The Santa Claus Quandary

The first fight I ever remember having with a friend was a not-so-philosophical debate regarding the dubious existence of the man, the myth, the legend: Santa Claus.

It was my best friend, and at five, that was a considerable portion of my world.

But the other sizeable portion, of course, was my family. And my family had told me that Santa was real, and in all my years of barely cognizant life I had never known them to lie to me, so I believed them.

Then one day I came home from kindergarten with this dramatic story about the argument with my friend and how I had defended our family honor. My older brother couldn't bear for me to lose a friend over the dude in the red suit, and promptly took me to the closet in my parents' room to show me the gifts that would have been from Santa that year.

My parents might have been able to convince me, even then, that it was their own stash and, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, but they agreed with my brother - it wasn't worth the loss of a friendship, and it was time for The Talk.

The thing is, my mother - being a bit flowery with words and charmingly poetic in her perceptions of all matters of life - still believed in Santa Claus. At least, she said, Santa Claus' spirit was real.

I find it pertinent at this point to note that, future theologian or not, as a child I thought Santa Claus was like God's brother from another mother. I mean, I think I had a good idea about what was in Jesus' job description, but who was God to me at that point?

He sees you when you're sleeping; he knows when you're awake. He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake!

Sure, God was more powerful (all year long!) and less materialistically affectionate than Santa seemed to be, but it was difficult to differentiate them enough to understand why my spiritually-inclined mother would explain to me that one exists (sometimes as Spirit) and the other does not exist (except in spirit).

As most "emerging adults" evaluate decisions their parents made in order to form their own parenting philosophies, I have since wondered: if I ever were to have children, would I tell them that Santa Claus is real - in spirit or otherwise? For the most part, I believed that I wouldn't.

Sometimes religious families don't share the Santa story because they consider it a "secular" tradition or because it seems to teach - eventually - disbelief, especially disbelief in a seemingly omnipotent, benevolent being basically hailed as Divine around some Christmas trees.

Despite my own initial difficulty separating out the "characters" of God and Santa Claus, this ultimately was not a major problem. Atheists and cultural theists may not entirely understand what I mean when I say this, but by the time I had a personal experience of what I understood to be God, the difference was abundantly clear: Claus could feasibly still exist in whatever form people please, but I can't attest to that so long as I have no experience or reason to affirm it for me. Sort of the way I don't blame atheists for not seeing sufficient evidence for God. I think it would be worse for someone to lie about what they believe or don't believe than not to get the facts straight, whatever they may be. The reasons I have for a belief in God are sufficient evidence for me, and to be the most authentic person I can be, I can only attest to what I believe to be true as genuinely as I can.

Thus the concern I have is not that a child would equate Santa and God, or that their inevitable Santa-crushing moment may shake their faith. I believe in a God who is revealed and made known in various ways, and I believe that faith-shaking moments too often lead to spiritual growth to want to ward them off entirely.

Rather, my concern is simply this: I don't know that I can tell my child that I believe something I don't. It may be a fanciful, wonderful story; the spirit of giving may be alive and well indeed; but Santa Claus as he has come to be known and shared throughout the ages is not a tradition in which I'm that sentimentally invested.

I suppose I could imagine telling stories about Saint Nick, and presenting it that way, or even simply asking children what they think and letting them go through a natural progression.

Last year I saw the Finish film called "Christmas Story" about the orphaned Nikolas, who begins delivering toys to the children of the families who have taken him in year after year, and finally to children throughout the locale. I enjoyed it in its entirety, except for the ending, at which point (SPOILER ALERT) jolly old Saint Nikolas flies off into the moonlight on his inexplicably airborne reindeer-drawn sleigh, waving and winking and whooping out Macy*s Santa belly-laughs. And I know it was obligatory - any kid-friendly film can't risk spoiling the Santa industry for a young viewer. But it would have been such a beautiful movie even without it, and I sort of wish they had let it be.

