Why I Stay

I have a degree in Biblical studies and humanities and I am currently one semester away from finishing a master’s degree in theology. This is not the easiest thing to lead with when I meet new people, but any sort of holding back ends up making me look like a liar. Even if I mitigate the bachelor’s degree by telling them that it’s a degree in humanities (see also, English), that only buys me a few seconds of time before they ask, “So what are you doing now?”

“I’m in graduate school,” I say, foreboding in my heart.

“Oh? What for?”

“Theology,” I say, because what is the secular equivalent of a graduate degree in theology? (spoiler alert: there is none)

“Oh. What will you do with that?”

That’s pretty much the end of polite conversation (Boyfriend says I should respond, “I’m going to frame it” but I never manage that in the heat of the moment). There are too many unknown factors to navigate the murkiness with a stranger. Does she want to know about my dream to move back to Atlanta? Does he want to be reassured that I don’t want to be a preacher? Does she want to hear that I have no idea what I will “do with that,” that I am lost, confused, and continuing on this path only by the grace of God?

Perhaps the most honest answer is that I am doing this out of love.

Love for God.

Love for God’s people.

And love for God’s church.

There are plenty of valid criticisms of the church in the United States. And there are plenty of people who claim to know why “millennials” are leaving the church in droves (you can probably find at least four different explanations in your Facebook news feed. Just scroll down a bit).

I’m not going to talk about why millennials are leaving the church. And I’m not going to talk about the criticisms, not today, at least.

Today I want to talk about why I am staying and why I think you should stay.

When I say, “stay,” I want to make sure that we’re talking about the same thing: I don’t mean I have managed to maintain my belief in Christ, although that’s important. When I say “stay,” I mean I have stayed committed to a local congregation of believers: the body of Christ Incarnate.

I stay because I know a church where most of the young married and dating couples are in interracial relationships.

I stay because I know a church who has committed that they will provide their promised support for their missionaries, even if that means other areas (like staff salaries) don’t get funds.

I stay because I know a church where the music minister can happen upon a lady crying on the church steps afterhours and be late for his dinner date to pray with her and offer advice.

I stay because I know a church who continues to let the 80 year old organist play because she loves to play the organ…even though she’s awful. I stay because they care about her more than they care about looking good for outsiders and newcomers.

I stay because I know a church that welcomes, supports, and encourages people who are struggling through their sexuality and gender identity.

I stay because I know a church that focuses on missions in February when other churches are talking about dating, marriage, and sex, because Valentine’s Day.

I stay because I know a church that allows a woman to bring her dog with her to Sunday services because she is still mourning her son’s death.

I stay because while the church has problems, there is so much to hope for.

I stay because I am willing to work to make a change.

I stay because the church will be around long after I’m dead.

I understand the criticisms, and I know what keeps you away. I know I have been fortunate to find loving and supportive churches to belong to. But they’re out there. Everywhere.

I stay because Jesus loves the church and I love what Jesus loves.

Mysterium Fide

I have heard it said that when Peter first made his confession of faith, "You are the Christ," he didn't really understand what he was affirming. Jesus’ death was still in the distant future and certainly his resurrection was a surprise to the disciples.

Perhaps on the day of Pentecost, preaching his first sermon, Peter could see a bit more clearly what it meant to say that Jesus is the Christ but still he did not know the full demand that confession would make upon his life.

I have heard it said that when Peter was dying on a cross because of his confession, he still did not see the full picture. But certainly, by God’s grace, he saw it more clearly then than he did in the beginning.

The first time I made this confession was when I was baptized. I was 11; before much of life had confronted me, and I made it for a really bad reason. I am grateful that God honored that confession despite my ignorance.

The last time I made this confession was on Saturday when I participated in the Eucharist at my best friend’s wedding.

Like Peter, when I first made my confession, I did not understand what I confessed. By God’s grace, I see more clearly now than I did then, but anyone who knows the state of my heart will quickly see that my understanding is still incomplete.

My prayer is that I can continue to make this confession until I see fully.

Mercy

Is this your idea of mercy, Lord?
Is this the best you can do for us,
For your people, who struggle and
Toil and cry and yell?
We work and we work and we search after you
And all we receive in return are
Broken hearts
Closed doors
Hopes destroyed.
Is this your idea of mercy?

Is this your idea of mercy, Lord?
Is this what you had planned for us
In your sovereignty?
We, who have left houses and fields,
Family and friends to follow you?
You take and you take and still you want more,
Unsatisfied in your quest for all of us,
Every part of us
Everything we've built, everything we've done
(we did it for you).
Is this your idea of mercy?

