"Did that sermon resonate with you?" asked the man sitting beside me.
I nodded.
"Then raise your hand, get the mic over here. Or I'll get it over here for you."
I shook my head vigorously.
The congregation I attend has the practice of an open mic response time after the sermon. It's really neat to be able to hear other people share some of the responses that the sermon evoked in them, and it's great to be able to continue the conversation together as a congregation in this way.
But, as I've noted before, I'm extremely introverted, and I'm most comfortable with mulling over my thoughts and responses for some time before sharing them with anyone else. Especially things as deeply personal as how I've heard God whispering to me through the sermon on any given day. I'm obviously not opposed to sharing my thoughts--I'm about to do just that--but I've often thought if we could respond to the previous week's sermon instead of the one 'hot off the press' I'd be more able to participate.
Oh, there will be weeks when participating in this response time will work for me, to be sure. As someone who preaches from time to time, I actually find it interesting to get to listen in to a taste of people's responses to the sermon and to be able to extend the monologue to a conversation. But this has been a long, hard week, and I'm emotionally drained, and this week was not about to be one of those weeks, especially not under pressure. (Some might say that I'm a bit stubborn that way...)
Nonetheless, today's sermon about the transfiguration really did resonate with me, and so I'll work on processing my thoughts the best way that I know how. The transfiguration is a strange story, for sure! Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a mountain. When they get to the top, Jesus' clothes become dazzling white, and Elijah and Moses (both, obviously, long dead) appear and talk with him. The disciples are a bit stymied (as we would be, too, if we were there in real time and didn't have the advantage of knowing how this story ends).
Peter, ever practical, volunteers to start setting up tents and making camp--desperate to do something, anything, that is familiar and safe in the midst of this unexpected and frightening turn of events.
Then as quickly as it starts, it's over, and Jesus warns them as they head back down the mountain not to discuss what they saw with anyone.
What in the world???
The thing is, as my pastor pointed out, encountering the holy so often leaves us standing there, scratching our heads, sometimes a bit terrified, wondering what in the world just happened and what on earth we're supposed to do as a result. Following Jesus leads us to all kinds of places that we don't expect. Surely, this girl, who was timid and shy and terrified of giving class presentations, did not expect to grow up to find that she feels most fully alive when she's preaching. Of all the crazy things, the likelihood of that scenario probably ranks right up there with me becoming an athlete or phys ed teacher. And yet, here we are!
It's been a really hard week, in the midst of a few really hard months, and I've been wrestling with feelings of failure and bewilderedness in the work that God has called me to do of late. I'm not sure what success looks like, but as I look around all I can think is, surely this isn't it.
But, when we most desperately want to find ways to be effective--to set up tents, to make camp, anything to be productive--sometimes it's then that God asks us instead simply to be faithful. And it's harder to figure out what faithfulness looks like than it is to figure out what effectiveness looks like, especially living as we do in a world that values productivity and outcome measures.
And yet, as my pastor pointed out, being faithful is not the same as being effective. It helps me immeasurably, this idea of striving first of all for faithfulness. Sometimes, I think, faithfulness in ministry means standing with people in the midst of the beautiful and painful mess of life, and simply continuing to love them and to hold out the assurance that God still loves them, even when it feels like the edges are fraying, when I can't make sense of what I'm seeing. Sometimes faithfulness means standing your ground, witnessing the pain, and finding that God is present even there. Sometimes faithfulness means following Jesus to Jerusalem--because while effectiveness usually doesn't end at the cross, sometimes faithfulness does.
Striving for faithfulness gives me permission to focus less on the doing, and more on the being. Faithfulness means seeking the One we do know in the midst of situations that are entirely unfamiliar and frightening, and holding onto His loving gaze so that we can invite others to meet His eyes once again too. It means letting go of control, and looking to the One who has had it all along. It means trusting that God will meet us once again on the other side, even if current reality seems more like a dream.
So, this week I'm going to experiment with releasing myself from the pressures of effectiveness, and instead use faithfulness as my measuring stick of choice. My call, after all, is to love others as God loves them, and to care for the flock that God has entrusted to me as best as I am able. My call is to remember that God is sovereign and I am not, and to draw my strength from God rather than relying on my own (which is quickly diminishing anyway).
Sometimes we're called to effectiveness, surely. But I think that for me--and I'm sure I'm not alone--this is a season for striving for faithfulness.
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Thursday, February 23, 2017
Worry is Like a Rocking Chair
"Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it won't get you anywhere."
