY/s640/3a214f4618b3d6f53f51b8a3b4ce332b.jpg"> </a> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-20692934234798539242014-03-05T18:51:00.001-08:002014-03-05T18:51:40.896-08:00Very soon<p dir=ltr>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?"</p>
<p dir=ltr>+++++</p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr><i>Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.</i></p>
<p dir=ltr>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Instead of turning his eyes away from it as I did he faced it with courage and not an ounce of denial. <i>I am dust, and I shall return to dust. Very soon, I will return to dust. </i>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. </p>
<p dir=ltr>+++++</p>
<p dir=ltr>They asked him, "Who are you anyway? When will you explain all of this to us? When will we understand?" </p>
<p dir=ltr>"Soon. Very soon," he replied.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-56093801334269270032014-03-05T13:05:00.001-08:002014-03-05T13:08:27.044-08:00Remember that you are dust...<iframe src="//instagram.com/p/lK54GnE-q8/embed/" width="612" height="710" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" allowtransparency="true"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Here's the full text from Debra Avery:<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #2c2e30; font-family: 'Droid Serif', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 25px; padding: 0px;">
Imagine<br />
The hands of God<br />
Cradling<br />
Holding<br />
Relishing the beauty of her creation.<br />
The scars,<br />
the bumps,<br />
the open wounds<br />
the bits and pieces of shattered dreams,<br />
of fragmented existence<br />
Notwithstanding.</div>
<div style="color: #2c2e30; font-family: 'Droid Serif', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 25px; padding: 0px;">
Imagine<br />
The hands of God<br />
Salvaging<br />
Re-creating<br />
Redeeming<br />
the wreckage<br />
the mess<br />
the broken<br />
the pain-filled and pitiful creatures<br />
Unconditionally.</div>
<div style="color: #2c2e30; font-family: 'Droid Serif', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 25px; padding: 0px;">
Imagine<br />
The hands of God<br />
In the evening.<br />
In the morning.<br />
It is good.</div>
<div style="color: #2c2e30; font-family: 'Droid Serif', arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 25px; padding: 0px;">
©2011 <a href="http://improvisewip.wordpress.com/" style="color: #f25d00;" target="_blank">Debra Avery</a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-64879466963500895882014-02-27T13:55:00.000-08:002014-02-27T13:57:40.052-08:00ReLent: Photography ChallengeI'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!<br />
<br />
I found <a href="http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/06/51/3d/06513d582debb20065d2796bf8777aba.jpg" target="_blank">this great resource</a> 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.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijNCTJONG8ZrlC0XAJLzj5DYujYzvxIKXGEaJi-XIXXm0Q2aLvJqUNW7MNaUplbrbhYreKby6hlyM0_HPWqq0KgLzi84fCwBcDIz0eAq1JS-7EslLffMUdJ8xbV8CbWwWch3vD4AeB_8/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijNCTJONG8ZrlC0XAJLzj5DYujYzvxIKXGEaJi-XIXXm0Q2aLvJqUNW7MNaUplbrbhYreKby6hlyM0_HPWqq0KgLzi84fCwBcDIz0eAq1JS-7EslLffMUdJ8xbV8CbWwWch3vD4AeB_8/s1600/Untitled.jpg" height="320" width="243" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6493235422954892500.post-7852920026103756362014-02-26T14:14:00.000-08:002014-10-14T08:24:06.787-07:00Blurts and Affirmations<div class="post_title" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 22px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.3; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
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<div class="post_body" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; float: left; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.600000381469727px; outline: none 0px; overflow: visible; padding-top: 2px; width: 500px;">
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/34269647135377372/" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.298039); box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; outline: none 0px;" target="_blank"><strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;"></strong></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/34269647135377372/" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; color: #444444; outline: none 0px;" target="_blank"><strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;"><img alt="image" class="toggle_inline_image constrained_image" src="https://31.media.tumblr.com/c685414df449e69fcfadb759f718779d/tumblr_inline_n0jgjs9ZYF1qhcl5e.jpg" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); border-width: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: auto; max-width: 100%; outline: none 0px;" /></strong></a></div>
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<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
In my clergy peer group, we are doing a 12 week program called <em style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">The Artist’s Way</em> 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. </div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
This was surprisingly and embarrassingly hard! The affirmations sound so cheesy, and the blurts are so mean! </div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
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. </div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
Here’s my list:</div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I am too busy and stressed. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">I have enough time. I am enough.</strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I am irresponsible. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">Give yourself a break. No one is perfect. </strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I too tired. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">Be gentle to yourself, and go to bed early tonight.</strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I can’t have the kind of relationship I want because of my career. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">God wants me to be happy in life, love, and work.</strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I am not smart enough. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">I am actually really smart! And other smart people have told me so! I went to the University of Chicago for heaven’s sake!</strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I’m too demanding. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">I deserve good things. </strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; outline: none 0px;">
I am too naive and privileged. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">Awareness of my own privilege is a strength, not a weakness. </strong></div>
<div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">
I can’t sing AND do ministry. <strong style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; outline: none 0px;">Music is part of who I am as a minister. That’s not going anywhere. </strong></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04215171502198200042noreply@blogger.com1