Psalm of Complaint

For the first week studying the Ketuvim, one of the Make projects was to write a Psalm of complaint. Since I'm so good at complaining, I decided this was my best bet. After all, Tori Rodriguez did say that negative emotions are the key to well-being. She writes, "Suppressing thoughts and feelings can even be harmful...Instead of backing away from negative emotions, accept them. Acknowledge how you are feeling without rushing to change your emotional state."

Well then, sounds like the Psalmists were working out all the feels. Here's my attempt addressing a complaint that rests on most of our hearts...

{I have included links to references for fun-- try to read it through without clicking on them first.}

A Psalm of Complaint.
For God. Of A Concerned Citizen. 

O God, my God,
do you not hear your people cry?
We call out to you and you do not come.
We ask for your hand, and where does it hide?

For so long we have seen the mogul exclaim.
His face becomes ruddy as he blows hot air.
God, he knows not what he says and yet the people
clamor for him.

For so long this mogul stomps on our rights
and oppresses the poor and the orphan.
He disrespects political correctness
and relishes in a mythical Dream.

God, who we have thought to be merciful,
where is the love? Where is the love?
If he is our head, to where will we turn?
A voice cries in the wilderness, "Retreat to the North."

Oh, God, we need you now.
Rain down your Truths onto your people
and help them see the path of righteousness.
For with him we cannot survive.

You have delivered us out of homogeneity
and inspired us with another from our country.
We trust that your divine love can infuse
your people again with fervor for Truth.

O God, we fear for our lives. Save us from despair.
Enter into our affairs and choose the best for us.
(Or wait, don't... that's a theocracy.)
Help us to appoint s/he who will do your will.

To you I will be ever thankful
if you but empower your people toward Truth.
We will gift you with a thousand cranes
and put our hope in you forever.

You are the rock on which we stand
and the guard at our closet door.
We will not fear but stand in awe
of your great and everlasting works.

O God, rescue us.

Breathing the Smoke of the Campfire

Literature is, and has always been, the sharing of experience, the pooling of human understanding about living, loving, and dying. (From this article)

I remember the exact moment when this became my understanding of scripture. I was 17. I was sitting on a bench in Cincinnati, OH with two friends from youth group. We had the Bible in our laps. We were on a "mission trip" to help a church organize and clean in preparation for their VBS program.

Until this point, I thought I was conservative... politically and religiously. Part of this had to do with my upbringing, some with my developmentally appropriate teenage perspective, some because of who my best friend was at the time. I had been attending a UCC church for yeaaaars, but I just couldn't wrap my head around the progressive nature of its theology, much less any beliefs of my own... except the ones that were in question, of course. This meant scripture was especially troublesome.

So there we were, sitting on a bench reading Genesis. Poring over the creation stories... both of them. The three of us had so many questions. Who wrote these stories? Why are there two different creation stories? If these were the first created people, how can it be a first hand account? Why wouldn't someone write themselves into a story? How can these things be taken for Truth? What does it mean to believe these stories? What are we actually believing? What does it mean when our pastor says she takes the Bible "seriously but not literally"?

So we asked her. And she said six magical words: "These stories are like campfire stories."

And THAT was it for me. That was it. I finally got it. I finally understood that the scriptures, the stories we were reading in 2006, were the same stories people had been reading for centuries... millenia(!)... they're the stories of a people coming to understand who they are... as individuals, in community, in opposition to others, and in relation to G-d. I finally got it. It's "the sharing of experience, the pooling of human understanding about living, loving, and dying."

And in the words of my pastor, it was as though I "had come up for a breath of fresh air."

She was right, but it felt more like I inhaled campfire smoke... at once relieving and alarming.

If we don't take it literally, there is so much more to learn.

What's an Ootle?

I've often used the phrase "oodles"... but this is a different kind of oodle... In fact, it's not an oodle, it's an Ootle! That's the Open Old Testament Learning Event.

It's a worldwide event (similar to a MOOC) meant to help people from all over the world learn more about a particular topic, in this case, the Old Testament. To be honest, I did not have a good learning experience in my seminary Old Testament class... neither of them, actually. I learned next to nothing in one of them and was force fed to memorization in the other one.

That is to say, I need this course.

I need this course because I feel like I missed out in seminary.

I need this course because I am a life-long learner.

I need this course  because I feel like I know very little about the Hebrew Bible.

I need this course to be a better pastor/minister/clergy person.

I need this course to be a better Christian.

I do a grave disservice to my faith and my actions when I am not critically studying the Scriptures in which my faith tradition is rooted. I have less of an understanding of the Hebrew Scriptures than the Christian Scriptures and that's problematic because both are integral to Christianity. Jesus' lineage is in the Hebrew Bible. The people, places, events that made Jesus who he was, and is to us today, are chronicled in those books. Albeit, with some missing pieces, overlap, and contradictions, but that is exactly what I hope to learn.

We are all called to wrestle with our scriptures, our traditions, and our rituals. We are called to be all of who G-d has called us to be in this world and without these wrestlings, we know not the depth and breadth of our faith community, of the Church writ large. The Christian tradition is rooted in the history of a people, of many peoples, struggling to find their place in the world and the place of G-d in it all.

And that is still our struggle today.

So I invite you to join me through Ootle 2016. You can find me here, blogging... probably sparsely because, work... and you can find me on twitter @emilymlab. Or, just go to twitter and search #ootle16 and our collective learnings will be posted.

Looking forward to learning with you!

spaciousness in the wilderness

.

I wrote the following piece for the church newsletter. As mentioned before, this church is focusing on Spiritual Practices while the pastor is on sabbatical. Read on to hear about my spiritual practice of spaciousness....
__________________________________________________

And so it has begun… our journey, alongside Jesus, that leads to Jerusalem; our journey into the wilderness. I wonder what we will find in the wilderness? Who or what awaits us? What struggles will we encounter? What revelations will we have? What practices will bring us through? Perhaps you have already started to discover the answers to these questions. Or, perhaps you just have more questions.

It is in this place of wilderness that we begin to think about those things that separate us from God. Process theologian Marjorie Suchoki defines sin as “an extended event in an interdependent world… sin [against God] manifests in our violence toward the creation.”¹ This includes harm done toward ourselves, others, and the earth. Sin doesn’t just occur between us and God but between us and everything God created in God’s own image. What we do, how we act, and the words we say all have power and we are not always aware of how much power we exude.

Lately, I have been incredibly mindful of how quickly I move from one thing to the next without allowing space. It used to be that typing teachers taught students to include two spaces between each sentence, but that is no longer the case. In this world of efficiency and bureaucracy we now leave just one space between sentences because who has the time for an extra keystroke.

Likewise, I know I am generally inclined toward busy-ness. I am always running from one thing to the next. Everything I have to accomplish feels so important and it seems like if I don’t do it now, at the same time as three other things, none of them will ever get done. No matter how much meditation or prayer I do in the morning, thinking that it will calm my spirit for the day, I still move at roadrunner pace.