In spite of all of this, or perhaps in light of it, I admit I've been pondering this quandary from the other end of the spectrum lately. Why? Because I read this piece online and, besides my own mother's more in-depth explanations to me about why she became a firm Santa-espouser, it is perhaps the most beautiful pro-Santa 'argument' I've ever come across. Having read this letter from a mother to her child who demanded the truth, I might consider changing my own stance on what I would tell my hypothetical, nonexistent offspring - and when, and how.

Click here to give it a read. It really is rather beautiful, and it would make my Mama weep with happy Santa-spirit warm-and-fuzzies.

The Garden: A Revelation

When Hilary Rhodes of Woman at the Well sent me the post she wrote for this blog based on one of mine, her theological and historical exploration originally culminated in a beautiful personal testimony, which I loved even more than the insightful analysis of grace. I told Hilary that these parts' length and content (related, yet quite different) suggested to me that they should indeed be two separate pieces, so what you've seen this week is that first portion.

Because the second part is so personally meaningful, Hilary would like to make WATW its home, and I agree. It moved me, though, and so I'd like to make a point of recommending it to you and directing you over to WATW to read the full text. It's a descriptive piece about a spiritual vision she experienced; a story of depression and consolation, fear and grace.

Hilary and I differ in much of how and where we were raised and the theological and political landscapes around us. We have walked individual and intersecting paths. But I feel a sense of camaraderie in both her writing voice (particularly in her more personal writings) and in many of the issues she confronts. The blend of ideological differences and similarities between us, in fact, serves to remind me how simultaneously unique and intricately connected the parts of the Body of Christ truly are.

And so it is my pleasure to introduce to you Hilary's visionary tale:

I can’t tell you the moment I lost my faith. Sometime when I was about 14, when I was old enough to understand how shallow and fear-based and resistant to questions and dismissive of real need my experience of it had hereunto been. This was followed with six years of becoming an increasingly angry atheist. I can, however, tell you – almost to the hour – the moment I found it again:

The night of Thursday, September 6, 2008.

It was two months before one of the most heated presidential elections in history. I’d just come off a tearingly difficult, lonely, and isolated sophomore year of college, where I’d battled depression so severe that if I didn’t have anything to do, I’d stay in bed until 3 PM with the shades shut. I was saved by a deep friendship with an absolutely wonderful guy in my psychology class. (Matt, shout-out time.) But I’d been struggling over the summer again, and although I was about to take off to Oxford University and fulfill one of my longtime dreams, I was faced with a dialogue that was (especially on the right wing) about nothing but fear and despair. About the “destruction of America.” About this scary dark-skinned guy with the scary “Muslim” name. About how there might not be time for me, and my future family and children and grandchildren.

I was lying in bed in the darkness, crying. Just so scared. So scared. I was screaming in my soul. I was in agony. I couldn’t even breathe.

I couldn’t do it alone. I just couldn’t. It was too big for me. It was too much. It was beyond my ability to bear. And so I did the only thing I could:

I asked for help.

I listened to it echo in the walls. I watched headlights pass on the ceiling.

I eventually subsided into a troubled sleep.

And that night, the Word came back.

This is what I remember...

Read more.

The Cost of Grace

by Hilary Rhodes, contributor

Today, I’d like to expand on Kim’s last post about “deceptive Christian tippers,” and to do so through the lens of my current muse: Dietrich Bonhoeffer.


Source

Bonhoeffer, as you may know, was a German Lutheran pastor who died a martyr – he was hanged at Flossenburg concentration camp in April 1945, days before it was liberated by the Allies – for his single-minded, incredibly courageous, uncompromising efforts to resist Hitler and the Nazis. Thus, his writings (Cost of Discipleship, Christ the Center, Ethics, and more) are uniquely positioned to speak to us on the true role of a Christian in the savage twentieth and twenty-first centuries, our call to social activism, and how – in his case – to reconcile it with the bluntly pacifist message of Jesus, who famously instructs us to turn the other cheek and not resist an evil man.

