One Step At A Time

Between Lent and Holy Week and planning the church retreat and just being in seminary in general, I feel like people have been talking about journey a lot lately.

"Where have you been, and how has that affected you?"

"Where do you find yourself, and is it where you want to be?"

"Where do you want to go, and will the path you are on get you there?"

This "journey" picture is from the hardest journey I ever took. It's one of the parts of my past

that's still affecting me in ways I can't imagine.

Well, I do know where I've been but I probably can't guess yet at all the ways that has affected and will continue to affect me. And I know where I am, most of the time. I love where I am. Not sure that I'm a fan of DC in general, but I love my school and my church and all of the amazing people here. But as for where I'm going? I have no clue. I think I'm slowly getting used to that, and I'm definitely starting to realize that it's probably for a reason.

See, sometimes I have control issues. Maybe it's because we didn't always have a lot of money growing up, or because my dad has been sick since I was in middle school, or because I was an only child--maybe I just wanted to be able to control something. Or maybe it's just that I'm precocious and stubborn. In any case, I'm not always very good at taking advice. Or letting other people make decisions for me. Even when that other is God and that other knows way more than me.

For example, I still look at myself and see this random assortment of semi-developed skills and wonder, "How am I supposed to cobble together a career out of those?!" Whereas I'm pretty sure God looks at me and says, "Heather! I gave you the perfect set of skills for this thing, or this thing, or even this other thing if you really want to. You'd be amazing at any of them and do great things. Why won't you get with the program already?!" And all the while I sit there, whining and worrying because I don't know what to do with my life.

But the conclusion I've come to this year is that perhaps the reason I don't have a clue what to do anymore is because, if I could see my life laid out, my control issues would come out and I'd say, "But this isn't right!" Or, "But I can't do that!" And I'd screw it up or just run away.

It started with just thinking about how very long it took me to acknowledge the possibility of even doing ministry. The thought that maybe I was called to ministry first occurred to me when I was seven, for goodness’ sake, and it took me over ten years to admit that maybe God really was calling me to ministry despite growing up Southern Baptist, despite being a woman. Even then, though, I’ve realized that I didn’t step out into what that call to ministry could mean. I stuck to what was safe, to what I’d already done: youth ministry. Working with youth in Sunday School, in youth group, and in camp settings all came naturally and I’d been allowed to do it, even as a girl in the Baptist church. I’ve started to feel, then, that what I did was assume that this ministry was what God was calling me to. It was easy. It was safe and familiar. Plus, I liked the idea. Clearly, all of this added up to youth ministry being my call from God. That’s what I decided that I would do. The thought that occurs to me, then, is that maybe youth ministry has just been my first step. Youth ministry was the first thing that I could finally admit to myself as a possibility, the first part of a plan that I can’t see yet.

So in the meantime I blunder along, sometimes listening to God and mostly just doing my own thing. For example, if you remember when I got here I had a minor crisis, way back in my very first entry. Am I here for the right reasons? And if I'm totally honest with myself, the answer is probably no. I came to DC because it was where Jeff was coming, and to Wesley because it was a good seminary here and they offered me a scholarship, and to my church because they offered me a job and seemed like they were doing really great things. But those were my reasons for coming.

That is not to say, though, that there were not other reasons for me being here that I could not see. That little piece of wisdom from a friend still rings true--the awesome thing is that no matter why you go, God can use you anyway. And looking back on this year, with just two more weeks to go, I can definitely see the ways that God has used my place here. Not used me, necessarily. Not in ways that I've seen, anyway. But where I am has affected me in powerful ways. Being in DC and at my amazing church here has rekindled the passion I once had for justice and peace. Being at Wesley has introduced me to truly wonderful people who challenge me every day and has given me the opportunity to explore not only youth ministry but also emerging ministry, which has given me the language to express what I was really yearning for all of those years that I struggled with being called to ministry. Wherever I end up, my ministry is to bring about the kingdom of God begun by Jesus and entrusted to us as Christians, where all people are loved and cared for, where hatred and violence and discrimination have no place. Wherever I go, whatever path I'm on, that is my compass and my goal. That is what I work toward.

Service of Word and Table

My church here takes Communion twice a month, on the first and third Sundays. This is less often than my church in Austin, which took Communion every week, but much, much more often than I ever took it growing up.

I have to admit, it was a little weird at first, back when I became United Methodist. Coming from a background where Communion wasn't really talked about, much less emphasized, taking it so often was interesting at first simply because it was novel. I'll be honest, I don't think I got it. The words were pretty. After all, that's what I'd grown up focusing on- the words spoken. The sermon had been the center and the high point of the service. I'm also a huge word nerd anyway, so it made sense to me. But the actual taking of the bread and juice (Methodist- we're not big on wine for the most part) was just kind of a tasty mouthful while I thought about Jesus...and what I was going to have for lunch, because now I was hungry.