For me, this year, Lent is about discerning the ways in which I do harm to myself and others by keeping up this pace of busy-ness. I don’t actually need to speed to get to church and I don’t need to go from one meeting to the next without stopping. Jesus took time to go to the desert and pray by himself. We too are called to follow his lead. Even if it’s just taking one minute to stretch between staring at the computer and walking into a meeting. Even if it’s just pausing to give thanks for my lunch. Even if it’s ten seconds of deep breaths. I am committing myself  to creating more room for spaciousness, and therefore God, to abide. 

Movement. G-d. Rhythm.

So I have to bear witness/testimony to this not only for the sake of sharing it with you, or because it's a spiritual practice to share how G-d is transforming me, but because I want to remember this.

As many of you know, I have recently started as the Sabbatical Guest Pastor at Community United Church of Christ in Champaign, Illinois. Their pastor, my mentor, Rev. Leah Robberts-Mosser, is on Renewal Leave for the next three months. The church went through a hiring process and of the candidates they had, they hired me. And I accepted the opportunity with gratitude. As part of the renewal plan for the church, they built in a sermon series of sorts around the theme of "Spiritual Practices." We will be having three guest preachers, who will also lead a workshop, that will preach on a different spiritual practice each: honoring the body, building community, and engaging the creative spirit. Honoring the body is getting the least amount of airtime-- I don't know that it was a conscious decision-- which is unfortunate because we live in the midwest and honoring one's body, much less paying attention to one's body, is not the norm.

So let me start there.

I have been working really hard lately (many thanks to my former therapist, former field education supervisor, former CPE supervisor, and my spiritual director) to feel my emotions, to pinpoint what it  that I feel and to validate that feeling. That also means paying attention to where I feel emotions in my body. So last night I had a terrible stress dream about work that left me feeling angry when I woke up. There was a point in time when I thought I never got angry. That's no longer true. (It probably wasn't true then either.) When I woke up I wanted to throw something against the wall. It was that bad. This doesn't happen very frequently, so it is becoming easier to recognize when I have strong emotions. I'm going to come back to this feeling in a second.

One of the things I preached about on Sunday was the difference in people's needs when it comes to how they do spiritual practices. Some folks need rigidity-- meditation, every morning, for 30 minutes, at the exact same time. Other folks-- read, me-- need a whole variety of practices. I used to think I needed a rigid schedule, but I could never make it work. [And if the shoe doesn't fit, don't freakin' force it.] I have also been working really hard to figure out how I can do all my favored spiritual practices-- exercising, collaging, meditating, praying, writing, drawing illuminated manuscripts-- and have enough time for life.

jellyfish at the monterrey bay aquarium. movement. 

So, when I was preaching on Sunday, I remembered a sermon my friend/colleague/former parishioner, Rev. Donene Blair, preached in Tiburon about the difference between balance and rhythm. She preached about the way in which creation was six days on, one day off; how Jesus didn't pray on a schedule, but rather when he felt the need to do so. And the second to last paragraph was this: "When we strive for balance it is like standing on one foot. When we find our own rhythm in work, play, rest, prayer and silence, we care for ourselves. We open up space, and let God in." Standing on one foot is not sustainable. Balance is not sustainable. But rhythm. Rhythm opens us up to movement.

Movement is fluidity.
Rhythm is not rigidity.
G-d is movement. fluidity. 

Just let me say a quick word about the paradoxical nature of G-d and how it gets me every time. We know G-d in the stillness, the still small voice, the quiet-ness of prayer, the calm of meditation. I think we try to convince ourselves that G-d can only be found there and then convince ourselves that we can't find G-d because we're only paying attention to stillness. 

Guess what: G-d is both/and. Don't ever for a second believe that G-d cannot be in both of those things and more than those two things. Christian spirituality and theology calls us to be paying attention to all the places we find G-d, naming them, claiming them, and telling others about them. We are being transformed by G-d all.the.time. The question is, are you paying attention?

So this morning, when I woke up angry, I discerned the spiritual practice that would help me best work through the anger, the thing that would help me let go of it before moving on to a full day of work at church. And who's surprised that that practice would be running? 

Movement. 

Fluidity. 

Rhythm of steps and breath. 

I turned on my Pandora Dance Cardio radio station and busted up that treadmill. And even though it's been a year since I last ran four miles, and last week I could hardly run one mile, today I was able to run two and a half with ease.  And sort through my anger enough to get on with my day without letting it consume me. 

Holy Spirit for the win. 

Strangers like me

 

So you may be thinking, "Why did Emily post what is essentially a love song between a jungle boy and a rich girl?"

Let me start here. One of my spiritual practices during CPE has been to listen to broadway music during my drive to and from Livonia. Granted, this has left me singing songs from multiple musicals in my sleep, but it has been a good practice because it gets my mind off of the difficult stuff so I can leave it at the hospital.

So one day this song came on and I thought, "Hm. Strangers like me... That sounds familiar..."

My work at the hospital is full of strangers. This is one of my dislikes about hospital chaplaincy. Unlike church work, where week after week, month after month, year after year, you deal with the same group of people (give or take a few), the hospital is populated by strangers. And as someone who thrives in ongoing community, especially the work of bringing people together to think through church life and theological quandaries, essentially the work of becoming together... well, the hospital just isn't that place. Sure, a chaplain may see people for a week or even a month if the patient is in rehab, but even at that it remains very individual work.

Here is the chunk of lyrics that I am focused on from this song: 

"Oh, these emotions I never knew

Of some other world far beyond this place

Beyond the trees, above the clouds

Oh, I see before me a new horizon

I wanna know, can you show me

I wanna know about these strangers like me

Tell me more, please show me

Something's familiar 'bout these strangers like me."

"Oh these emotions..."
All throughout the CPE program we are digging deeper to get at our emotions. It's not unusual to feel like I'm sitting in therapy during my Wednesday class time with my peers because our supervisor will frequently ask us "How did you feel when ____  happened?" (And no, the answer cannot be "fine"... well it can but you have to have a really good rationale.) So it's emotionally draining work, not only the hospital visits but the class time, too. The benefit of CPE is that it brings up all kinds of stuff from my past, my family system, my expectations, my relationships that help me to see "a new horizon" where I can differentiate between my emotional baggage and another's so that I can do better ministry. That is not to say that after CPE everything will be figured out and I will be able to draw hard and fast emotional distinctions in every interaction because emotions are messier than that. However, it has prepared me for an emotional "world far beyond" the one I have been living.


"Something's familiar about these strangers like me..."
One of the exercises we do in CPE is called "Cultural Narratives." We write a two page family history including major cultural shifts, interactions with diverse communities, and personal place in our family system. After someone reads their narrative aloud, the process that follows includes naming connections, disconnections, and curiosities. Essentially we name the places where we have had a familiar experience, where we know nothing about that experiences, and where we have questions (respectively). This translates into patient work because we then pick either a connection, disconnection, or curiosity and frame it in a way that we would speak to a patient.

Here's a made-up example...

• The cultural narrative says, "I come from a long line of family members in the armed forces. I am not continuing that as I am seeking ordination."
• I say, as a point of disconnection, "I don't know what it's like to have a history of military involvement in my family."
• My reframing for patient care: "How does that family history impact how you see the world?"