CHEAP GRACE

As I read Kim’s post about Christian diners who leave come-to-Jesus tracts for their restaurant servers in place of cash tips, it occurred to me that this was a great way to explore Bonhoeffer’s conceptions of “cheap” and “costly” grace, almost literally. The diners may feel that by leaving an instruction manual on how to obtain “eternal life,” they are doing their waiter or waitress a much greater and lasting service than if they’d merely left them a temporal, worldly gift of money. But the questions raised are twofold:

1) How can this anonymous, tight-fisted, downright pharisaical method of drive-by evangelism possibly communicate the life-changing, radical, and completely counterculture nature of the Gospels?

2) In fact, can there be any benefit to it besides the fact that it makes the diner feel as if they’ve “done their part”? Or is it just a low-risk, cop-out, “don’t look at me” method of proselytizing that indeed sets the public perception of Christianity back still further?

Bonhoeffer would characterize it as the latter. In The Cost of Discipleship, which I am currently reading, he opens with an admonishment to the Christian community to take a hard-eyed look at their methods of preaching, and judge whether this leads people to the actual Word of God, or is intended instead to protect the “look but don’t touch” insular country-club nature of many churches. He then examines his own Protestant heritage, and how Martin Luther kicked off the sixteenth-century Reformation with the radical idea that not good works but rather grace alone is sufficient to redeem an individual.

There’s many a theological discussion to be had about Luther and his message, not least his rabid anti-Semitism. But Bonhoeffer’s focus for exploration – and mine – is how the concept of grace, and its function in Christian life, has become grossly misunderstood and devalued. Luther’s proposition that God alone confers salvation has led, as Bonhoeffer points out, to a sense among many contemporary Christians that they can live a life identical to their secular counterparts in nearly every respect. Save for going to church on Sundays, certain taboos in vocabulary, and, yes, leaving evangelical tracts in place of tips, they can live essentially as they did before, confident that grace has been put to work to wipe out the rest of their transgressions. It becomes “the justification of sin, rather than the justification of the sinner in the world.”

Bonhoeffer calls this “cheap grace,” and characterizes it as the greatest threat, bar none, to a real, vital Christian calling in this day and age. When Christianity is lax, lazy, and easy, when it demands nothing from us and is palatable to the suburban everyman leery of scary words like “sacrifice” and “suffering,” it completely loses the radical quality on which it was founded. It becomes Christianity without Christ.

So what’s the answer? How can we maintain a distinctively Christian identity? Or will this build the exclusionary walls even higher, if Christianity has an entrance exam harder than Harvard’s?

COSTLY GRACE

The commandments of Jesus are deceptively simple. “Sell all you have, give to the poor, and come, follow Me.” When asked how to obtain eternal life, he doesn’t break out a phonebook-sized manual of rules and regulations. He merely affirms the Commandments first given to Charlton Heston Moses: Don’t kill. Don’t steal. Don’t commit adultery. Honor your father and mother. Love God with all your heart, soul, body, and mind. And love your neighbor as you love yourself.

I’ve written several entries at my own blog dealing with the nature of these commandments, and how we (present company no exception) so often fail at putting them into practice in daily life. But the other thing to keep in mind is that Jesus is always, uncompromisingly, and brutally honest about what the cost of discipleship entails. When He calls you, you can’t stop to bury your father or say goodbye to your loved ones. You can’t set your terms and then follow. You can’t follow when the stock market’s doing well. You drop everything, and follow. Period.

This is also the hardest thing we can ever do. Bonhoeffer puts it just as frighteningly: “When Christ calls a man, he calls him to come and die.”

Because in fact, we do die. Maybe not in actual martyrdom, as Bonhoeffer did, but in everything we were before, our old habits and neurotic fixations and judgments and beliefs and cop-outs. We burn away. We do sell everything, whether physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, or otherwise. And in stripping ourselves of these worldly accoutrements, we are thrown into a new life where we are forced to rely completely on the Divine Mercy.

And in so doing, we don’t give up everything and get nothing for our trouble. We receive the Pearl of Great Price. We receive, in this utterly necessary, transcendent sacrifice, the gift of costly grace. Our life is no longer our own, and has been bought on a heavenly account we can never pay back – and don’t have to. That story has already been told. The story of how love overcomes evil, the truth of all human reality. The power of death, and our own death, has been broken forever.