It may sound weird to some of you to imagine a 20-year-old taking Communion with the basic mindset of a 5-year-old (snack time!). Or maybe that's kind of how you think about it too, and maybe that's ok for where you are.

In any case, the people I've met, the books I've read, and the classes I've taken since I've been here have all been gradually but drastically changing the way I look at Communion. Also, I just wrote a paper on it. So yeah. It's on my mind and I thought I'd share a bit. I'm not going to touch on who blesses or serves communion or even to whom they serve it. I'm just not. Not today. Today is just about what happens.

One quick thing I will say before I go into that, though, is that the Service of Word and Table- a service where the Gospel is proclaimed not only through preaching but also through Holy Communion- has become my favorite kind of service. Part of it is because the Emergent Christian in me loves the physical, interactive nature of taking Communion, but mostly it's because I've come to see Communion, rather than the sermon, as the high point and culmination of a worship gathering.

Why? Because I see four main things happening in taking Communion. We receive and see God's grace; we remember and give thanks for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit; we affirm our place in the Church Universal; and we rededicate ourselves to our call to continue Christ's work in bringing about the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God (for more on that one, see my last post).

First, Communion is a matter of grace. Nothing we do makes us worthy of Communion with God- it is who we are, and who we are is the beloved people of God, being ever transformed into God's likeness. Grace has called us into the Church; grace makes us aware of God’s presence and power; grace gives the first inkling of understanding of our redemption; grace welcomes us to communion with God despite our failures. Grace invites us to the table despite all of our shortcomings, and at the table we find ourselves changed by nothing short of the most awesome grace of God.

Second, Communion lays before us in the most basic of elements the culmination of Christ's work in the world, defeating sin and death so that the work of God's kingdom could continue undeterred. It is by Christ’s sacrifice that we are saved and by the power of the Holy Spirit that we live, a community of the called. In the story that is told, in the blessings that are given, in the nourishment we receive, we see both of these lived out.

Third, Communion connects us to the entirety of the Church Universal, around the world and across the ages. We each take bread and juice, reminding us of the distinctly personal aspect of our relationship with God, but we take it from a communal loaf and a communal cup, reminding us that that relationship is for all of us. I mean that in both ways- God is in relationship with each of us, and each relationship is for the purpose of all of us. When we take Communion we stand in a line that stretches not simply down the aisles of our church but down the halls of time as we receive the gifts of God’s grace and love.

Finally, Communion reminds us of our part in bringing about reconciliation between God and the world. It is through simple bread and juice that we encounter God and it is through simple human beings that God works in the world. As we remember our union with God’s creation and God’s people, we are reminded of the ways in which we have failed to care for them. God has demonstrated God’s love for us in this good earth and in the gifts of food and drink, yet the earth is raped and polluted and God’s people go hungry and thirsty. The earth that produced the bread and juice is savaged and neglected; God’s children go without even the most basic elements of the table. God's kingdom has not been fulfilled. Our work remains.

Communion is the culmination of the work of the worship gathering- to draw together and to send out. As I've talked about before, I think we often get caught up in the drawing together and forget that the Church's purpose was to be sent out. Maybe that's why my favorite line from the words of institution said before Communion are these: "Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ, that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood." Amen.

The Mission of Ultimate Importance

*dun, dun, dun dun, dun, dun,  dun dun, dun, dun, dun dun duuunnnn*


Alright, if that didn't make any sense to you go back and read it again while singing to yourself the Mission: Impossible theme song. 

Theeeere you go. Alright. Cultural hook completed.

As you may have noticed, this is actually my second post for the day. The first one was basically for all of my loved ones who really just want to keep tabs on me and see what life is like for me here in DC, which I'm more than happy to do. I love to keep in touch this way.

This post, however, is for the people who are also interested in what I'm thinking about because I'm in seminary and that's a big part of what I do with my time. I think about faith and truth and the church and the world and what we're all supposed to be doing with our lives, and then I try to go out and do it and bring some people along with me. Also, I just need a space to work out all of what gets thrown at me in a week. So here we go.

The cheesy M:I hook is one I got in class today when we talked about this subject. It worked, though, and I'm also just kind of a big fan of cheesy things, so here it is again. Of course, he could actually play the song for us, but I do what I can.

The reason I used it, though, and the reason my professor used it, is to start off thinking about the word mission. What's the difference between a "mission-minded" church and a "missional" church?