So the other night when I visited with a patient and he started talking about his involvement in multiple symphonies and pit orchestras playing woodwind instruments (primarily clarinet), I felt an immediate connection. It was great! I never mentioned to him that I also played clarinet for nine years and that I love broadway shows, but his stories gave me a gateway to become more curious than I usually am because I had the language and familiarity. I may not be a straight white married man in my 70's, but I do know something about music. "Strangers like me..." 

Of course it's easier to connect when we can relate. I struggle when I don't have that place of connection. It requires staying in the conversation long enough to really hear what the other person is saying. Perhaps that's an emotion that I understand ("That's frustrating.") or an experience I've never had ("What was that like?")... but it requires paying close attention to the other person. 

This is what people in caring professions usually call "empathy"-- being able to feel the feeling the other person is experiencing because as a human, you also know that feeling. Hence, my example about frustration above. It's not always that easy... sometimes I run into people who have had a really challenging life and are now fraught with medical issues and they have no family left. I don't know loneliness like that, or overwhelm like that... so I simply sit in it with them, perhaps in silence, perhaps in prayer. My approach may change person to person, but no matter what, it still requires a sense of genuine care for the other. (Note to self: Write a blog post about my understanding of empathy.)

"I wanna know about these strangers like me." Jesus dealt with strangers all the time. Rachel Held Evans, a great blogger on Christianity, ministry, and more, recently wrote this blog post in which she stated, "If Jesus started with the outliers, why shouldn't we?" Strangers can be people that are unfamiliar to us, in which case we can be curious about them-- ask questions and get to know them. Strangers can also be people we consider outliers or outsiders, in which case, we should treat them as Jesus would, with care, compassion, and empathy. ((Disclaimer: we still need to use our common sense when we feel as though we are in danger. Trust G-d but tie up your camel.)) 

So here's me holding myself accountable through my writing. When I go to work today, I will do my best to be curious about people. To show compassion. To be empathetic. To ask questions. To make a point of un-stranger-ing the patients. 

And I encourage you to do the same. The more genuine care and compassion we share, the more human we become, the more love is spread, the better the world becomes. 

Will you join me?

All Saints: Culture. Inheritance. Chair.

Grandma,

I'm sitting in your chair.

The chair you made a coverslip for

when the velvety sky blue was worm

and out of date.

Now covered in a pattern that

screams your name,

Ethel Violet Oie.

The chair in which you sat

and drank your barley green...

that smelly drink that kept you

healthy for so long,

that kept you ahead of the

organic, natural, whole-food curve.

The chair in which you watched

the fish swim back and forth,

back and forth, up and down,

with all of their movement, dynamism,

and flow.

The chair in which your

body deteriorated

from the cancer that took over

your body.

I look at this chair every day and think of you...

think of your smiling face,

your big hands and crooked fingers

worn from a long, grief-filled,

and joyous, G-d infused life.

I think of the times we
played hide-and-seek,
watched Mary Poppins
or Peter Pan
over
and over
and over again.

I think of the times we
shucked corn and peas
on the back patio
on Crown Dr.
When Gracie was two
(and she thought she was nine).

I think of the times we
went to St. Marks
for Good Friday
and how when that stone rolled,
and the tomb shut,
and the lights dimmed...
how that memory shapes my
understanding
of one of the most solemn nights
of the year.
That night that
emotionally paralleled
what it felt like when you left this earth.

Your tomb shut and
the lights of life dimmed.

You were particular and fastidious,
traits that I only kind of inherited,
but that mom and Gracie
totally admit to.

You were kind and gentle,
qualities that I continue striving to
embody because they made you, you.

You were a woman of G-d,
whose beliefs probably
would have opposed mine
in a lot of ways and yet
we would always have agreed upon
G-d's infinite love
for G-d's people.

Grandma,
I'm sitting in your chair
writing my cultural narrative
for my CPE internship.
Thinking about the ways you
shape(d) my life.

Thanks be to G-d,
every day you
resurrect
for me in this chair.

I see you.
I feel you.
I hear you.
I miss you.

You would want it to become my chair.
But it will never be my chair.
It will always be your chair.

Because you are in it.
Every stitch. Every fiber.

And you resurrect for me.
Every. single. day.

What more could I have asked for?
You are a saint.
And this is legacy.

Love,
Emily

The Divine in the Canine

This guy reminds me, more than anything else, that life is not about me:

When I come home from a long day of class, I need to walk him. But the thing is, it's not that I need to walk him, rather, he needs a walk. He reminds me daily of the reverence I must hold for all of life-- G-d's creatures and creations. Milo reminds me that I need to tend to critters, humans, and living things all the same because life is meant to be cared for-- not dominated or destroyed. My dinner can wait, my sitting on the couch can wait, because Milo needs to stretch his little legs, frolic in the grass, and poop outisde. He has his own needs and since he is dependent upon us humans to take care of him, thats precisely what we have to do. Feed, walk, pet, burrow him in blankets, pet, feed, walk, pet, tuck him in.

My work in the hospital is rooted in this understanding too. Visits with patients in the hospital are not about me. They're not about what I want, where I want the conversation to go, my curiosities... Those visits are about helping the patient uncover the emotions they have pushed deep down because they're facing a life-threatening illness; or inviting the family into a conversation about how to care for the patient because they are actively dying; or brightening the patient's mood because they love to laugh and there's not much to laugh about in a hospital; or providing a sense of normalcy in a place where the patient feels everything but normal; or helping the patient suss out their regrets because they know there's not much time left.

We reflectively listen to people's stories helping to draw out of them that which they hadn't yet articulated. We help them clarify values, feelings, emotions, and beliefs. We hold the patient's hand when they're in pain, hug the mourners, and pray over the deceased. It's about meeting people where they are at and accompanying them through that moment in time.

Hospital chaplaincy is most certainly not my call. But working in this setting has helped me to better understand the ways in which I try to put myself first. Hear me though-- Self Care is really important. My last post even said so. I'm not saying we must become a martyr to others-- especially those that drain you of your resources. But if we truly believe in doing ministry that follows Jesus' teachings and actions, then we cannot look away from the marginalized, the helpless, or the stigmatized.

One of the biggest, most privileged, mistakes I have made, is assuming someone's needs. I continue to learn this lesson every time I walk into a patient's room. I try not to make any snap judgments about how I can help the patient or the family. Each person has their own set of needs that we cannot know until we ask and engage them in conversation. Listening to the heart of what someone is saying helps me to better grasp their needs. Sometimes the patient doesn't know what they need emotionally or spiritually until I draw it out of them, but I can only draw it out if I pay attention to the nuanced words or intonation in their voice. If I assume what they need, the patient will never feel heard. 

I just paused writing this post because Milo needed to go out. So we went for a walk, he did his business. When we came back and I sat back down at the computer, Milo started whining from the other room. What could he possibly need? I just took care of all his needs. 

Lo and behold, this is what he wanted. 

And now he's snoring peacefully.