It’s done. It’s been done for a while. On a beautiful spring morning almost two thousand years ago, two women in Jerusalem met a man they thought was the gardener. And it ended.

It’s not about blood and guts. It never was.

Hollywood’s never figured that out.

THE CROSS

Like many Christians, I like to wear a cross necklace. It’s another easy and low-risk way of displaying religious conviction – that is, when it isn’t just a throwaway fashion statement. But for Bonhoeffer, it’s a reminder of nothing more or less than our own absolute commitment to follow Jesus’ path, even unto its uttermost end.

We each have our own crosses to bear. Starting out on a spiritual journey will, I promise, show yours to you pretty darn quick. And it’s a scary proposition. It explicitly includes suffering, and that death I mentioned above. So why would we, as creatures who are naturally averse to pain, choose to do that to ourselves?

What if our cross to carry was to humbly accept the unconditional love and mercy of God, for ourselves and for everyone we meet? To yield ourselves into the arms of a Divine who is so deeply in love with us that He did not consider the life of His Son too high a price to pay for our redemption?

Does that sound so terrible? So dangerous, so exclusionary? So self-righteous, so bloodstained, so many of the adjectives that are (sadly, and truly) used to characterize the exploits of many people who have called themselves Christian throughout the centuries?

For Bonhoeffer, this was the ultimate core of his call to resist the Nazis. He understood that Jesus was not preaching a message of passive acceptance, the life of cheap grace, to sit back and let the most evil dictator of the twentieth century – perhaps in all of history – seize control of his beloved home country.

To turn the other cheek didn’t mean to become collaborators, either active or complicit. What it was, was a call not to fight the Nazis on their terms. They wouldn’t be brought down by Bonhoeffer and his fellows becoming them.

Because the Sermon on the Mount, possibly the most gloriously counter-intuitive message in all of human history, is a call to action. To demonstrate, to create, to live the Kingdom of Heaven, and the perfect love of God. Here. Now. Forever.


Hilary Rhodes has recently launched her own blog at Woman at the Well, where she ruminates on issues of social justice, courageous faith, the creative life, and more. Although Sarah Lawrence College is regularly cited as one of the least religious schools in America, it was there that she rediscovered, and fell in love with, her lost childhood faith – except on a hundred orders of magnitude more, in depths of experience and mercy that she never, ever thought were possible. For more on that, keep tabs on WATW.

Deceptive Christian Tippers

First, check out this article about customers who have left phony $10 bills marked with religious tidbits in place of monetary tips for their wait staff.

I'll wait.

...I know, right? I bet you're squirming with indignance, even if you've never worked as a server before, and/or you're concerned about the non-complimentary angle from which this piece serves up the Christian faith. Mmm, self-righteous deception for the glory of God. Delicious.

So let me begin (is it too late now to begin?) by saying that I think there's more to this than a critical view of Christianity. Some of Jesus' most controversial points were his criticisms of hypocrites and those who considered themselves most righteous. Today, this doesn't mean that we need to avoid Christianity or gathering as a faith community, but we do need to keep reimagining what it means to be a Christian while searching the core of Jesus' movement.

The article points out that not all Christians are poor tippers deceptive tippers, but the truth is, some are. So how do Christians reconcile that? How do we act, as Christians, knowing that this is the image of Christianity that some people - religious and nonreligious - have been given? How do we express what we believe and how we live without alienating or betraying people or being condescending to them? (Whichever "them." All of them.)

Instead of presuming to answer questions like these (since I think these are the sorts of questions best answered via actions), I'm going to highlight further what I consider a few important issues in the described scenario.

THE ISSUE OF DECEPTION

Do the people who do this think it's fitting that their religious intervention takes the form of fake money? What are they trying to convey, and what are they conveying instead?

If their message is that there are things in life more important than money, are they making that point by getting a hard worker's hopes up, thinking they've received a good tip, just to fool them?

Why not just leave a message on a card or paper instead; why go through the trouble of using fake money? Which brings us to...