A mission-minded church is a great thing. It's a group of people who dedicate their time, their money, and their efforts do doing missions. They do great things.

Yet, "mission" in a "mission-minded" church is still just that: something they do. The idea of a "missional" church is that mission is recognized as something they are; it's an inextricable part of their identity.

And what identity, what mission is that? Christ's, of course. Our identity as Christians is tied up with the identity of Christ. Christ's mission is our mission. So, as I asked before: what mission is that?

If you look at the gospel of Luke, there's a lot of buildup to Jesus' ministry. We get a lot about his birth and his childhood and the proclamations of his coming from John the Baptist. Then Jesus gets baptized, the Holy Spirit descends on him, and he goes off for forty days into the wilderness. When he comes back, he's ready to roll. He starts preaching and teaching. But it's not until he gets back to his hometown in chapter 4 that he really gets going, revealing who he is and why he's come.

He stands up to read in the temple, as usual. Someone hands him a scroll. He opens it and reads from Isaiah:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
   because he has anointed me
     to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
   and recovery of sight to the blind,
     to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour."

And then he sits down. Everyone's staring at him. And he says "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

It has been fulfilled. This is who I am. This is what I'm doing.

And then he does it.

Jesus' self-proclaimed mission has two main parts, and we know that it's legitimate because it's from the Spirit of the Lord. This is what God wants. His mission is to proclaim the good news and to bring about the good news, the good news of God's present and coming kingdom, of God's reconciliation with the world. And that's what he goes out and does. Along the way, he makes disciples; he creates a community of people who are charged with this same mission. And to seal the deal, to finish the beginning of the bringing about of this kingdom, Christ sacrifices himself. I could (and might) write a whole other blog post about how maybe in holding up Christ's death and resurrection as the be-all, end-all of Christianity we've lost an important part of who Christ was and therefore who we are. In the meantime, you can check out my good friend Andy's blog post about it here.

So that's it. That's our mission. To proclaim the kingdom of God and to bring it about. To bring in more people who are working side by side with us, who believe in this with us. And this is not just what we do; it's who we are. We live in the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God, and we are called by virtue of our identity as Christians to continue to bring about this vision for the world.

I didn't say the Lord's Prayer much growing up. I was Southern Baptist and they're more about praying as the Spirit leads, which is great. We miss out, though, on the skin-tinglingly communal aspect of praying a prayer that is prayed around the world by millions of people and has been prayed by billions more for 2,000 years. I loved being a part of a church that said the Lord's Prayer often when I left the SBC. I always kind of shivered at the one line, though: "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Maybe it's my past, maybe it's something else, but that always conjured images of scurrying servants for me. It brought back the giant, angry, old God.

I don't think that's it, though. Thinking about God's kingdom as a vision for a healthy, whole, reconciled creation, as something that I am intrinsically a part of because I am Christian but even simply (or wondrously) because I am human--that changes it. When I say the Lord's Prayer now, that's one of my favorite lines. Thy kingdom come! And I want to be a part of it! That's my mission, and I have chosen to accept it.

EDIT: I meant to include this video in my original post. Here you go:

Cherry Blossoms!

If you don't know, DC is covered in cherry blossom trees. For a few weeks every spring the city is absolutely breathtaking as they all bloom in various stages and colors. I finally got to go down by the monuments where the majority of the trees are clustered last week; unfortunately, it was kind of a cloudy day but I took pictures anyway. Since today is such a gorgeous day here it reminded me and I thought I'd share. So here you go!

Time and Stress

I've been saving this topic for a while and it seems like an appropriate time to pull it out. Last week was pretty much awful. Starting on Sunday my stomach--hard to please and easy to upset, even on a good day--decided that it was time for an all-out rebellion. Halfway through church I was pretty sure I was just going to throw up right there in the pew. Though it subsided a little, this feeling continued for the rest of the week. Then on Monday I had a minor panic attack over things that needed to be done for work and school and life as an adult. I got it together and even got done everything I needed to do (and did it well, I think), but the whole week was just stressful. I don't get stressed very often or very easily, but when I do I do it big. That and the stomach issue compounded one another and basically added up to a very unhappy week. I'm doing much better now on both accounts, but tonight I looked at my calendar and had to take deep breaths when I realized how quickly the end of the semester (ie. the multitude of giant end-of-semester projects and exams I'll have due) is coming up.


First, a quick note about stress. Last spring I was asked to give a devotional for the student leadership meeting at my student ministry and, it being about this time of the semester, I spoke about stress. Here's a quick rundown of what I said then (and what I keep reminding myself now).