I first ran across this quote when I was in high school. I don't remember how I first came across it, but I do remember that my mom made me a sign that I put up in a visible place in my room, with these words carefully lettered on it. It was adorned with a picture of a rocking chair, carefully clipped out of an old Sears catalogue. It lasted there for quite a while--and came up frequently in conversations with my mom for years afterward. (Sometimes, it still does!)
I am a natural born worrier. I think I always have been. I'm prone to adopt problems that aren't really my own. Just tonight, I was reminiscing with my dad on the phone about the 'challenge' that my two younger brothers and I sometimes presented to babysitters when we were younger. For the record, I maintain that my behaviour was usually not the challenge. I do, however, remember on at least one occasion lying in bed sobbing after my brothers had been particularly naughty because I was so worried that my favourite babysitter would never want to come again. I remember that the babysitter eventually had to come and get me, and she let me stay up late with her while she did my hair. (As the one who is now the babysitter, I'm sure that after dealing with two energetic little boys all evening, the last thing she wanted was to soothe a tearful, anxious older sister--but her quick thinking did the trick.)
I know that worrying is unproductive. I know the situation won't change if I continue to worry it around in my mind, turning it over and over. Nonetheless, I find myself mulling situations over for hours, turning them around, wondering if I could have done something differently, or hoping if I think about it long enough a new solution will materialize. I just can't seem to set it aside and move on to something else, no matter how hard I try or how often I tell myself that's what I need to do.
At a retreat a few years back, I was initially really annoyed at my spiritual director for the week-end who kept telling me to stop as I was trying to express what I was worried about, and instead told me to take a few deep breaths. On the face of it, I had genuine concerns that week-end, and it felt like she was not taking me seriously.
But in spite of my resistance, she helped me to recognize that when I'm worrying my energy gets stuck in my head, spinning around up there. And by taking a few deep breaths, I can slow that energy down. By taking a few deep breaths, I can become more attuned to the presence of the Spirit--probably no coincidence that the very same Spirit is ruach, 'breath,' in Hebrew. When I slow down the mental activity in my head, I can become more aware of the deep peace that abides within me, that's always present but that's so easily missed in the midst of my constant mental activity.
So often, when the worry is overwhelming, it's hard to find the words to pray, and I find myself actively doing everything but praying, simply because finding the language to describe the situation to God is itself overwhelming. But maybe, to breathe is to pray. Maybe, to breathe deeply is to invite ourselves to an awareness of the abiding presence of God, which is closer than we ever realized, within our very beings. Maybe, to breathe is to "be still and know that I am God."
And maybe, letting God be God is the only honest way that I can deal with aches and problems too big for me to carry on my own. Maybe sometimes the spinning worry is actually just a way of getting stuck in the impossibility of trying to fix something that's beyond my capacity to fix, or that isn't mine in the first place.
It reminds me of the lyrics to a song I've heard on the radio, "Just Breathe" by Jonny Diaz:
I first ran across this quote when I was in high school. I don't remember how I first came across it, but I do remember that my mom made me a sign that I put up in a visible place in my room, with these words carefully lettered on it. It was adorned with a picture of a rocking chair, carefully clipped out of an old Sears catalogue. It lasted there for quite a while--and came up frequently in conversations with my mom for years afterward. (Sometimes, it still does!)
I am a natural born worrier. I think I always have been. I'm prone to adopt problems that aren't really my own. Just tonight, I was reminiscing with my dad on the phone about the 'challenge' that my two younger brothers and I sometimes presented to babysitters when we were younger. For the record, I maintain that my behaviour was usually not the challenge. I do, however, remember on at least one occasion lying in bed sobbing after my brothers had been particularly naughty because I was so worried that my favourite babysitter would never want to come again. I remember that the babysitter eventually had to come and get me, and she let me stay up late with her while she did my hair. (As the one who is now the babysitter, I'm sure that after dealing with two energetic little boys all evening, the last thing she wanted was to soothe a tearful, anxious older sister--but her quick thinking did the trick.)
I know that worrying is unproductive. I know the situation won't change if I continue to worry it around in my mind, turning it over and over. Nonetheless, I find myself mulling situations over for hours, turning them around, wondering if I could have done something differently, or hoping if I think about it long enough a new solution will materialize. I just can't seem to set it aside and move on to something else, no matter how hard I try or how often I tell myself that's what I need to do.
At a retreat a few years back, I was initially really annoyed at my spiritual director for the week-end who kept telling me to stop as I was trying to express what I was worried about, and instead told me to take a few deep breaths. On the face of it, I had genuine concerns that week-end, and it felt like she was not taking me seriously.
But in spite of my resistance, she helped me to recognize that when I'm worrying my energy gets stuck in my head, spinning around up there. And by taking a few deep breaths, I can slow that energy down. By taking a few deep breaths, I can become more attuned to the presence of the Spirit--probably no coincidence that the very same Spirit is ruach, 'breath,' in Hebrew. When I slow down the mental activity in my head, I can become more aware of the deep peace that abides within me, that's always present but that's so easily missed in the midst of my constant mental activity.
So often, when the worry is overwhelming, it's hard to find the words to pray, and I find myself actively doing everything but praying, simply because finding the language to describe the situation to God is itself overwhelming. But maybe, to breathe is to pray. Maybe, to breathe deeply is to invite ourselves to an awareness of the abiding presence of God, which is closer than we ever realized, within our very beings. Maybe, to breathe is to "be still and know that I am God."
And maybe, letting God be God is the only honest way that I can deal with aches and problems too big for me to carry on my own. Maybe sometimes the spinning worry is actually just a way of getting stuck in the impossibility of trying to fix something that's beyond my capacity to fix, or that isn't mine in the first place.
It reminds me of the lyrics to a song I've heard on the radio, "Just Breathe" by Jonny Diaz:
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Come and rest at My feet.
And be. Just be.
Chaos calls but all you really need
Is to take it in, fill your lungs
The Peace of God that overcomes
Just breathe
Let your weary spirit rest
Lay down what's good and find what's best
Just breathe.
May you find God to be as close to you as your next breath!
xoxo
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
Ah, Saint Valentine...
It's Valentine's day.
It's also a Tuesday night. And on Tuesday nights I pastor a community of folks who gather for our weekly potluck and prayer service. We eat dinner, we pray together, and we chat over coffee and dessert. And I love the way this gathering has helped me to think about what it means to be part of the Body of Christ. (But that's another story for another time.)
My little 'congregation,' if you want to call it that, also happens to be made up of significantly more singles of various types (never-married, divorced etc.--there are many types of single!) than of people who are part of couples. That gave me pause as I thought about Valentine's day this year.
Several of my married friends have recently noted to me as we've been chatting that Valentine's day is not a big deal, even for them. The food options are overpriced, restaurants are busy, and the whole thing is a bit silly. Today, though, I found myself wondering if those sentiments just might be a privilege reserved primarily for those who are "in a relationship," as Facebook puts it. After all, for those who are single on a day when our culture celebrates all things romantic, this is a day when we're reminded of that thing that we don't have. And in that situation, it's much harder to brush off a 'silly' holiday without coming off as a bit 'sour grapes' in the process.
I'm inclined to agree with the idea that Valentine's is commercialized and even a bit 'silly.' But silly or not, it holds in front of us a narrative that still holds a lot of power. Any time I doubted that, I only had to note the number of single friends who expressed anxiety or frustration on social media in the past week as "V day" got closer and closer.
For the record, I never set out to be single at 38. My career plans in high school were shaped by the assumption that inevitably I would marry and have children, and that I didn't want to invest in a career like being a doctor where immense amounts of work would be required, only to finally be ready to start working just at the time when I would want to have more time and energy for my family. Throughout university and young adulthood, I assumed that the right relationship just hadn't come along yet--but that it would.
It's really only in recent years that I started to wonder if maybe I didn't want to get married after all. It took me a while to be brave enough to take a step back and re-examine those long-held assumptions about what life would look like for me. In all honesty, the fact that I'm approaching forty and certain biological realities are becoming increasingly real probably helped to give me that courage. But as I thought about it, I realized that there are lots of things that I really like about my single life. Over time, I became increasingly convinced that being celibate (yes, I did just use that word!) is part of how God has called me to serve him within the Body of Christ--it's part of the gifting that God has given me. It allows me to engage in ministry and to give energy to my inner life with God that I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. The more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that I could say without irony that this too is a gift from God and a part of my story that I'm ready to embrace.
So I'm content where I am. I have a wonderful family, and I have wonderful friends who embrace me as family. I am free to love my nieces and nephews in ways that I might not be free to if I had my own children. I have no shortage of people in my life who love me and who enrich my world immeasurably. I have no shortage of people who make sure I know that I, too, am loved.
But somehow, this message is all too often lost within the church and within our larger culture. It's assumed that there's something wrong with not being married--in some cases, it's assumed that being single disqualifies people from ministry within the church. I once overheard a conversation in which another pastor at the church where I was employed was attempting to justify to a member of the church leadership team why I was single. (No, I couldn't have made that up if I tried.)
So, tonight at potluck, I decided it was important to acknowledge Valentine's day especially because of the number of people who would be present who are single. Because on a day when the prevailing message makes far too many singles wonder if they're worthy of love, we needed the reminder that we are loved beyond measure God. So, we had chocolate hearts and we reminded ourselves that we are all beloved, every one of us.
Valentine's day is just a day, and tomorrow it'll be behind us for another year. But maybe it's a reminder to all of us that being loved and valued isn't restricted to those who are in relationships. And maybe, if I can be so bold, if each one of us took the time to remind someone we know that they are loved and valued just as they are--especially those who might need that reminder the most, who might not hear it as often as they could--maybe the world would be a better place! I have a hunch that's not just true on February 14th.
And, if you're a church type, I can't resist getting a little preaching in here. After all, the blog IS called "Mennonite Girls Can Preach"! Church, we have a treasure that's going to waste in the narrative in Scripture that values singleness alongside marriage. Why have we lost this in our zeal to 'focus on the family'? Why have we lost sight of the fact that both marriage and singleness are blessed by God and have value within the Body of Christ? And when will we start making space for singles in our congregations, our small groups, our leadership teams, our women's ministries, and on it goes? We're missing out, and it's our loss!
It's also a Tuesday night. And on Tuesday nights I pastor a community of folks who gather for our weekly potluck and prayer service. We eat dinner, we pray together, and we chat over coffee and dessert. And I love the way this gathering has helped me to think about what it means to be part of the Body of Christ. (But that's another story for another time.)
My little 'congregation,' if you want to call it that, also happens to be made up of significantly more singles of various types (never-married, divorced etc.--there are many types of single!) than of people who are part of couples. That gave me pause as I thought about Valentine's day this year.
Several of my married friends have recently noted to me as we've been chatting that Valentine's day is not a big deal, even for them. The food options are overpriced, restaurants are busy, and the whole thing is a bit silly. Today, though, I found myself wondering if those sentiments just might be a privilege reserved primarily for those who are "in a relationship," as Facebook puts it. After all, for those who are single on a day when our culture celebrates all things romantic, this is a day when we're reminded of that thing that we don't have. And in that situation, it's much harder to brush off a 'silly' holiday without coming off as a bit 'sour grapes' in the process.
I'm inclined to agree with the idea that Valentine's is commercialized and even a bit 'silly.' But silly or not, it holds in front of us a narrative that still holds a lot of power. Any time I doubted that, I only had to note the number of single friends who expressed anxiety or frustration on social media in the past week as "V day" got closer and closer.
For the record, I never set out to be single at 38. My career plans in high school were shaped by the assumption that inevitably I would marry and have children, and that I didn't want to invest in a career like being a doctor where immense amounts of work would be required, only to finally be ready to start working just at the time when I would want to have more time and energy for my family. Throughout university and young adulthood, I assumed that the right relationship just hadn't come along yet--but that it would.
It's really only in recent years that I started to wonder if maybe I didn't want to get married after all. It took me a while to be brave enough to take a step back and re-examine those long-held assumptions about what life would look like for me. In all honesty, the fact that I'm approaching forty and certain biological realities are becoming increasingly real probably helped to give me that courage. But as I thought about it, I realized that there are lots of things that I really like about my single life. Over time, I became increasingly convinced that being celibate (yes, I did just use that word!) is part of how God has called me to serve him within the Body of Christ--it's part of the gifting that God has given me. It allows me to engage in ministry and to give energy to my inner life with God that I wouldn't otherwise be able to do. The more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that I could say without irony that this too is a gift from God and a part of my story that I'm ready to embrace.
So I'm content where I am. I have a wonderful family, and I have wonderful friends who embrace me as family. I am free to love my nieces and nephews in ways that I might not be free to if I had my own children. I have no shortage of people in my life who love me and who enrich my world immeasurably. I have no shortage of people who make sure I know that I, too, am loved.
But somehow, this message is all too often lost within the church and within our larger culture. It's assumed that there's something wrong with not being married--in some cases, it's assumed that being single disqualifies people from ministry within the church. I once overheard a conversation in which another pastor at the church where I was employed was attempting to justify to a member of the church leadership team why I was single. (No, I couldn't have made that up if I tried.)