THE REAL, HUMAN CONCERNS OF THE STAFF

As written in James, faith without good works is dead, and it does little good to give someone spiritual guidance if their basic needs are ignored (very Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, about 1800 years in advance).

By this example, should we replace all salaries with advice instead? How do the people leaving these tips support themselves? (And let's not pretend that a waiter's tip is beyond comparison to a wage, particularly if the employee's official salary is otherwise below legal minimum wage.)

Money is not the root of all evil; it has potential to do good, and technically it's just a tool in the extended bartering system of one person's time and labor in exchange for another's. So let's make every effort to make a fair trade.


THE GRATITUDE FACTOR

Traditionally, the amount of a tip is considered to be commensurate with the customer's gratitude and/or a measure of the quality of the service. Wait staff are often paid below minimum wage and depend greatly on their tips; unless stated, it's not included in the bill and the customer chooses the amount. A lack of tip signals extraordinarily bad service and/or extraordinarily ungrateful customers.

If a religious person is inclined to use this occasion to share the Gospel (more on that in a sec), they could do so separately and leave a note with the tip. Might look too much like bribing someone to convert, but tipping is being kind, generous, mindful of the server, and a decent customer. The note is just an additional and probably unsolicited expression of spiritual concern, whatever one's views on that matter. And speaking of which...


EVANGELISM IN ITSELF IS NOT A BAD THING

Mainstream Protestant churches and nonreligious groups sometimes villainize evangelism or proselytism, or else don't know what to do with it and shy away, but passive-aggressive practices like fake-tipping only fuel that fire.

At its best, (Christian) evangelism means sharing the Gospel, the good news - that something amazing has happened in Christ and continues to happen when the Spirit is at work in us. It means believing something so deeply that it simply must be shared; to avoid sharing altogether would imply that there's nothing so great or urgent there in the first place.

But the core of Christianity isn't about dropping a spiritual nugget of wisdom and running. Jesus and biblical writers like Paul emphasize community, unconditional love, and nurturing one another. Actually, these concepts being made reality are all a huge part of the message!

So telling others about Jesus isn't a bad thing, and these customers may genuinely believe that they're appropriately sharing an important message, but they've made no attempt to connect to the person in a truly meaningful way - nothing that demands risk or even much time and energy on their part. Unless they're chatty regulars, they're not around to nurture the server in faith or in general.

(Oh yeah. Sidenote: Casting Crowns touched on the idea of true Christian outreach and active care in the song "If We Are the Body.")

If anything, deceptive tippers teach someone to believe that Christians not only aren't generous but return (presumably) good service with self-righteousness under the guise of giving glory to God. They imply that, if God is actually supposed to work in the world through believers, then God does not provide or heal but only chastizes and counts followers.

Mainly, it's my hope that the religious and non-religious folks who read and reflect on the aforementioned Daily Finance article walk away with something other than a bitterness for Christians and others who seem too "pushy" in sharing faith (as, I admit, I have been prone to feel).

I hope that there is something fortifying and renewing to be found here - perhaps faith-affirming, or at least reconciling.

One of my favorite things about taking Church History classes in seminary (besides inordinate gobs of song parody fodder) has been confronting some of the terrible things that Christians have done, often in God's name.

Being honest about this troubling history - and realizing that "my" church and I are not necessarily much holier - has opened me up to thinking about all the good potential the church still holds and, perhaps most inspirationally, how we as a faith community can grow beyond and despite our mistakes.

Rahab (A Winehouse Parody of Biblical Proportions)

Inspired by our recent Biblical Literature readings and borrowing the tune of "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse, I wrote this song about the prostitute Rahab from the Book of Joshua.

This is from the perspective of the two spies, who were obviously singing on their way back to Jericho.