Stress says two things: my problems are the most important things in the world, and my problems are too big for God to handle. The response to both is no, they're not. We all have problems, it's true. Some much bigger than others. But if you have the time and ability--spare time, access to the internet, ability to read--to read this or any other blog, you're probably doing alright in the grand scheme of things. And no, I'm not advocating the God-reaching-down-and-fixing-everything plan, though I won't discount it entirely, either. What I am saying is that God walks with us, even and especially when life gets hard. So stress, this tunnel vision on our own problems, is not at all how we are called to live. I know, it's a lot easier said than done (you should've seen me last week). But it's just a good reality check sometimes.


And now, the thing I'm actually really excited about writing about because I like making connections and thinking about random things.

I read an article online several months ago that I cannot find again for the life of me. I've spent hours looking for this thing in the months since I first read it, but with no luck. It was an article about youth who get into risky behaviors because they don't plan for future consequences; in the particular study I read, one thing that the majority of the youth in the study had in common was that their homes had no calendars. It was just a simple thing, and the study was by no means arguing that homes without calendars produce teens with substance abuse issues (at least not if my memory serves me). What they suggested as a possibility for part of the root of risk-taking behavior is a lack of future planning by the parents.

Now, this is all well and good, and it was an interesting article. What was more interesting for me, though, was thinking about calendars in general and how they affect our psyche.

Just about anyone will tell you that as you get older it seems like time goes by faster. Think about when you were really little. Summer lasted forever. The birthday party next weekend was a lifetime away. The time between now and snacktime was interminable and you were probably going to starve to death. Right? And think about now. Think about how it's almost April. Wasn't it just Christmas?! What happened? Where did three months go? And why do the four weeks between now and finals seem like the blink of an eye? What happened to all that time I had when I was a kid?

Granted, I did a lot less when I was little. I went to school. I came home. I did "homework"--and by homework I mean I colored a picture and did five addition problems. I ate. I played. I slept. Life was grand.

But then in middle school I was given this thing called The Agenda. Every student had The Agenda in their little school supply packet. It was orange and had a paw print on it (Go Hamilton Tigers!) and was full of inspirational quotes. The Agenda was all-powerful. We were required to write down our homework and then we were required to have our parents sign off on it. The Agenda was actually part of our grade.

And so keeping a calendar, a schedule, was slowly integrated into our lives. Sure, lots of us threw away The Agenda as soon as it was no longer a part of our grade, but eventually most of us realized that we actually did remember everything and get all of our assignments done better when we wrote it all down.

Then life got more complicated. We started having to plan things further and further out. Then we went to college and had to plan for ourselves, and without that calendar we wouldn't have survived. Then we became adults (supposedly). Now my planner is full of assignments for seminary, meetings and planning issues for work, birthdays, silly governmental things like taxes... it's full. It frightens me.

So yeah, as I've gotten older time seems like it goes faster. I've gotten busier. But I also care more about my time. I spend time thinking about time. I plan my time--way, way out in the future. If I lost my calendar I'd lose my mind.

Yeah, planning for the future is great. It's necessary. If I don't think about my future and how the things I do now will affect it, things can go very wrong very quickly. But think about when you were a kid. You were aware of the future. You knew things were coming up. But you didn't spend every other minute checking your planner to see when things were coming up. You knew that there was a birthday party and that it was next Saturday and that you wanted it to be next Saturday RIGHT NOW, but then you went back to doing whatever else you were doing and it didn't bother you. You weren't thinking, "Alright, I have a party planned for 8 days from now. Between now and then I have to get this, this, and this done, and as soon as the party is over I have to do this, this, and this..."

That kind of mindset helps us get things done, sure. But what kind of stress does it give us? The lists never end. You know they don't. There's always something to do, and something else to do once you do that first thing. Always. So there's always something hanging over your head.

What would happen if we threw away our calendars? If we acknowledged the future as a thing to be planned for as far as things like retirement and savings and credit card debt accrual go, but not a thing that needed to be planned out in minute detail as soon as possible. A thing that exists, but doesn't really need to concern us because we're not there yet and it'll still be there when we get there. If we only planned as far in advance as we can keep dates and deadlines in our heads, and just let the rest be.

It probably wouldn't work because that's not how our society works, but wouldn't it feel nice, just for a bit? I'm sure there are societies out there that do function like that, though. Maybe I'll just move there.

The Art and Architecture of the Library of Congress

Yesterday Jeff and I went on a date... to the Library of Congress. Well, to see the beginning of the cherry blossoms and to read for a while in a coffee shop, but mainly to go to the Library of Congress. Yeah, we're big ol' nerds. And we love it.

