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.

Love in the Dark

I don’t know about you, but for me, this is a dark time of year. Literally: I didn’t see the sun at all yesterday. But more than that, it’s a dark time in my soul. I don’t want to get too melodramatic on you, but the end of fall semester is always the worst time of the year for me. It’s cold and dark and all I want is tea and blankets and pajamas and I have all this stuff to do that requires not-pajamas.

Actually, that's a lie: I do know about you: I talk to you, and I’m friends with a lot of you on Facebook and I know what kind of mood this group is in:

ALI HENDERSON: December 3, 10:26 am:

            “Let's take bets on how long it will take to write this 10 page paper, because I have 23 hours left to get it done.”

SARAH DAVIS: December 6, 11:00 pm:

            “Current Mood: Face plant Cat.”

ANDREW HARRISON COX: December 6, 4:00 pm

            “Study Tip: Stand Up. Stretch. Take a Walk. Go to the Airport. Get on a Plane. Never Return.”

ELIZABETH REID: December 2, 12:16 pm:

            “On the second week of Christmas, my teachers gave to me: 5 all nighters, 4 hours of crying, 3 mental breakdowns, 2 thoughts of dropout, and a month of anxiety.”

Are you feeling overwhelmed? I am. And so are you. You are feeling stressed, out of control, you are juggling work and school and extracurriculars and choir concerts and job interviews and interviews for grad school programs. You are freaking out about your future and your finals and maybe even about going home for break (don’t think we don’t know that home is not always a warm and relaxing place for you). You’re worried about decisions to be made and presents to buy for roommates and passing your final exams and where you’re going to live next semester and who you’re going to live with.

Even more, you have friends who are feeling stressed and overwhelmed, maybe with all of these things, but maybe with bigger things, too, things so big that you don’t understand them and you can’t talk about them and all you can do is sit in silence with them in their pain and cry.

The world we live in is overwhelmed, too. People are mourning the deaths of their children—of our children—of Tamir Rice and Michael Brown and Eric Garner. Of Peter Kassig, who was 26 years old when ISIS beheaded him. We are rebuilding in Gaza, after weeks of bombing left families without homes. We are fighting in west Africa, trying to get on top of this massively contagious disease that is killing entire villages of people.

We are overwhelmed. Our friends are overwhelmed and the world we live in is overwhelmed.

And despite that, despite all these things….you have come here. You could be anywhere else, doing any number of urgent things that must be done and you decided to come to church this morning.

That says something about you.

Maybe it means that you, like me, were raised in a family that only skipped church if you were bleeding or throwing up and neither of those things were true about you this morning so here you are.

Maybe it means that your roommate was too loud this morning and once you were awake, you decided to make the best of a bad situation.

Or maybe. Maybe it means that you came to church not despite the fact that you were feeling overwhelmed and out of control, but because you were feeling overwhelmed and out of control. Maybe you came here because this is the place you go when you need… something. Help? Companionship? Love?

As we’ve gone through 1 John, we’ve had this idea of love kind of bashed into our heads and you’re going to get it one more time:

“Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed to us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him. In this is love not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another....God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment because as he is so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because he first loved us. Those who say, “I love God” and hate their brothers or sisters are liars for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen cannot love God, whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also" (1 Jn 4.7-21).

The author goes on to say a little later: “Anyone who hates her brother or sister cannot love God; how can you love the parent without loving the child?”

We have been adopted into the family of God through Jesus’ death. God is our father; you are my sisters and brothers.

Love one another.

Love is not a feeling, but a response: God sent his son to die. Love one another like that.

Invest in one another.

Take care of each other.

Help each other.

Ask how you can help, don’t wait to be asked.

Pray for each other.

Ask about that, too.

Feed each other.

Hug each other.

Support each other.

Love one another.

If you don’t, who will?

When I look at the world, I am overwhelmed by their overwhelmedness.  Forget the world. When I look at this group, I see a group of people who are struggling. I know your struggles, I know your insecurities, I know your concerns. I feel them too! and I am here to tell you that the love you show each other will drive out that darkness.

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.

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.