Best read along with this video:



We hid out by the wall with Rahab; then she said, "Go, go, go!"
Jericho's sacked now that we came back, you know, know, know
We ain't got much time; we said her family would be fine
We've gotta go back to save Rahab 'cause she's no foe, foe, foe

Josh led our siege a brand new way
It only took seven days
Six for marching,
For marching 'round the city
And then we yelled 'til walls began to sway

We burnt that city up real fast
Once it fell down from our priests' rams' horn blasts

We hid out by the wall with Rahab; then she said, "Go, go, go!"
Jericho's sacked now that we came back, you know, know, know
We ain't got much time; we said her family would be fine
We've gotta go back to save Rahab 'cause she's no foe, foe, foe

The King said, "Where'd they go from here?"
She said, "I got no idea.
Pursue them; pursue them out the gateway."
So the kings' men traveled far and near
She came and got us from the flax:
"Spare me from your siege once you're back."

We hid out by the wall with Rahab; then she said, "Go, go, go!"
Jericho's sacked now that we came back, you know, know, know

We Israelites trusted God again
Josh knew, ooh, Josh knew God's plan
It would only take one week
And everyone knows how this war ends

Even though we spied
Rahab helped us both to hide

We hid out by the wall with Rahab; then she said, "Go, go, go!"
Jericho's sacked now that we came back, you know, know, know
We ain't got much time; we said her family would be fine
We've gotta go back to save Rahab 'cause she's no foe, foe, foe

For Vinny: Prayers for a Mourning Friend

When I returned from Florida in January, I was waiting in the airport for my rescheduled flight when I met a man in mourning. Being in motion ourselves seems to allow us opportunities to encounter people in need of a consoling passerby.

Last week, I hurried out of my last class to prepare to catch another flight. I was cutting it close. Twenty steps beyond the classroom door, a young man sat on the floor outside of another classroom, his knees up and his head in his hands. Another student and I paused to check on him, and he explained that he just had a headache. We wished him well and let him be.

Within a minute I was down the stairs and out the building, finding another young man walking along the path in the other direction. If it hadn't been for the first man, crouched down and seemingly vulnerable, I may never have noticed the comparably subtle yet pained expression on this second man's face. Just a step past him by the time it registered, I turned and asked if he was all right.

"You don't even know me, and you care." He crumpled onto the pavement.

My cellphone, i.e. sacred time-keeper, had been in-hand to keep me on track. I put it away in my bag and sat down.

Even in hindsight, I can't tell if this was an experience of the Spirit simply overcoming me to care for another, or one in which I needed to bend my own will and halt my own frenzied spirit to heed a call. I only know that, for that moment, the man was Christ to me.

I won't easily forget his furrowed brow or fallen tears as he told me that he had lost his best friend, Sarah. He couldn't explain much beyond that, and for the most part, we let the silences speak for themselves.

Before we parted, I asked if he would like me to continue to pray for him - for peace, comfort, and strength at this difficult time, I said, when he hesitated. He agreed.

And so, with Vinny on my mind for almost a week now, I'm sharing this with others who might send hope and blessings his way, and into the atmosphere in general. What stays with me most about encountering Vinny is how much he seemed to hope that someone would find him, and how he seemed surprised that someone did.

Please keep Vinny and Sarah and their loved ones in your thoughts and prayers, as well as all those who feel alone or don't know whom to seek out. You never know when you might be the person they're seeking. And if you're struggling with something, anything, I pray you'll also find a listening ear just when you need one, be it God, a friend, a family member, or an unsuspecting passerby.

Peace to you.

The Reformation Polka

I WISH I had written this.

Martin Luther, meet Mary Poppins.



With thanks to Chris for showing this to me after mistakenly wondering if it had been one of my parodies.

Hell Is the Suffering of Being Unable to Love

God, forgive me. And forgive me, brothers and sisters, for I have sinned against you.

In the midst of it, I believe I have glimpsed hell.

I find it necessary to interject that in all of my encounters with dark nights of the soul or perceiving distance from God, I'm not sure I have ever had the sense that any one was a literally hellish experience.

They were pretty invariably disconcerting, painful, sad, confusing, and all-around not ideal. They hurt. When they did not just plain hurt, they left me feeling sort of hollow. ("Is nothingness light or heavy?") And yet there was always something suspiciously good lurking in the background.