                                 It's not about me. 

Self-Care, Success, and Apples

**Note: I write more when I notice multiple ideas synchronizing at the same time... this is one of those posts. That also means this may be a bit scattered... **

I'm big on self-care. I used to be horrible at it, or at least it was misdirected. I would over-exercise, deny myself yummy food, and get up early/stay up late. I thought it was healthy because that's what everyone tells you-- "everyone" meaning american culture, hollywood, magazines, and TV... when I think about it that way, it's pretty clear that all of those have become the same thing. I digress...

When I went into my Ordination Interview last week, one of the questions they asked me was about where I saw myself in ministry in 5 years.  As someone seeking a first call, logistically a 5 year window lands you right on the cusp of transitioning from the first call to the second. So really, I could have said any number of positions-- senior pastor, specialized associate pastor, solo pastor, campus minister, social service chaplain...

I briefly responded to his question by saying I will likely head for the parish, but I'm open to however the Spirit moves me. And then, I followed it up by saying:

"AND... I want to be in a healthy place." 

The man who asked the question, who is also a pastor, laughed (I don't know why, perhaps he assumed I meant a church that was healthy). Despite his laughter, I continued speaking because being healthy is so important to me as a person, a partner, and a pastor. I went on to say that we have lost a serious understanding of self-care in ministry and that if we don't cultivate pastors and parishioners who put in the time to take care to themselves, then we are going to lose church all together.

I am one of the biggest self-care advocates that I know and it's largely because of the shift that happened for me in seminary-- going from an exerciseaholic to someone who takes time to rest. I know what it's like to think I'm resting, when really I'm stressing myself out, depriving myself of sleep, and working too hard. True self-care is something I learned during field ed in seminary, not through the seminary itself. There was very little evidence, institutionally, that self-care was of any import. Yet, my mentor had developed incredible boundaries for herself that she wanted to pass on knowing that as a young pastor I would soon be swept up into a congregation who wanted to work me hard. Being a young female, and the product of a generation that is always connected to something (thank you, technology), I often feel like I need to prove myself. I buy into the myth that working harder, longer, busier hours will get me everything I need to succeed in life.

But what is success anyway?

And especially success at the expense of one's health?

I am grateful to Rob Leveridge, a brilliant UCC pastor and singer/songwriter, who wrote a blogpost today about apple trees.  Rob asks the question: What is the purpose of the apple tree? We think it is to produce apples, when really it is to produce more apple trees. Rob writes, "People think apples are the plant's reason for being, because WE love to eat apples, and we cultivate and groom the trees to get their fruit. But from the tree's point of view, the apple is just a part of a process that serves a bigger goal. It's a delivery system for the seeds." So if success is not our fruits, then what is it?

Success is embodied in the seeds we plant. This means that the way we live our life, the legacies we leave for those who follow us must be seeds worth reaping. What does the way you live your life say to your children? Your parishioners?

So, I understand self-care as the manifold practices of ritual and activity and/or lack thereof that help us to maintain a healthy emotional, spiritual, physical, and mental well-being. This can be anything from a nap to a walk in the forest to watching a movie to using all of your vacation days to blogging to playing with your kids or your dog or your partner just because. Perhaps it's spontaneous, perhaps its a ritual... but hopefully it is sacred and life-giving.

When we live in ways that honor our bodies, honor G-d, and honor each other, we plant seeds for future generations that say:
       
      There is more to life than busyness.
                  Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed.
                           Take care of yourself.
                                                                 
                                                           Pause.         Breathe.

                       
                                 
              Do what is life-giving. 

                                                                          Is your life giving?

At Koinonia on Sunday, we experienced the last installment of a sermon series called Generation to Generation. Each week, to my understanding, the pastors invited folks from the highlighted generation of that week to respond to a few questions that helped the congregation understand more about their generation. Questions like: What was the most significant political event of your time? What does the grace of G-d look like for you? What was passed onto you that you remember most? This last week we heard from the Builder Generation (those who were greatly influenced by the Great Depression and WWII). Over the course of the conversation, we heard from these folks how the lives of their parents or grandparents gave them support, strength, music, opportunities, hope. And we heard about how their lives are giving to their children now....perspective, stories, love.

Generation to generation, our lives give... so do what is life-giving.


Last thing...  It was important for me to tell the committee that I hope to be in a healthy place because now they can hold me accountable to this commitment. I feel more dedicated to taking care of myself and finding ways of taking my Sabbath because I know there are others who will look to me as an example. I am a woman of my word... especially when my word is life-giving.

Damsel(fly) in Distress

[[I would encourage you, if your device allows, to play this song while you read this post.]]

I was having a frustrating morning, so when I happened upon Lillie Park I thought I would stop to just take in some beauty for a hot second. As it turns out, there are all kinds of paths, ponds, and picnic tables that sit in this bowl-shaped park. I was super grateful to find this place because when you're walking around, you hardly feel like you're in the middle of Pittsfield/Ypsilanti. Anyway, I walked around a little bit, trying to take in the sights and sounds.

relevant tangent: I was challenged by my mentor, during my second semester of Field Ed., to take an hour a day to do nothing. That nothing could be watching the sunset, taking an aimless walk, taking a nap, laying on the quad... anything that was nothing. This was a struggle for me, as you can imagine, being the active person I am-- both in mind and body. I tried to convince Curran it was impossible being a seminarian and working 15 hrs a week to do such a thing, but I tried anyway.... for about two weeks... and then midterms and Lent hit, and it was nearly impossible. (Though, the amount of time I spend on facebook and checking my email everyday has to add up to an hour at least...) Nonetheless, I learned an important lesson: Take time to be quiet, to be amazed, and to just breathe.

So I'm walking around Lillie Park and felt drawn to a dock that extended over the pond. The water was far more clear than I had anticipated. So I leaned over the edge of the dock and observed a small school of fish-- little bluegills or something similar. I took a moment to pray about my frustrating morning and just wondered about the fish. [Do they have worries? Are there bigger fish in the pond that could eat them? Do they know it, if that's true?]  Then I moved to the other side of the dock and I immediately saw a beautiful purple damselfly floating in the water.

I wondered about its fate: do damselflies usually lie in the water? I have to imagine her wings are saturated...  I assumed the damselfly was lifeless and immediately began singing this in my head. I mourned its passing for a moment... and then I saw its legs move. I was overcome with this need to save this creature. Out of reverence for all of created life? Out of a human survival instinct? Until Sasha came along I killed spiders, flies, bees... you name it, I sought to squash it.


But there was some ineffable nudge that just wouldn't subside.

So I looked around for... something. I thought maybe I could find a stick or a twig of some kind. I ended up breaking a small twig off of a dead bush just next to the water. As the wind pushed the water, the damselfly drifted closer to the dock. I knelt down, reached my arm out, holding the twig to rescue her. I didn't know if this would be more helpful or harmful.