Jeff's been wanting to go to the Library since the day we decided we were moving to DC. Not only is it known for having some of the most beautiful art and architecture of any building in the District (and that's saying quite a lot) but it is also home to the largest collection of books in the world. Just think about that. I mean, the internet almost makes that seem laughable because of the sheer volume of knowledge it holds, but it comforts me to know that even if (when?) our digital kingdom collapses, that much knowledge will still be available, barring any major anarchical book-burnings between now and then.

In any case, I was pretty excited to go. I wasn't prepared, though, for just how jaw-droppingly beautiful this building is. After security you enter through a hall of poets, beautiful on its own, but then you get to the great hall. I literally just stood with my mouth open, turning in circles, for about five minutes. The whole room is carved marble, statues, paintings and mosaics, with names of writers and famous quotes everywhere.

Bah. My four year old, dropped-a-thousand-times point and shoot doesn't do it justice. It's truly amazing.

At the same time, it's not books. Eventually, you get start to get over how beautiful the building is and start wondering where they're keeping all of the books. That's what you came for, right? To see the largest library in the world. But if you read the pamphlets closely and ask a docent or two, you find out that not only can everyday visitors not get in to see the books without researcher cards, but regular citizens also can't even check them out.

Now, maybe I eventually would've arrived at this on my own or maybe it had something to do with reading Kenda Creasy Dean's Almost Christian immediately afterward, but it occurred to me later that afternoon that sometimes the faith that we offer youth--the faith that we ourselves have, that we have taught them--is like the Thomas Jefferson building of the Library of Congress. It looks pretty. It looks very pretty. It's even awe-inspiring for a few minutes. But it's not what they came for. It's not what we really wanted. It's not the life-changing encounter with knowledge bigger than ourselves that we thought we were walking into. There's beauty and awe, important to be sure, but there's no depth.

So what would it look like if we offered, if we lived a faith that tapped into that depth? I don't think I have enough room here to write that.

But at least as far as the Library is concerned, I'm getting a researcher card and going back. Because really, what kind of library doesn't let you see the books?

Sunrise on the Atlantic

This past weekend seven of us drove to Rehoboth Beach, DE, to stay the night and watch the sunrise in the morning because it was what one of our friends decided she wanted to do for her birthday (which is actually today-- happy birthday!).

Except for the two cars getting separated for a bit on the way down there, which was mildly terrifying for me but worked out fine in the end, everything went pretty much perfectly. The weather was beautiful and we just spent Friday and Saturday hanging out together, exploring this beach town.

By exploring, of course, I mean the first thing we did when we got there after going out to look at the water

Hey, look! Atlantic!

was to wander the strip of kitschy souvenir stores in the couple of blocks between us and the beach. There was some cute stuff, though, and we had fun wandering around, alternately making fun and wishing we weren't such poor grad students.

When we were too hungry to go any farther (a.k.a. 5 o'clock, because apparently we're old people) we stopped for dinner at a tasty restaurant called Summerhouse.

And the East Coast kids rejoiced over the real seafood. Seriously, practically the entire table had crab of some kind.

Then, practically too stuffed to walk back to our hotel, we decided that thinking was a good idea and busted out the Super Scrabble that some of us got together to buy that afternoon, which was pretty much devastation by me and Jeff (sorry, guys). Of course, as soon as people got bored and our stomachs were empty enough to stuff anything else in them, we went back out again. This time we ended up first at a Coldstone and then at another restaurant's bar area to just sit around, relax, and hang out with each other and our fantastic waiter. I called him "sir" to get his attention and got him made fun of by his co-workers, and when I explained that I can't help it because I'm from Texas he proceeded to call me Texas for the rest of the night. Merriment was had all around.

You know how merry Jeff is, and how prone to playing with whatever random items happen to be available.

After stuffing ourselves a second time we all went back to the hotel to crash so we could get up for the sunrise in the morning. Just a few short hours later we were up again, cold and half asleep, walking out to the beach. But man, was it worth it. It was about here when we got there:

     

And we all stood around, taking gajillions of pictures, as it turned into this:

So here's me and Jeff:

And here's our group:

After that picture we pretty much said alright, we've seen it, let's go back to bed. So we stumbled back, crashed for another few hours, got up, checked out, and hit the surprisingly large outlet mall in Rehoboth on our way out. And proceeded to get home in a little more than half the time than it took to get out there, somehow. All in all, it was pretty much the only relaxing part of our so-called break. Though it's actually called Reading Week, so I guess it's not too much false advertising. In any case, I spent the rest of the week writing four papers and hating life, so this was a much-needed break.

Here's one last pretty picture:

Oh, sorry, I said pretty. That's Jeff complaining about how cold his ears are. Here's the pretty picture: