For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about my home state of Kansas lately. I was recently reminded of the state motto, which I have always loved and cherished: "Ad astra per aspera" - to the stars through difficulty. As a child, I clung to this idea of limitless possibility. If I only worked hard enough, I could learn anything, achieve anything, reach any destination I set my hopes on.
I remember as a little girl, gazing at the wheat fields and the trees and the sky, thinking to myself that no one could ever truly know or comprehend every piece of grain, every leaf, or count every star... that there would always be beauty that no one would ever see... that no one could ever see an entire field or tree from every single perspective. And it made me quite sad... I did not like the thought that even one piece of grass would remain undiscovered, unappreciated. I felt trapped by these striking reminders of the limits of human knowledge and experience.
Within my academic life, I have come to embrace the idea that there are things that we cannot know, but also that there are perhaps things that we should not know, things that we should not try to discover, uncover, plunder, etc. Within my spiritual life, I have come to appreciate the value of mystery, not as something that needs to be overcome, but as something that is important for humanity, something that necessarily reminds us of those limits I used to fear... but also something that offers hope and the possibility of continuous transformation.
And so if I were to summarize in fortune cookie fashion, I would say: "Embrace mystery and be thankful for the unknown." Some limits in our lives are meant to be challenged, and some are meant to be respected. May we have the wisdom to discern between them.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
On Politics and the Parish
Politics, politics, politics everywhere… from Capitol Hill to Gospel Hill and everywhere in between. In preparation for the recent elections, and the recent annual church conference, my mind (and perhaps yours, too) has been preoccupied with issues of power, authority, justice, bureaucracy, economics, etc. And it occurs to me that church polity and national politics have much more in common than I’d like to believe…
For instance, there are perennial struggles between small and large units of governance: state v. nation, congregation v. denomination. Which unit should control what policies? What happens if the smaller faction disagrees with the larger? To what extent does the smaller defer to the larger? And then there is the task of prioritizing issues: institutional maintenance v. institutional reform, focus on caring for “us” v. considering the welfare of “all.” A statement like “I always vote Democrat” is obviously political in nature, but so is “All Christians ought to attend church.”
And so I will pose the question to you –participants in both congregation and country: Where do your truest allegiances lie? With institutions? With particular types of people or schools of thought? With a particular way of life? With the goodness or survival of humanity? And are your convictions consistent between public and parish life? I do not ask to judge, but rather to raise consciousness. I consider it part of my civic duty... :)
For instance, there are perennial struggles between small and large units of governance: state v. nation, congregation v. denomination. Which unit should control what policies? What happens if the smaller faction disagrees with the larger? To what extent does the smaller defer to the larger? And then there is the task of prioritizing issues: institutional maintenance v. institutional reform, focus on caring for “us” v. considering the welfare of “all.” A statement like “I always vote Democrat” is obviously political in nature, but so is “All Christians ought to attend church.”
And so I will pose the question to you –participants in both congregation and country: Where do your truest allegiances lie? With institutions? With particular types of people or schools of thought? With a particular way of life? With the goodness or survival of humanity? And are your convictions consistent between public and parish life? I do not ask to judge, but rather to raise consciousness. I consider it part of my civic duty... :)
Peace Be With You?
I'd like to briefly address one of the most contentious issues related to Sunday morning worship. Though it always a rather sensitive topic, it becomes even more so during the winter months. Some of us are gung-ho about it, and wish we could do more of it... some of us generally go with the flow, not really caring one way or the other... and some of us are highly uncomfortable with it, preferring to eliminate it altogether.
I am speaking of that liturgical element commonly referred to as the passing of the peace. In my favorite British comedy, The Vicar of Dibley, the chair of the parish council complains in a pretentiously whiney tone, "Am I alone in preferring not to shake hands with the malodorous creature sitting in the next pew?" To which another council member guffaws, "Heh heh, I rather like that bit..."
I'm guessing that for many of us, the issue is less THAT we do it and more HOW we do it. Do we shake hands, do we hug, do we bow or wave, do we (horror of horrors) actually offer a biblical kiss of peace? Do we say "Good morning," or "Peace be with you," or "Hello"? And if we're ill or
generally uncomfortable with being touched by strangers, how do we communicate that without creating a disastrously awkward social situation?
The thoughts below may either clarify or complicate. Regardless, I offer them in a friendly spirit, with the disclaimer that I have not yet completed Emily Post's liturgical etiquette training...
- The intention is to somehow convey to your neighbors that you wish for God's peace to be with them.
- The gesture ought to be authentic to you, yet respectful of your neighbors' comfort level.