Is this your idea of mercy, Lord?
That all we have be shattered?
Endings, with no beginnings in sight?
For losses, failures, insufficiencies?
Is this your idea of mercy?

Beautiful

When I was working at City of Refuge, one of my daily tasks was to accompany another staff member on his route to pick up children from the community. Our fifteen passenger van careened around tight curves and narrow roads as our driver yelled, “Roller coaster!” which was his passengers’ cue to put their hands in the air and scream. In his van, I came to terms with my inevitable death many times. The children loved him. I, not so much.

That summer was one of paradox. I remember the shock I felt on our first morning (a shock that never really went away) when we turned a corner and there it was, filling our horizon. The Georgia Dome. As we traveled our bus route, I remember thinking, “What must it be like to grow up beneath the shadow (literally) of such wealth?” The children in the English Avenue community, Vine City and Joseph E. Boone are poor—food stamps, drugs, low education levels, out-of-wedlock children; every negative stereotype you associate with inner city Atlanta is true about this area. And they live within walking distance of a land of excess, where paying $180 for a ticket to a football game is a thing people do. Midtown—yuppie downtown Atlanta—is a short bus ride away. And these children and their families are struggling to live hand to mouth in the shadow of the Georgia Dome.

I’ve left Atlanta. I moved away and it broke my heart to leave the children and the city. I live under the shadow of the mountains now and it’s beautiful, just as beautiful as Simpson Street.

"In the Beginning:" A Modern Retelling

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. He created the sun and the moon, the stars, the ocean, and the land. He created fish for the sea and animals for the land—all kinds of beautiful and interesting creatures. God created dogs and cats, birds, ferrets, horses, trees, flowers, and grass—everything good and lovely. Lastly, he created a man, Adam. He was the first man and God put him in the garden with all of these wonderful things. God told Adam that he was responsible for taking care of the animals and the plants and God and Adam talked together in the cool of the evening. The world was as it should be...or was it? Adam was lonely.

That Wednesday, he went to his singles’ group at church and expressed his loneliness to his accountability partner. “I want to find a wife—someone I can trust and care for and who will care for me. I’m looking, but I just don’t see anyone who is right for me.” Adam’s accountability partner, who just so happened to be the singles’ pastor at his church, listened, but was unsympathetic. “Adam, if you want to find a wife, you have to take the initiative. As a Christian man, you have to pursue the woman. God made you to be the stronger sex and to initiate relationships. That’s why you’re still single. If you would just man up, you could be in a relationship right now.”

Adam listened, took his mentor’s words to heart, and the very next Sunday, asked Mary to have lunch with him. Mary was cute, cheerful, had a servant’s heart, and loved God deeply. But it was obvious that he and Mary weren’t even remotely compatible. He could see that any further relationship between them would end in disaster, so he quietly broke things off with her.

When his mother heard the news, she was upset. She and Mary had been close. Adam’s mother called him and accused him of being too picky. “You’re never going to find a woman who meets all of your qualifications. Don’t think of it as settling! It’s called making a choice, Adam. I’d like to see some grandchildren before I die. I’m not getting any younger, you know.” Adam hung up, feeling guilty and lonelier than ever.

Later that week, he met an old college friend for coffee. Adam shared his struggles with loneliness and expressed how hard it was to meet Christian women. “Dude,” his friend said, “I met Sadie,” his girlfriend of seven months “on ChristianMingle.com. I posted my profile, got thousands of hits, went on dates every weekend for months, then met Sadie. I’m pretty sure she’s ‘the one,’ you know? We just click.”

Sadie was beautiful as well as a godly woman, so Adam went home, and made his profile—MadeofMud0001—and began setting up dates. He found plenty women who were interested in dating him, but the more he dated, the more desperate he felt. After the fourth one dumped him, saying, “I just feel like God is telling me I shouldn’t date you anymore. I’m pretty sure you’re not my Boaz,” Adam quit the whole thing and deleted his profile (they kept spamming his email for months after that).

Discouraged and downtrodden, Adam went back to his accountability partner. “Nothing’s working. I’ve been looking for a wife for months and I just can’t find anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with. At this point, heck, I’d settle for a cat!” His accountability partner was as unsympathetic as he was the first time. 

“Adam, you’re so focused on getting a girlfriend that you’ve neglected your walk with God. Have you been praying? Reading your bible?”