She grabbed onto the twig and I pulled her onto the dock and set it down. I hoped she would just fly off, but to no avail, so I waited patiently. One wing was snagged on the twig so I took one of the keys on my key ring and gently brushed the wing off. She hopped off the twig and onto the dock. I wondered if she was drying off, just sitting there... or perhaps she was stuck again to something... or perhaps she was dying. I wasn't certain. Being the human that I am, I thought maybe I should help more. So I thought maybe it would be of use to separate her from the dock to give her some lift into the air. She was unmoved. Just then, a gust of wind came and moved the twig in her direction, separating her from the dock and off she flew. Just like that she was gone... thanks to the wind, and probably G-d. I hoped that her wings weren't too waterlogged so that she could continue flying, liberated just as I hope she was before.

What a moment of recognizing that we can only do so much.
What a moment of resurrection.

Thanks to Mary Oliver, here's another way of putting what I learned last year and was reminded of again today:

"Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it."

May it be so.

Holy Synchronicity

Though today was only day one, I hope to continue blogging throughout my CPE journey. It's going to be a long haul and I'm going to have plenty to process (hopefully coherently) outside of class. This may be just one manifestation of that. Welcome to the wild ride. 

Today, after I got home from class-- which was a full 8 hours of learning how to use the computer system-- I found two emails: one was a poem from a daily poem subscription and the other was my enneathought.* 

The poem is called "The Moment" and it's from Margaret Atwood:

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,  

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe. 

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

And my enneathought said this:

No matter what type we are, Holy Law is the dynamic, living unity of everything as an unfolding process. There can be no independent doing or accomplishment because everything is happening together. 

Holy synchronicity, right? And I mean Holy with a capital H. Holy. 

How perfect that these two texts would collide on the same day that I start CPE. While this experience is about me learning and growing and learning new ways to be in ministry with others, chaplaincy is not about me at all. It is about entering the cosmic flow of dialogue with a patient; it's about letting go of my own ego and desires; it's about encountering the unfolding of life before me; it's about paying attention to the gifts of life and death; it's about the living unity and dynamism of everything; it's about being 'a visitor time after time' and not pretending like I know everything; it's about being curious; it's about finding and being found. Without G-d** this experience is nothing. Which means I am never doing this work independently-- though I may like to think so. G-d is present with me in every moment, every prayer, every mistake, every hurdle, every learning. Every Everything. 

G-d, in search for communion, created the world in G-d's own image-- that multifarious and complex image. In this diversity and unity (but not uniformity), we are called to care for each other and seek justice through fostering right relationships with one another. The mission statement of the health system for whom I am working says this:

We serve together in the spirit of the Gospel to be a compassionate and transforming healing presence within our communities. 

Yes. I yearn to be a part of that. I yearn to serve together, understanding that nothing is done without the unfolding of the rest of life; I yearn to serve in the spirit of the Gospel understanding that I own nothing and seek to be just one speck in someone's healing process; I yearn to be a compassionate and transforming healing presence because I know it is that to which I am so deeply called; and I yearn to do all of this within [these] communities because it is a place that values the dignity and respect of the vulnerable. 

When I write it all down, I get really excited... 

                                                                and yet there are those pesky dragons....





*Enneathought is a daily email from the Enneagram Institute, which I love. To learn more about it or what your enneagram number might be, follow this link. Also I love talking about the enneagram so feel free to engage me around that as well.

**I use ‘G-d’ as a way to reference the mystery and vastness of the Divine. Dashes indicate that the reader should take note of the substance between the dashes. In this case, it is my hope that to use a dash instead of an ‘o’ we are reminded to stand in awe of the ineffable, limitlessness of the Holy—an unfinished word for a Still-Speaking G-d. It also hearkens back to G-d’s chosen name in the Hebrew Scriptures: יהוה, Yahweh, which is actually an non-word in Hebrew. 
 

Here be dragons...

Well, I'm back. Oh, blogging-- how I've missed you.

As you've probably noticed, or maybe you haven't, this blog received a facelift. I changed the background as I start a new phase. Just today I began the last piece of formal education in my ordination process with the UCC: Clinical Pastoral Education. CPE, as it is commonly known, is required for most people entering professional Christian ministry. It is most commonly experienced as hospital chaplaincy. Here is how the Association for CPE explains their program:

Clinical Pastoral Education is interfaith professional education for ministry. It brings theological students and ministers of all faiths (pastors, priests, rabbis, imams and others) into supervised encounter with persons in crisis. Out of an intense involvement with persons in need, and the feedback from peers and teachers, students develop new awareness of themselves as persons and of the needs of those to whom they minister. From theological reflection on specific human situations, they gain a new understanding of ministry. Within the interdisciplinary team process of helping persons, they develop skills in interpersonal and interprofessional relationships. 

It is a very challenging and enlightening experience, from what I've heard. Today I met my cohort, supervisor(s) and was trained in the hospital computer system. Fortunately, I've had to enter stats on a daily basis before, so I know the routine. (Thank you, MFP.) All the other change that will come soon floats all around my mind. I'm reminded of something Elizabeth Johnson, C.S.J., wrote about medieval map makers. "When [they] came to the limit of their knowledge of the known world, they ofttimes wrote in the empty space, 'Here be dragons.' There is something frightening about moving into the unknown, which might harm or devour us" (Quest for the Living God, p. 5). When we don't know what lies ahead, it is easy to make stuff up or concoct anxieties that might not ever exist in our impending experience. At least I know this to be true for me. And for anyone who has heard me talk about my nerves about CPE, you know this to be true about me as well. We are human-- we tend to be afraid of what we don't know. As I have already learned with CPE, it's important to be able to name what you're feeling. And as my favorite 6 year old tells me, "Feel your fear and act anyway" (Chloe Robberts-Mosser). And so I take a take a breath (or two), I say a prayer (or two), and I jump into the dragon- filled unknown.

As for the name change... it used to be "own the mystery." But with my next post, you'll see why I changed it away from the language of ownership. I have changed it to "hold it up to the light" after one of my favorite songs by David Wilcox. You can listen to it here. It is one of those songs that have helped me in my discernment of... everything. It seems appropriate as I head into the sea of dragons. 

"I said ,'God, will you bless this decision, because I'm so scared here with my life at stake. And now I see if you gave me a vision, then I would never have reason to use my faith.'"

Embodying Love

"Embodying Love"
Sermon delivered at Community Congregational Church, United Church of Christ in Tiburon, CA.
Scripture: Matthew 24:36-44
Poems by Ranier Maria Rilke, "God Speaks to Each of Us As He Made Us"
and Stephen Levine, "If Prayer Would Do It"
December 1, 2013


Have you all heard of the Left Behind series? The one by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins? When I was in elementary school, between 5th and 7th grade, there was a part of my day, I think it usually happened in the morning, when my teacher, Mr. Nykamp, would read our class a chapter, or a portion of a chapter from one of the Left Behind books. As he would read, we would practice our listening comprehension skills. After he finished we had about 20 minutes to write a 7 sentence synopsis of the chapter and draw a picture. This happened week after week. I always loathed the assignment because I had a hard time paying attention to the overarching message in things, especially when it’s being said or read to me. And the drawing. Oh my gosh—I could not even draw two semi-symmetrical hands, much less a pair of pants that didn’t look like an upside down V. I thought it was such an odd story--people’s clothes being left on earth while their bodies mysteriously disappeared, floating off to heaven? Then again, I remember drawing that picture and fearing the day that would (hopefully) happen to me.