- Part of sharing "peace" entails not causing excessive anxiety regarding germs or other situations causing physical discomfort (overwhelming fragrances, gigantic bear hugs during flu season, etc.).
- The gesture is symbolic. Peace will still be upon those neighbors you don't manage to get to in the time allotted, I promise! But take care to intentionally seek out those who may be new to the community, those who you don't know all that well, and those who may tend to be overlooked during
this time.
In the end, of course... peace-perfect-peace is not ours to give, but rather ours to reflect as our deepest hope. And it is this hope which we pass on to our neighbors.
I am speaking of that liturgical element commonly referred to as the passing of the peace. In my favorite British comedy, The Vicar of Dibley, the chair of the parish council complains in a pretentiously whiney tone, "Am I alone in preferring not to shake hands with the malodorous creature sitting in the next pew?" To which another council member guffaws, "Heh heh, I rather like that bit..."
I'm guessing that for many of us, the issue is less THAT we do it and more HOW we do it. Do we shake hands, do we hug, do we bow or wave, do we (horror of horrors) actually offer a biblical kiss of peace? Do we say "Good morning," or "Peace be with you," or "Hello"? And if we're ill or
generally uncomfortable with being touched by strangers, how do we communicate that without creating a disastrously awkward social situation?
The thoughts below may either clarify or complicate. Regardless, I offer them in a friendly spirit, with the disclaimer that I have not yet completed Emily Post's liturgical etiquette training...
- The intention is to somehow convey to your neighbors that you wish for God's peace to be with them.
- The gesture ought to be authentic to you, yet respectful of your neighbors' comfort level.
- Part of sharing "peace" entails not causing excessive anxiety regarding germs or other situations causing physical discomfort (overwhelming fragrances, gigantic bear hugs during flu season, etc.).
- The gesture is symbolic. Peace will still be upon those neighbors you don't manage to get to in the time allotted, I promise! But take care to intentionally seek out those who may be new to the community, those who you don't know all that well, and those who may tend to be overlooked during
this time.
In the end, of course... peace-perfect-peace is not ours to give, but rather ours to reflect as our deepest hope. And it is this hope which we pass on to our neighbors.
On Revelation and Rest
Several months ago, a Mormon colleague of mine was telling me about the work that he and his wife do with young adults in their religious community. He was clearly enthusiastic about the opportunity to serve, and he began to tell me about one particular gathering he had recently facilitated. "I shared with them my surefire method for receiving a revelation!" he exclaimed. "It's very simple, and it never fails. All you have to do is answer three questions..." By this point, I admit, I had begun to tune out. Words like "surefire" and "never-fail" send my mind into used-car-salesperson territory. And to be honest, the word "revelation" also made me a bit skeptical. But, I listened politely just the same. He continued: "Just go with the first thing that comes into your mind when answering these questions. 1) What do I need to stop doing? 2) What do I need to start doing? 3) Who needs my help?
I'll be honest - the questions greatly moved me. I liked that instinct was given an important place in the process of revelation, as I strongly feel that this is one of the ways God works in and through us (instinct, gut feeling, sixth sense, nudging of the Spirit, whatever you wish to call it). But I also greatly appreciated the order of the questions. For me, it is highly significant that the first question invites us to give up rather than to take on. It is a common symptom of shrinking mainline Protestant churches that a small number of people end up taking on the majority of the work, resulting in serious burnout. And still, when considering strategies to revive and refresh the church (bearing in mind that the church is a people...), much of the language centers on doing more, being more, adding more programming, attracting more people. In other words, adding more stress and strain to already overburdened lives. But if we're already at full capacity, we can't begin to think of taking on more unless we release some things first. We can't nurture properly unless we ourselves are being nurtured.
And the spiritual practice that speaks directly to this predicament is that of Sabbath. Are there areas of your life and ministry that need a rest? Are there tired ministries within our congregation that need a sabbatical? It may seem counterintuitive in this age of productivity to encourage people to stop what they're doing, or to step away from ministries that have potential to help and heal. But even God rested on the seventh day... and there are plenty of biblical mandates about letting fields lie fallow after a time, giving the land time and space to simply be for a while. Sabbath is not about doing nothing. And to rest from our labors is not a sign of weakness or failure. It is a serious (and sometimes difficult) discipline that can bring balance to our lives, thatshifts us away from speaking and giving and creating... toward listening and receiving and standing in reverent awe. It paradoxically shifts our focus away from ourselves and our own abilities toward God, the ultimate life source on which we depend. And so my prayer is that we might be a Sabbath people... for we cannot live lives of faithful discipleship otherwise.