So, tonight at potluck, I decided it was important to acknowledge Valentine's day especially because of the number of people who would be present who are single. Because on a day when the prevailing message makes far too many singles wonder if they're worthy of love, we needed the reminder that we are loved beyond measure God. So, we had chocolate hearts and we reminded ourselves that we are all beloved, every one of us.
Valentine's day is just a day, and tomorrow it'll be behind us for another year. But maybe it's a reminder to all of us that being loved and valued isn't restricted to those who are in relationships. And maybe, if I can be so bold, if each one of us took the time to remind someone we know that they are loved and valued just as they are--especially those who might need that reminder the most, who might not hear it as often as they could--maybe the world would be a better place! I have a hunch that's not just true on February 14th.
And, if you're a church type, I can't resist getting a little preaching in here. After all, the blog IS called "Mennonite Girls Can Preach"! Church, we have a treasure that's going to waste in the narrative in Scripture that values singleness alongside marriage. Why have we lost this in our zeal to 'focus on the family'? Why have we lost sight of the fact that both marriage and singleness are blessed by God and have value within the Body of Christ? And when will we start making space for singles in our congregations, our small groups, our leadership teams, our women's ministries, and on it goes? We're missing out, and it's our loss!
Thursday, February 2, 2017
The Throne...of Grace?
A few weeks ago, my toilet broke and started running continuously. Fortunately, the landlord was able to come quickly to "fix it." It is now working "fine" except that it requires that you hold the lever down until it has completely finished flushing. Or it will stop dead when you release the lever and not flush at all.
I am slowly getting used to the fact that I have to stop every time I flush the toilet and stand there long enough for the toilet to flush fully before I move on. In reality, this is such a small thing. But in a life in which I am moving far too fast for it to be healthy too much of the time, it feels like in the time I'm standing doing nothing I could have washed my hands, brushed my teeth, and quite possibly also fixed my hair.
But one can encounter God in even the most mundane of situations (Julian of Norwich, a fourteenth-century mystic whom I adore right now, writes, "A man walks upright, and the food in his body is shut in as if in a well-made purse. When the time of his necessity comes, the purse is opened and then shut again, in most seemly fashion. And it is God who does this...for he does not despise what he has made, nor does he disdain to serve us in the simplest natural functions of our body." I am apparently not alone in finding spiritual insight in the bathroom...).
Flushing my toilet, oddly enough, has become an invitation to slow down, to stop and breathe and notice God's presence in the middle of the mundane moments of my daily life. It is an invitation to stop going at breakneck speed, at full-tilt, and to realize that the world manages to keep turning just fine while I stand there doing nothing more meaningful than holding down the lever on my toilet. It is a reminder to check my pace, and not to return to a life that is lived at maximum speed all of the time, a reminder that sometimes the right thing to do is simply to slow down.
Some days I'm tempted to call the landlord again and see if there isn't a more satisfactory long-term solution to my toilet woes. But then I realize that I need this reminder still, and I content myself with this gift that reminds me of something far more important. And I'm grateful.
I am slowly getting used to the fact that I have to stop every time I flush the toilet and stand there long enough for the toilet to flush fully before I move on. In reality, this is such a small thing. But in a life in which I am moving far too fast for it to be healthy too much of the time, it feels like in the time I'm standing doing nothing I could have washed my hands, brushed my teeth, and quite possibly also fixed my hair.
But one can encounter God in even the most mundane of situations (Julian of Norwich, a fourteenth-century mystic whom I adore right now, writes, "A man walks upright, and the food in his body is shut in as if in a well-made purse. When the time of his necessity comes, the purse is opened and then shut again, in most seemly fashion. And it is God who does this...for he does not despise what he has made, nor does he disdain to serve us in the simplest natural functions of our body." I am apparently not alone in finding spiritual insight in the bathroom...).
Flushing my toilet, oddly enough, has become an invitation to slow down, to stop and breathe and notice God's presence in the middle of the mundane moments of my daily life. It is an invitation to stop going at breakneck speed, at full-tilt, and to realize that the world manages to keep turning just fine while I stand there doing nothing more meaningful than holding down the lever on my toilet. It is a reminder to check my pace, and not to return to a life that is lived at maximum speed all of the time, a reminder that sometimes the right thing to do is simply to slow down.
Some days I'm tempted to call the landlord again and see if there isn't a more satisfactory long-term solution to my toilet woes. But then I realize that I need this reminder still, and I content myself with this gift that reminds me of something far more important. And I'm grateful.
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