Oftentimes that plot, with the clothes and the bodies rising, is taken from the scripture we heard this morning. Matthew 24 is part of an apocalyptic discourse. Apocalypticism is a worldview held by many ancient Jews and Christians that said the present age is controlled by forces of evil, but that they will be destroyed at the end of time when God intervenes in history to bring the Kin-dom. Jesus lived in a time when Jews strongly held this belief. They thought that the second coming of God to earth was happening, like, tomorrow. So they had to be prepared. They had to be on top of their game because God was coming back in some manifestation really soon. Thus, we hear in this passage, “Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.“

This is why this passage is used during Advent. Remember, in the Christian liturgical calendar, Advent is a time of waiting, of anticipation of the birth of Jesus into the world. Just as we celebrate Lent and Easter every year to remember that our lives are a constant representation of dying and resurrecting, it is important to celebrate Advent and Christmas. Advent is the “expectant waiting, hopeful anticipation, and cheerful preparation of God breaking into our lives.” It comes every year because we need to be reminded of what it means to wait for the Holy. In reality, we wait for God all the time, but that’s why we set apart Advent, so that we can observe it together and help each other prepare. This is not the preparation of mainstream culture—that of shopping, planning, buying, baking, parties, eggnog, Santa, and gifts. It’s about being together and preparing ourselves for what is to come.

The interesting thing you may have noticed in the scripture is this piece about “one will be taken and one will be left.” That doesn’t sound very promising… nor does it sound communal—people being separated when the Kin-dom of God comes? That doesn’t sound like what Jesus taught throughout his ministry. In the Left behind series, it is the faithful who are taken up to Heaven, but in the scripture it is not this way. The ones who were left were those who were spared by God. This takes what we have so often heard and flips it on its head. In the retelling of the Noah story in Matthew, it was Noah, his family, and the animals who stayed in the ark and the rest were swept away by the flood. Jesus makes it clear to us in the scriptures that the Kin-dom of God is coming to Earth. Whether it’s the flooding of the world, Jesus being born, or the Kin-dom coming, we prepare for these pivotal moments by changing the way we live. Hence the phrase, “live everyday like it’s your last,” right? This is precisely what the Jews were doing when the author was writing this gospel. Preparing for something they thought was imminent.

So I have a scenario for you—say Curran left on September 2nd and said: “I’m going on Sabbatical and I will come back when I feel rested. Keep up with everything as best you can and I’ll be back when I’m back, however long it takes.” What would we have done differently during that time than we did these past three months? I’m convinced we would have done it just the same way for as long as we needed to. Even though we would have no idea when Curran would return, we would have rallied around and held each other and visited folks when they were ill and tended to the needs of the church and followed through on our community responsibilities. We would have put every ounce of energy into whatever we did with as much fervor as we did. We would have been just as faithful to one another.

Over these past three months we:
•Celebrated Vada Gae and sent her off to NC with love
•Hosted Wayne Muller for a weekend
•Witnessed the marriage of Frank and Lois
•Observed Dia de los Muertos with prayer stations
•Carried out a great Pledge Drive with the theme “All Together Now”
•Started up our involvement with the REST program again
•Gathered clothing and monetary donations for Marin Interfaith Street Chaplaincy
•Started our participation in Christmas Families
•Celebrated together with a Thanksgiving Feast
•Hosted five guest preachers and heard from six of our own flock.

Let us take a deep breath together. We certainly managed a lot. And you know what? We didn’t just accomplish a list of tasks or do what we were “supposed to do.” We answered a calling. While Curran was away CCC was left, not necessarily left behind, but left to explore what it means to be faithful, especially what it means to be faithful to our community. We followed the words of Rilke:

You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. 

Embody me. 

Flare up like flame and 

make big shadows I can move in. 

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. 

Just keep going. No feeling is final. 

Don’t let yourself lose me. 

 When we keep awake, we remain alert to the movement of the spirit in our midst. When we wait expectantly, it is not a passive waiting, but an active waiting. We did not sit back and let these last three months just happen. We actively participated in the life of our church, reaching out to those who needed it, feeding those who were hungry, nourishing our community with food and fellowship. I watched as this community stepped up to the call, answered each stirring of the Spirit. This time of Advent, while preparing us for the birth of Jesus the Christ, also reminds us that we must be continually prepared for what is happening in our midst, no matter what that might be.

Our theme for advent is “Opening to the Mystery.” Spirit Life decided that ‘opening’ suggested a continual searching, as opposed to a one time event. When Curran anointed me three months ago, she invited you all to affirm my capacity to make mistakes. You gave me permission to fail. And believe me, fail I did in some ways. More importantly, that moment opened me up and kept me open to the mysterious nature of what lay ahead of us as a church. There was mystery at every step of the journey. There were twists and turns I didn’t anticipate, both in my life and here at church. There were decisions to be made and themes to determine. Burdens to hold and bulletins to write. But more than anything, these past few months have taught me that we never do anything alone.

So now, in Advent, we do not wait alone. We do not hope alone. We do not prepare alone. We do it “all together now.” Being prepared means being faithful to your community. And the best way to be faithful to your community is to love one another through thick and thin, to embody the love of the Holy. When Christmas comes, it will not mean that we are done with this faithfulness. This is only the next beginning of many beginnings. May we enter into Advent with a renewed sense of community and may we help each other keep awake, continually preparing for the next thing, the next movement of the Spirit.

Embody the Holy.
Just keep going.
Give me your hand.
Keep awake.

Amen.

truth.

hints of grace// wealth

One summer when I was home from college, I did a bible study with a few friends and our pastor. We met every week and walked through the gospel of Mark and had snacks. We called it "Mark and Munchies." I learned a ton during that summer and loved every second of it. I have always remembered this one passage that in retrospect seems really not enlightening, but was at the time. It's from Mark 12:41-44. It is stated like this in The Message: 

Sitting across from the offering box, he was observing how the crowd tossed money in for the collection. Many of the rich were making large contributions. One poor widow came up and put in two small coins—a measly two cents. Jesus called his disciples over and said, “The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. All the others gave what they’ll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn’t afford—she gave her all."

I was reminded of this while I was reading Chittister's chapter on "Wealth." Wealth is a hard topic and particularly in this country where no one is "supposed to" talk about it, but those who have it do and those who don't have it, don't. Many kids who grow up poor often do not realize that was the case until they are exposed to a world of economic disparity.

The overwhelming theme of this chapter from Uncommon Gratitude seemed to be what I drew from the scripture passage about: We do the best we can with what we have. This is a reality I have yet to live into, but I know it is a mandate of the gospel. It is a way of living that Jesus calls us to and I am faced every day with the challenge to do more out of my wealth than I am currently doing.

Chittister quoted the chinese philosopher, Hsi-Tang, who said, "Although gold dust is precious, when it gets in your eyes it obstructs your vision." Rather than thinking of people for whom this is true, I immediately jump to private hospitals, insurance companies, banks, and other big institutions that continuously seek to make a profit over caring for people, institutions who lean into empire over creation, fear over love, and oppress rather than empower.

That is what having wealth is about: "...[I]t gives us the power to do good. It is not the amount of money a person has that determines her or his real power; it is what the person does with it that measures her or his lasting influence in a society" (23).

I invite your thoughts about this tricky topic of wealth.... Let's have a discussion.

prophetic poetry

"They say talk is cheap, and war is expensive...don't think for a second I will not question U.S. Foreign policy, imperial aggression, inventing war for the quenching of the thirst..." 

Consider this...

This is my sermon delivered at Community Congregational Church, Tiburon on Sept. 8, 2013. The scripture was Luke 14:25-33.

___________________________________________

Are you one of those people who waits to make a decision until you’ve exhausted all your options? For those of you who know the Enneagram, I’m a six. If you don’t know the Enneagram, sixes tend to worry. When people ask me what number I am, I typically respond, “Ah, yes, I’m a six. I’m afraid of the world.” However, that fear is typically founded in a worry about something. I’m worried someone will die. I’m worried the sermon won’t be exactly how I want it. I’m worried I will get too overwhelmed.  I’m worried Curran won’t come back. 

Sometimes it’s about little things, like my travel mug purchase this weekend. Sometimes it’s been about bigger things, like a year ago when I was asking: how would I tell my family I’m dating someone of my same gender. Sometimes it’s worry for the sake of worry, but other times it’s actually discernment. When we run through the entire gamut of options considering which will be best, weighing pros and cons, debating for hours, weeks or months, we are actually taking part in an important spiritual practice that helps us see beyond ourselves.

In our passage from Luke 14, we hear Jesus talking to crowds of people and before we know it, he’s floored them all. “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” I can just imagine the crowd, wide-eyes, jaws dropped… Notice how no one is recorded to have said anything back to Jesus… The thing is, though that Jesus doesn’t actually mean “hate”, like the intense loathing of a person, but rather it’s as if he said, “You need to know, that your relationships with these people will change, they will not be the only thing in your life if you come and follow me.” In this passage, Jesus acknowledges the risk that comes with being his follower. He wants the crowds to know that there are a lot of factors that come into play when making such a big decision as this. It changes the way we understand what we own, the relationships we have to friends and family, and the responsibilities we accept.  Much like any issue today, following Jesus was a multi-layered situation.

You see, Jesus’ earthly ministry was all about helping people discern the ways in which they were going to be a catalyst for the Kin-dom of God on earth. I am convinced that the way in which these verses speak to that ministry today is in the spiritual practice of “considering all the factors.” The Divine calls us to see the situation from a variety of perspectives because our faith is bigger than ourselves. Our faith inspires us to consider this… and this… and that. 

For those of you who have been following the news, Syria is in the midst of a grave national crisis. They have been fighting a civil war for two years and the governing regime under Bashar Al-Assad has now potentially engaged the use of chemical weapons. The political viewpoints are numerous and the questions are countless. The situations in the middle east are messy and complicated and consequently, so is our response. As Christians and as residents of this world, we have to ask ourselves, with 2 million refugees, 1.8 million Syrian people in need of humanitarian aid, 100,000 casualties and chemical weapons on the world’s radar, what are we to do? What is the international community’s role? Could sending strategic missile strikes do more good than harm? Should we meet killing with more killing? How do we hold Assad accountable? And these questions are only the tip of the iceberg.

There are all of the questions, and none of the answers. Well, there are lots of answers but we cannot ever expect to have the absolute right answer. When we claim to have the right or the only answers, we often times get there by dismissing all the other perspectives and opinions around us. We take only our own perspective into account, which is important, but it then also dismisses the needs of those around us. Yes, this Syrian conflict has implications for the U.S. but that is only one way of viewing the situation. As people of God, of the Divine, we are in relationship with the international community. Because of this, we cannot negate the experience of the 1 million children that have become Syrian refugees over the last two years. Because of this, we also cannot negate the worth of Bashar Assad’s life. Because of this, we cannot overlook the implication of chemical weapons. There are many, many complex layers to this situation. And although we, in this room, are not making any decisions about what happens in Syria, we are forming opinions about what should or should not happen in the coming days and weeks. These opinions are guided by our values as they are rooted in our faith.  At General Synod, the national gathering of the United Church of Christ, our denomination, there was a pastor who informed all the delegates that they were not voting their opinion, they were voting God’s opinion. The decisions they were making about the denomination were not of their own view but of how they discerned God would vote.

Jesus’ discourse in Luke 14 asks us this question: Are our values and our relationships congruent with our relationship to the Holy?  We forget that this faithful part of our lives plays a role in the things we believe and therefore the things we do. I wonder if this nation’s political advisors also took a moment to think about whether or not they were considering all the options and voting God’s opinion, if the country would come to different conclusions. I am hopeful that they would.

We are called to constantly discern our values, to discern all of the pieces involved, to look at an issue from every side. As I was thinking about this, I was reminded yesterday of Antoinette Tuff, the bookkeeper at an elementary school in Decatur, GA who talked down an armed gunman. The heavily armed man came in ready to kill young children and teachers, and Antoinette Tuff, while praying silently as she spoke, invited the man to recognize that he was worthy of living this life too. She explained to him that she too had a difficult point in her life but she made it through and was so grateful for the chance to try life again. This woman’s values of life, dignity, and worth were based in her faith in God and they are the same values that helped her talk this young man into surrendering himself to the police. She began a conversation that could have ended in death, but the values she held, in that instance, helped a nation understand that listening can compete with gun laws, and the respect for life can overcome the desire for death.  Antoinette Tuff understands the importance of seeing an issue from all sides.

If we really want the world to change, if we really want the Kin-dom of God to come to fruition, we have to consider all the questions from every side of the issue. We have to take into consideration the perspective of the rich and the poor, the powerful and the vulnerable, the blue-collar worker and the stay at home parent, the history of that nation or the world, the single person and the family down the street, we have to discern both the risks and the rewards.

I am convinced that God is in the plethora. God takes delight in the multiplicity of perspectives any one issue can hold. God is there to help us discern, to help us sort it all out. And the Good News is this: God is there to love us through the process. God is present in the decision making surrounding Syria, and God is in the midst of your process too.

Amen.

hints of grace//doubt

It is no surprise that I highlighted and underlined the majority of this chapter called "Doubt." Because of that, I have 50 different ideas for a blog post in my head and I'm not sure that I want to pick one, so I may just say all the things... then again, perhaps it will come around to a common thread...

The first thing that came to mind as I was reading this chapter was the sermon that our Field Education Director (Odette) gave yesterday in closing orientation worship. It was briefly summarized by a friend who wrote: "Faith is not certainty. Certainty is idolatry."Can you imagine how different our world would look if we became more concerned about worshipping certainty? There are too many fringe groups (and some dominant groups too) that hang their faith on knowing the Truth.

Instead of being Truth-claimers, let's become doubt-claimers. There are some people in this world who think they have all the answers. And I know, churches have really done a disservice in this arena, particularly over the last couple hundred years. Even the congregationalists who understood there was "yet more light and truth to break forth" from scripture laid a truth-claim once in a while. At the same time, though, truth claims aren't all bad. For example: Everyone needs to be loved and feel a sense of belonging. That's a truth claim. It's a tenet of my faith and I will take it to the grave. So perhaps it's more about when our truth-claims become destructive that we don't want to hang on to them. Because I do believe that hanging on to truth-claims is sometimes the only thing that gets us through the day, and if it's the only thing, then by all means, I am not one to take that away. (This is the essence of a much larger conversation regarding pastoral care...)

But most days, let's turn to doubt, because doubt turns us to wonder. "Doubt... is the mother of conviction. Once we have pursued our doubts to the dust we forge a strong, not a weaker, belief system" (15). It is doubt that helps us go beyond the words on a page and helps us not only ask the questions that are between the lines, but the questions around the margins of the page. While truth "reduces God to the exercises of a theological athletic field" (14), doubt allows us think more deeply, widely, abstractly, awe-somely, and wonder-fully about the mysterious God in whom we (sometimes) believe. When we limit ourselves to certain aspects of God we do more harm than good. No one person is limited to the ways in which they are perceived by others because we are all made up of many layers, stories, histories, and emotions. So too, God is unknowable. Instead of trying to give concrete labels to God, what if we opened ourselves up to believing that at every turn we were discovering something new about God-- just like when we are getting to know our partner... something new everyday!

Chittister finishes the chapter by writing this:

...Only the doubt that opens our hearts to what we cannot comprehend, only the doubt hta tmakes us rabidly pursue the ruth, only the doubt tha tmoves us beyond complacency, only the doubt that corrects mythologies is not worhty of faith can lead us to the purer air of spiritual truth. (17)

Take heart, take trust, and take faith in that God-- the one who continually surprises us and leaves us turning to wonder day after day.

hints of grace//faith

The second chapter of Uncommon Gratitude is called "Faith."

Wow, that was a boring first sentence. Let's try this again.

In one sentence, Joan Chittister implicitly explains how "Spritual but not religious" became a vocalized and seemingly legitimate thing.

In this second chapter, Chittister explores the chasm between faith and religion. She explains that in the wake of 9/11, we suddenly faced the question: "Is religion the answer or is religion the problem?" (5). Without doing their homework on Islamic extremism, some Christians quickly blamed all Muslims for this act of terror. Instead of clinging to the faith of the "one True God" of the Abrahamic faith traditions (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism), suddenly the Christian God could no longer be the Islamic God. Instead of asking questions, America(n Government) got defensive and offensive. Some cowered in fear and some got militant. "Whatever faith told us was true-- that God was love and peace, justice and human community, that we were accountable for our behavior, that there would be an eternal judgment not based on political goals but on God's will for all humanity-- religion told us was only really real for our side" (7).

I would venture to guess that this event is one point on the timeline where folks who claim "spiritual but not religious" say: Religions kill people. Denominations exclude people. I don't want to be a part of that because they have done too much harm and I don't want to be a part of it.

But as Chittister says, "The truth is that faith requires the awareness that God is and that God is holding all of us responsible for the other." Being spiritual but not religious does not give you a pass from this. Believing in God-- who is both transcendent and imminent, too big to comprehend and yet seen in the face of a kind stranger, compassionate and yet critical of our ways-- means believing that we are on God's side, not that God is on our side (6). God creates covenant with her people over... and over... and over again in scripture. That covenant is not always just about God loving us and protecting us and caring for us and looking out for us and solving our problems for us; but rather, we too must love God and look out for God's people and empower each other and hold God accountable when terrible stuff happens. Covenants are not a one-way street.

We could all use to take a minute and find the heartbeat of humanity, for I believe it is there that we find God. It is faith, not religion, that gives us the capability to find that heartbeat and to follow along.

Today I was anointed into leadership at Community Congregational Church. This is the same church I have been interning at since September of last year, but today was my pastor-mentor's last Sunday before she leaves for a three month Sabbatical. I am honored by the amount of trust she puts in me and am very thankful for the retired and current clergy folks that live in our congregation, for their hands will be of utmost importance in these coming months. I was bestowed with the permission to make mistakes. This is not only a major learning curve, but I also realized that it is a great act of faith. My position in the church (religion) calls me to specific tasks and responsibilities. But it is my faith-- my faith in God, myself, and this congregation-- that allows me to take risks beyond the tasks. Those risks may lead to great failures, in which case I will ask forgiveness, offer myself grace, and learn from them. But they may also lead to great success (which was also conferred upon me this morning).

Faith is having the ability to take the risk and know that all will be well (cf. my tattoo).

Faith is recognizing that there is a Holy One beyond me that sees my journey and both weeps and celebrates with me.

Faith is giving up the need to understand God, and finding the ability to stand with God.

Faith "is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living." (Heb. 11:1, MSG)

hints of grace//Intro

So I read the introduction to Uncommon Gratitude. I recognized immediately one thing that I may constantly bump up against: the fact that there are millions of people on this planet who live in such dreadful conditions that squeaking out an "alleluia" must take a lot of energy. Chittister wrote, "...is the human condition a bundle of gifts wrapped in darkness, the life task of which is to learn to recognize Goodness/Godness in all its misty forms?" (viii) This makes me nervous. 'Learning to recognize' is in and of itself a matter of privilege. To learn is a human right. But learning to recognize good when you can hardly feed your family, or when your family has been killed by the latest war, seems like something of little import. It's something to do in your spare time. But then Chittister wrote this:

...To deal with the meaning of alleluia in life means to deal with moments that do not feel like alleluia moments at all. But how is it possible to say alleluia to the parts of life that weigh us down, that drain our spirits dry, that seem to deserve anything but praise? (ix)

So I don't know. Maybe I'm not going to bump up against it as much as I think. I have to say, I just finished a class a couple weeks ago with Miguel de la Torre. He is a Christian Ethicist who teaches at Iliff School of Theology in Denver, CO. He has recently developed a theology of hopelessness. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Isn't the gospel all about the hope of the Kin-dom come to earth!?" Well, not totally. This is his topic to take on and not mine, but his espousal of this hopelessness has caused me great reason to rethink what it means to be an "Easter People."I'm not so convinced that we are.  (However, this is a whole different blogpost/book in itself....)  The other contextual piece of this is that Joan Chittister is known in the religious world for her work with death-row inmates. Because she knows the suffering of those beloved people,  I would anticipate a little less of what I call "silver-lining" theology. I guess we'll have to see as the book goes on. Perhaps Rowan Williams will offer something a little different.

I will do my best to keep this perspective of the author's privilege in perspective as I go through the book... after all, there will certainly be good stuff alongside my critique.

And above is a gift for your listening pleasure. It is the choral version of Whitacre's orchestra piece entitled "October," which I played when I was in high school band. It's incredible...