I'll be honest - the questions greatly moved me. I liked that instinct was given an important place in the process of revelation, as I strongly feel that this is one of the ways God works in and through us (instinct, gut feeling, sixth sense, nudging of the Spirit, whatever you wish to call it). But I also greatly appreciated the order of the questions. For me, it is highly significant that the first question invites us to give up rather than to take on. It is a common symptom of shrinking mainline Protestant churches that a small number of people end up taking on the majority of the work, resulting in serious burnout. And still, when considering strategies to revive and refresh the church (bearing in mind that the church is a people...), much of the language centers on doing more, being more, adding more programming, attracting more people. In other words, adding more stress and strain to already overburdened lives. But if we're already at full capacity, we can't begin to think of taking on more unless we release some things first. We can't nurture properly unless we ourselves are being nurtured.
And the spiritual practice that speaks directly to this predicament is that of Sabbath. Are there areas of your life and ministry that need a rest? Are there tired ministries within our congregation that need a sabbatical? It may seem counterintuitive in this age of productivity to encourage people to stop what they're doing, or to step away from ministries that have potential to help and heal. But even God rested on the seventh day... and there are plenty of biblical mandates about letting fields lie fallow after a time, giving the land time and space to simply be for a while. Sabbath is not about doing nothing. And to rest from our labors is not a sign of weakness or failure. It is a serious (and sometimes difficult) discipline that can bring balance to our lives, thatshifts us away from speaking and giving and creating... toward listening and receiving and standing in reverent awe. It paradoxically shifts our focus away from ourselves and our own abilities toward God, the ultimate life source on which we depend. And so my prayer is that we might be a Sabbath people... for we cannot live lives of faithful discipleship otherwise.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
On Faithful Living and Dying
After the recent loss of my paternal grandmother, I find myself thinking about what constitutes a life well-lived, and a death well-died. When we're looking back at a life, especially a very long life, what "counts"? What do we focus on as the essence of a person's existence? Are we permitted to include not only virtues, but vices and flaws as well? Do we look at the uncorrupted years of youth? Or middle-adulthood, when one's career was in full swing? Or do we fixate on the last days and the manner of death? Does dying well make up for a life lived poorly? Does dying poorly trump a life lived well?
I suppose the most fitting response to the question "What counts?" is yet another question: "For whom?" The individual herself? Those of us left behind? God? And I've come to believe that it's never too early to ask these questions. What is it that is most meaningful in my life? In what ways is my life meaningful to others? Am I spending my time and energy doing what I really feel called to do? How do I hope my loved ones will respond to my absence?
As always, it's easier to ask the probing questions than to answer them... especially since these are questions that only we can answer for ourselves. But as a community of faith, we are graced with individuals in our lives who can help us to discern our gifts and passions, our fears and our growing edges. We are called to be resources for each other, to be mirrors of God's image, to inspire and to be inspired. And if one thing is certain, it is that we cannot do these things alone.
I suppose the most fitting response to the question "What counts?" is yet another question: "For whom?" The individual herself? Those of us left behind? God? And I've come to believe that it's never too early to ask these questions. What is it that is most meaningful in my life? In what ways is my life meaningful to others? Am I spending my time and energy doing what I really feel called to do? How do I hope my loved ones will respond to my absence?
As always, it's easier to ask the probing questions than to answer them... especially since these are questions that only we can answer for ourselves. But as a community of faith, we are graced with individuals in our lives who can help us to discern our gifts and passions, our fears and our growing edges. We are called to be resources for each other, to be mirrors of God's image, to inspire and to be inspired. And if one thing is certain, it is that we cannot do these things alone.
Monday, October 1, 2012
On Spiritual Disciplines
One of the most important documents within United Methodist tradition is the Book of Discipline. The title can be rather offputting, as the term "discipline" has acquired a slightly negative connotation. We typically think of it in the context of being disciplined by someone else, and - pray tell - who among us has fond childhood memories of being punished or chastised? While the word can be used to indicate punishment, it is more closely related to the idea of training behaviors through instruction and exercise. In this sense, a discipline is something that helps us achieve a particular way of life.
Some of us take on disciplines related to our physical health. We exercise our bodies, we are careful about what foods we ingest, or we make sure that we get regular checkups from our physicians. Some of us have disciplines that help us to be more balanced emotionally or socially: honoring a regular time to be with friends, setting aside time to simply be alone, being attentive to our thoughts so that we don't fixate on the negative, etc. And as a faith community, we can help hold each other accountable for personal goals like these - the early Methodists certainly did! But the Christian tradition also has a long history of attending to the spiritual disciplines.