“Actually, I have—” Adam tried to interject, for he and God were still walking together in the cool of the evenings, but his accountability partner ignored him.

“God won’t bring a girlfriend into your life until you cling to God. In fact, you should trust God to fulfill your emotional needs. If your relationship with God was right, you wouldn’t be lonely in the first place. Work on your relationship with him and when you’re spiritually mature, God will bring you a wife.”

Adam listened, but was increasingly impatient with the advice he was receiving from the world. That evening, he told God about the conflicting advice he was getting from his friends and family and how nothing seemed to be taking away his loneliness. “You know, Adam,” God replied, after thoughtfully considering everything Adam told him, “I’ve noticed this problem too, and I think you’re right: it’s not good for you to be alone. Let me tell you what I’ve got in mind...”

Adam slept and when he woke up, it was good.

I am a Pilgrim

"I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked.
Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back.
Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there.

I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises.
Often I have received better than I deserved.
Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. 

I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley.
And yet for a long time looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led--make of that what you will."

Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry

This book has changed my life. If I can make this a true statement for my life, I'll be content.

Hope Lives On

Every day on my way to school (whether I’m driving myself or taking the shuttle), I pass by the abandoned textile mills along Highway 29. Not too long ago, these buildings represented industry and productivity; prosperity for the community. They've been closed down for years, though, and are long since abandoned. Whatever they were, they still take up a huge stretch of the road. Empty buildings, once full of employees, life, and busyness, are now barely more than wasted space.

Since moving to the area, I’ve heard a lot about the mills and how, when they closed down, people essentially lost hope. The town is depressed, economically and emotionally (pardon me if I’m projecting [but then again, what is this blog beyond my personal projections?]). And there the mills sit: looming, haunting reminders of a time when things were different. Driving by them must be torture for some people, the ones who thought that it could never end, the ones who put all their hopes and dreams into the success of the mills.

They’re being torn down, you know. Someone told me that each of those buildings had about a million dollars’ worth of recyclable material in it. A million dollars sounds like a lot of money but in comparison to all the people who lost jobs and investments, a million dollars is a drop in the bucket. Soon the empty buildings will be gone forever—like the jobs and the hope are gone forever—and the only thing left will be an empty field. The reminder of lost hope will be gone, and maybe that’s for the best. When you’ve lost all possibility for what you hoped for, then is it better to just let the memories fade away? Is lost hope better than no hope at all?

I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Greek myth of Pandora’s Box. An overly nosy girl is told, “Please don’t open this box; you’ll regret it” and what does she do? She opens the box. Out fly Death, War, Sickness, Fear, Poverty, Pain, and any number of terrible things that should’ve remained shut up forever. As Pandora sits crying on the floor (regretting it), one last thing comes flying out of the box—Hope. As a child, I was told that hope is the best thing in the box, the one thing that makes the others tolerable. But what if that’s wrong? What if Hope was locked in the box not as a sort of consolation prize for death and sickness and pain, but because it is so dangerous? What if Hope is the most dangerous thing in the box, locked away to protect us from a very unique sort of pain?

These are the thoughts circling through my mind as of late and if you’re thinking, “Wow, that’s depressing,” you’d be right. It’s only half the story, though. The people living in the greater Valley area are renewing their hope because of new industry and because of the university’s move. We are playing a part in renewing their hope and that is such a powerful image of God. It’s scary; we don’t know what will happen. Will this transition be successful? Will we hammer out a place in this town and with these people (it reminds me of two newly married people trying to blend individual families into one) or will our presence be a cause for dismay? There’s a lot of potential here—for them and for us—but there’s also a lot of risk. Hope IS dangerous, don’t forgot, and it was put in the box for a reason. However, and this is important, every tragedy has potential for a new triumph.

The mills are being torn down, but the university is building. And hope lives on.

Not The Way We Thought It Was

It’s not the way we thought it was. Nothing ever is, I suppose, although we think it will be while we’re thinking it. I also suppose I’m not saying anything too remarkable, just what’s “common to man” and I’m sure when I get older I’ll say it again. There are no villains and there are no heroes, no princesses to rescue and nothing dangerous is lurking in the woods. It’s not what you thought it was, or what you thought it would be. But it’s good nonetheless.

Longing

A longing for Aslan to come and turn my winter into spring.
With just one glance he gives me hope
Never safe but always good; he comes like a Lion.
When he roars my fears desert me
When he breathes I have courage for today.
He grieves at my loss, he cares about my worries.
It isn't safe but I go willingly
Because he gave his life for a traitor like me.

"Safe? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you!"
-Mr. Beaver

Final draft written on December 8, 2007

Right Here Now

"Where else would we go?" asks Peter, not because I don't have anywhere else to go, but because I'm exactly where I want to be.

Calling

I am a product of my parents' calling
and as such it is increasingly challenging to discover
a calling of my own.

Until We Have Faces

"Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? ... All my life the God of the Mountain has been wooing me. Oh, look up at least once before the end and wish me joy. I am going to my lover. Do you not see now?"
                                                           ~CS Lewis

A Supper Conversation

It's incredible how comfort food is culturally specific. Faced with a night alone in the apartment by myself, and a trip to the grocery store later, I have a pot of stew bubbling on the stove and a bowl of sukuma wiki and chapatis* sitting next to me. When push comes to shove, I always head home. This is true in more facets of my life than my culinary choices.

When I'm confused about my life, one of my first impulses is to either call my mother and father or head home to see them. When my world shifts, I look for familiar, for comfortable, and for love. A cup of tea and a cuddle on the couch. A mug of hot stew and a biscuit in front of the fire while my parents and grandparents catch up. Grape Fanta, cheese puffs, and Reese's Cups. Whether you're a vegetarian, vegan, carnivore, or some variation, it's undeniable that food is an integral part of your life. My home is where my heart is. My home is where I get fed and feed my family and friends.

The professor who taught my Gospels class focused on how Jesus' actions fulfilled Old Testament expectations of the Messiah--like, in the Old Testament, God is described as the one who walks on the sea and when Jesus walked on water, the disciples would have made that connection. The Jews expected the Messiah to heal them, to cast out demons, and to provide the great banquet in heaven. A great part of heaven is food--we will sit down at the marriage feast of the Lamb and we will be fed everything we could possibly need. "Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb" (Revelation 19.9).

Ya'll, this is really freaking cool. On the night he was betrayed, Jesus ate with his disciples and told them how much he'd been looking forward to celebrating Passover with them. But then he adds, "I will not eat it again until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God" (Luke 22.15-16) And then, hours later, he dies on a cross to fulfill his promise and and to invite us to participate in his marriage supper. We're not just invited to the reception; we're part of the ceremony! And at that feast, no one will go hungry and no one will be lonely or left out and all food allergies will be ancient history.

So when you celebrate the Eucharist with your church family, or eat comfort food at home, or find yourself staring at leftovers again, remember two things. First, this meal is just practice for the marriage feast of the Lamb. Second, Jesus died so that you could eat it.

Praise the Lord.

________________
*Please ignore the fact that chapatis do NOT taste the same with self-rising flour.

Can't Be Tamed Pasta

Put a big pot on the stove and fill it with water. When the water starts rolling in a boil, put pasta in (as much as you want to eat, or share with friends, or eat for leftovers, or all three).

While the pasta is boiling, chop up an onion (as much as you like) and saute it with some oil (olive, veggie, whatever, no big). While the onions are working their onion-y magic, chop up something else: squash, zucchini, chicken, fish...something you think will work well in pasta sauce. Put this into the pan with the onions and cook until almost done (meat will take longer than veggies)

Check to see if your pasta is cooked; you will need to taste it and find out.

Add some type of pasta sauce to the (not pasta) pan and wait until it starts bubbling. Drain pasta and add to to sauce pan. Mix. Eat.

What I Learned Today

People are complex: just because you relate to them in one way doesn't mean that's the only thing that's going on for them. The girl who stole your boyfriend is also dealing with a divorced mom who's getting remarried.

I might think I'm the center of the universe, but mine is not the only universe and God is still on his throne.

Life Happenings

This summer I've chosen to live on my college campus instead of moving home like I did last summer. The decision was made somewhat haphazardly, which is almost an improvement for me: normally I agonize decisions for ages and it was a refreshing change to have something happen quickly. It came on the heels of my visit to Jubilee Partners, an intentional community in northern Georgia whose purpose is to acclimate refugees to life in the United States. The visit was interesting; I'd actually applied for a summer internship and went for a tour.

While walking around the property, the man giving the tour, Robbie, and I discussed community, and fellowship, and what it means to be a part of the body of Christ. On my three hour drive home, I started thinking about MY community; I'd intended to move to Jubilee for the summer to learn about forming community but I have a community here at ACC.

Part of my community is pregnant and delivering her second child mere months away. Another part of my community recently asked me to be in his upcoming wedding. A third (the husband of the pregnant one) and I discuss God and life and the intersection of the two in practical application. Our community garden is growing and growing and leaving for Jubilee when the summer term starts (in a couple of days) would mean leaving the growth, which proved to be an unacceptable loss.

So instead of moving home, west, or to Jubilee, northeast, I moved from Head Hall to apartment building 4 the day before yesterday. My summer's goals look somewhat as follows:

Learn about my place in God's community, through a deepening of the relationships with the people around me, whom I love.

Figure out what it means to be a semi-independent woman living in a major city in the United States.

Watch my friend as she carries her baby to term.

Practice my Greek--my final grade in second semester Greek was less-than-desirable.

READ--lots and lots, anything and everything I can find. This includes the Bible-in-a-year program which took a backseat to finals but does not exclude young adult fiction or academic works.

Figure out exactly how to feed myself and how difficult a proposition that will be.

Learn a balance between working and playing, as opposed to studying and playing.

Blog about all the above.

And I'd love to go to the beach, but goodness knows if that will happen.

"Religious Refugees" by Frederick A. Norwood

A church

Scattered like leaves before the wind

Of autumn

A congregation of faithful men

Driven

Beyond the sunset and the stars

A communion of saints

Wandering homeless

Seeking a home

The body of Christ

Unbeing

Becoming

A sanctuary

Roofless no walls

Formless on no foundation

Cathedrale engloutie

Sans marque

Sans visage

Secret

Silent

Lonely

A church flowing

Like a river

Never stopping

Unchanneled

Unbound

Free

Are these wanderers

Homeless going home

Still the church?

I've never posted someone else's work on this blog before, but this poem (found in a book entitled Strangers and Exiles: A History of Religious Refugees)... it makes me feel small and lonely but in a good way.

Holy Week

It’s the day after Easter. We’ve experienced the excitement of Holy Week: the triumphal entry and the crowds shouting “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” We’ve sat through the Last Supper, and wondered with worry and confusion at Christ’s words, “This is my body and this is my blood, the cup of the new covenant.” We watched him arrested in the garden of Gethsemane and we’ve followed him to the cross in horror. Our hopes are crushed, and we wait in anguish, our leader, our direction, our light, dead, gone, taken, dead. He’s dead. What now? What do we do now? Then, beyond all expectation, Sunday comes. Sunday comes and with it we have hope. It’s the day after Easter. Christ is risen, indeed, but I’m left behind. On Friday morning, I ask, with Pontius Pilate. “What is truth?” And like Pilate, I have killed the anointed one with my answer.

I don't know what I think about this. It feels true. But I can't quantify it. All I know is that I want to try to polish my writing less, and this is the result of like, fifteen minutes.

How Do You Measure a Year?

In 2010 I...

...survived two semesters of college.

...attended the funeral of one of the best men I've ever known.

...made the best reference book purchase EVER.

...had more mind opening experiences than I asked for.

...watched the Olympics and made a snow family with friends.

...wrote three epically awesome songs with my best friend.

...watched my favorite cousin get married in Minnesota

...and got eaten by massive Minnesotan mosquitoes.

...celebrated my best friend's 18th birthday extravaganza.

...ruined half my clothes painting a house

...and wore paint covered clothes long after they should have been thrown away.

...successfully and finally forgave two friends who hurt me very much.

...read. And read and read and read some more.

...wrote. Journals, essays, blogs, poems, text messages, with varying levels of time consumption.

...watched two friends go from friends to dating to engaged to married!

...changed my major.

...fell out of love

...and into friendship.

...fell out of friendship and into lust

...but quickly backed back into friendship

...and then flirted with the oh-so-tempting possibility of lust.

...made new friends.

...kept some old friends.

...dropped some old friends

...and wasn't sad.

...but was sad about not being sad.

...started listening to lots of new music.

...went to my first seriously professional concert.

...preached one (1) really really awful sermon and two (2) decent sermons.

...overcommited myself (again) (by accident).

...met one of my favorite authors and made a complete idiot of myself, but got him to sign one of my...er... his books.

...became more comfortable being uncomfortable.

...realized that I'm a fairly normal human being.

...reveled in this fact.

...started volunteering at an afterschool program.

...cried an acceptable amount for a young woman of my level of emotional maturity.

...turned twenty

...and was promptly reminded how young I really am.

...disagreed in a discussion with an adult who wanted me to agree with him very badly.

...moved on and circled back around.

...laughed. Just a bit for good measure.