From the monastic rule of silence to the practice of saying grace before mealtimes, Christians have placed significant value in the idea of regular spiritual practices. Whether taking nature walks to clear the mind and commune with God, or writing music or poetry or pure thought, or abstaining from particular foods or substances for religious reasons, spiritual disciplines can help bring us closer to God, closer to each other, and closer to being the people we feel called to be. The beauty of it all is that by voluntarily binding ourselves to these disciplines, we are made free to be and to become. By submitting to these habitual practices, we are empowered. I encourage you to consider the role of spiritual disciplines in your life - those which you already have, or those which you may wish to take on. Healthy disciples make healthy congregations, which in turn can bring healing to a broken world.
Some of us take on disciplines related to our physical health. We exercise our bodies, we are careful about what foods we ingest, or we make sure that we get regular checkups from our physicians. Some of us have disciplines that help us to be more balanced emotionally or socially: honoring a regular time to be with friends, setting aside time to simply be alone, being attentive to our thoughts so that we don't fixate on the negative, etc. And as a faith community, we can help hold each other accountable for personal goals like these - the early Methodists certainly did! But the Christian tradition also has a long history of attending to the spiritual disciplines.
From the monastic rule of silence to the practice of saying grace before mealtimes, Christians have placed significant value in the idea of regular spiritual practices. Whether taking nature walks to clear the mind and commune with God, or writing music or poetry or pure thought, or abstaining from particular foods or substances for religious reasons, spiritual disciplines can help bring us closer to God, closer to each other, and closer to being the people we feel called to be. The beauty of it all is that by voluntarily binding ourselves to these disciplines, we are made free to be and to become. By submitting to these habitual practices, we are empowered. I encourage you to consider the role of spiritual disciplines in your life - those which you already have, or those which you may wish to take on. Healthy disciples make healthy congregations, which in turn can bring healing to a broken world.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
"Hands to work [or rest or play...], hearts to God"
Throughout my life, I have consistently struggled with two things: rest and play. For whatever reason, I am plagued with guilt whenever I attempt either. What is it that makes me feel I always ought to be working? Perhaps a Puritanical streak from my paternal grandmother's side, or that Midwestern farmer's work ethic from my paternal grandfather's side, or maybe that relentless perfectionism from my Thai Buddhist heritage... Or, maybe it's just me. Regardless of the source, the pressure to be productive is always there. And I suspect it's the same for many of you.
I don't know how many times I've either heard or read that Americans are just plain terrible at relaxing. Entertaining ourselves is one thing. But really resting - simply sitting, spending time doing (seemingly) nothing, watching the world go by, allowing ourselves to be quiet and still... this is less familiar territory. Similarly, we often have difficulty letting ourselves play, as in taking delight in life just because. It's almost as if the only legitimate activities are those that make money, save time, or otherwise serve some useful function in society. And if we are encouraged to rest or play, it's so that we can in turn be more useful after we rest and recharge. The end goal is still productivity.
But what if we moved away from "guilty pleasures" toward deep joy? What if, instead of simply putting in required face-time with friends and family, we relearned how to delight in each other's company? What if our rest enabled us not only to get by, but to feel truly restored and in touch with our core passions? Let us take our cue from biblical examples of feasting, from Jesus' call to come away and find rest, from the "uselessness" of art, from the centrality of silence in monastic life. Believe it or not, our Christian tradition is richly endowed with a spiritual joie de vivre. I encourage you (as much as I encourage myself) to make rest and play an integral part of your schedule, your self-care, your spirituality.
I don't know how many times I've either heard or read that Americans are just plain terrible at relaxing. Entertaining ourselves is one thing. But really resting - simply sitting, spending time doing (seemingly) nothing, watching the world go by, allowing ourselves to be quiet and still... this is less familiar territory. Similarly, we often have difficulty letting ourselves play, as in taking delight in life just because. It's almost as if the only legitimate activities are those that make money, save time, or otherwise serve some useful function in society. And if we are encouraged to rest or play, it's so that we can in turn be more useful after we rest and recharge. The end goal is still productivity.
But what if we moved away from "guilty pleasures" toward deep joy? What if, instead of simply putting in required face-time with friends and family, we relearned how to delight in each other's company? What if our rest enabled us not only to get by, but to feel truly restored and in touch with our core passions? Let us take our cue from biblical examples of feasting, from Jesus' call to come away and find rest, from the "uselessness" of art, from the centrality of silence in monastic life. Believe it or not, our Christian tradition is richly endowed with a spiritual joie de vivre. I encourage you (as much as I encourage myself) to make rest and play an integral part of your schedule, your self-care, your spirituality.
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