Each time, I discovered - whether I came to the conclusion during the experience or only long afterward - that there was something extraordinarily good not only in the God who got me through the dark nights, but even in those seemingly grotesque dark nights themselves. Those "nights" reminded me of my humanity and the Divine's divinity. They helped me to relate genuinely to other hurting humans. They made me realize that my clearest experiences of grace and love were no less real to me just because my mood had changed. Apparently one need not "feel" God constantly in order to honor one's past (and future) encounters. That was news to me.

Yes, in God's mercy, even my most harrowing spiritual droughts ultimately bore fruit.

But there is one moment - at least one that stands out from any other - when I experienced what I can only describe as hell on earth.

I've long thought that the phrase "hell on earth" best described the dangerous, poor living conditions inflicted on the oppressed persons of the world, and perhaps that is still the case. I have been fortunate enough in this life not to believe that I can gauge the hellishness of true social and systemic injustices. That may be an analytical exploration for another time.

But that isn't the sort of hellishness I'm talking about now. I'm referring, rather, to Fyodor Dostoevsky's hell:

"Fathers and teachers, I ponder, 'What is hell?'
I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love."

-Father Zosima, The Brothers Karamazov

On a few occasions, I worshipped in a certain church in which I felt generally uncomfortable - theologically (different interpretations, teachings, and priorities than my home-churches'), liturgically (different style, content, and vocabulary), and spatially (different physical and social atmosphere). Considering how ecumenical I am in my approach to many church matters, this extraordinary discomfiture alone made a significant impact on me. It scared me and fascinated me.

During one particular service, the sermon wrenched my heart. To the gathered community, it may not have been remarkable; it may have been legitimately inspiring and galvanizing. To me, it was nearly unrecognizable as a Christian teaching, and I felt spiritually distanced from some of my fellow Christ-followers.

After the message came perhaps my favorite practice: Communion. But there was one problem. I was still so angry.

"But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be
liable to judgement; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable
to the council; and if you say, 'You fool,' you will be liable to the hell of fire.
So when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother
or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go;
first be reconciled to your brother or sister, and then come and offer your gift."

-Matthew 5:22-24 NRSV

My first anger-induced inclination might have been to refuse Communion - something I had never done before - because of those who blessed it that day.

This quickly dissolved into a more realistic, less self-righteous realization: I could not accept Communion in that moment because of the anger within me. As though to deny me the indulgence of letting my non-participation slip by unnoticed, by the time it reached my seat, the plate bearing Christ's Body was empty.

As the usher disappeared in pursuit of a filled plate, I wondered what I should do when he returned. Surely he would remember that the fed had ended with the one before me, and instead of the plate being passed along my row for me to decline quietly, he would extend it directly to me. Would I still refuse?

For a moment, I feared that he would take it personally. I got over that quickly enough and passed the refreshed plate.

But the weeping and gnashing of teeth, deep in my being, refused to cease.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend into heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in hell,* behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the morning,
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there Your hand shall lead me,
And Your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall fall on me,"
Even the night shall be light about me;
Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You,
But the night shines as the day;
The darkness and the light are both alike to You.

-Psalm 139:7-8 NKJV

* Here other translations read: "the depths" or "Sheol." A discussion for another day.


In my rebellion and inadequacy, I may have been tempted to believe that I had - if only inadvertently - escaped God's love. But I had not.

The love of God sought me out in my hell. It was the love of God which far surpassed my own frail attempts to love, and nevertheless met me where I had entrenched myself. For even when I could summon no love in myself for this Otherness, the Holy Spirit - in that unrelenting, no-nonsense sort of love - convicted my heart.

If God had not come with me to my hell, I fear I would not have known how to climb out of it nor remember that there was even an alternative to it. The weeping and gnashing of teeth in my core meant that I craved the love I still knew could be. Only that unconditional love, willing to reveal itself to me in the unlikely place, my undeserving state, could show me what pained me and what I must do.

And I realized then, as I passed the Communion elements along without partaking, that God was calling me to do what I honestly dreaded: love those - yes, even those - whom I find so difficult to love.

Familiar words? Of course they were. I was a Christian, after all... wasn't I? But oh, what that call meant to me in that moment! Never had I been so angry - so hopelessly, helplessly, irreparably angry; so willing to refuse to take part in a community; so determined to disagree, to declare that they said they followed Christ yet surely they were doing it wrong!

Never before had I found myself so incapable of granting grace, and in such desperate need of receiving it.

Whatever You Do

My dear friend's church is one of those which has endured major damage from Hurricane Irene. I offer up this hymn as a prayer for their community and for all those affected by severe weather, systemic problems, and other difficult circumstances - and as a prayer for all those in the position to serve them.

May you realize the blaze of light in even your darkest situation. May you realize the magnitude of the light you have to share.

Blessings, all.

---

"Whatever You Do"
(by Carolyn Winfrey Gillette,
inspired by Matthew 25:31-46)

"Whatever you do to the least ones of these,
I tell you in truth that you do unto me!"
Lord Jesus, you taught us! May we learn anew
That when we serve others, we also serve you.

When poor, waiting children pray hunger will end,
When those long-forgotten cry out for a friend,
When thirsty ones whisper, "O Lord, where are you?"
We hear, in their longing, that you’re calling, too.

In prisons and jails, Lord, we find a surprise;
We see you in people whom others despise.
At hospital bedsides we offer a prayer
And find, when we visit the sick, you are there.

When we reach to others in flood-stricken lands
And offer our hearts there, and offer our hands--
We notice, Lord Jesus, the gift of your grace:
We see, in the crowds of the suffering, your face.

"Lord, when did we see you?" Your teaching is clear
That when we serve others, we're serving you here.
And when your church heeds you and helps those in pain,
Then out of the chaos, hope rises again.


Lyrics by Carolyn Winfrey Gillette
Copyright © 2008
Photo of Carolyn from http://www.hymntime.com/

A Few of My Favorite Things

Because romping around in song à la Julie Andrews might be all it takes to embrace the beginning of a new school year like taking hold of an ice cream cone (and distract us momentarily from the barrage of natural disasters already heralding the season).



Crisp spines on textbooks and fine marginalia
Matriculation and profs in regalia
History lectures on prophets and kings
These are a few of my favorite things!

Reading and writing and researching papers
Footnotes and endnotes and hoarding the staplers
Bibliographic citations that sing
These are a few of my favorite things!

Worship in chapel with good-humored preachers
Old bathroom sinks with nice new non-splash features
Ready to take on intensives in spring
These are a few of my favorite things!

When the cold bites, when the grade stings,
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad!

Mercies in Disguise

It is with great sadness that I write that our seminary community has lost a wonderful student, classmate, and friend, Esquire. She extended a warm welcome to me during my first campus visit and helped me figure out that Drew was, in fact, to be my new home. She had a beautiful smile and a strong spirit, which energized and inspired the community. Her absence will be all too noticeable as we return in the fall.

The last time that I saw Esquire was a chance meeting at Seminary Hall; I was taking an intensive course over the break. As we talked, I told her how good it was to see her and how much we missed having her there. That conversation is even more unforgettably poignant to me now; it remains a reminder to me not to leave these simple and yet important things unsaid.


This Sunday, I'll be singing the song "Blessings" in church. It's a wonderful piece that first found me at just the right time (while I was driving along the Interstate, as it were) and spoke to me loud and clear just when so much seemed confusing and unsure.

And so, at this time of mourning, I would like to offer a prayer of gratitude and hope. I believe that sometimes it is the most difficult experiences during which we are most healed, guided, and strengthened, perhaps in ways we do not even understand. And I also believe that we may, for a period, perceive distance from God or question God's will and character before we can (re-)embrace the fullness of the Spirit within us.

My prayer comes in the form of these lyrics written by Laura Story. I will share this piece now and on Sunday in memory of Esquire and in honor of all who still struggle with loss, uncertainty, and the trials of an earthly life. May we be ever more open to God's grace and healing.

(Photos above by Sungchun Ahn, posted to the Drew Worship album, Fall 2010.)




We pray for blessings, we pray for peace
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep
We pray for healing, for prosperity
We pray for Your mighty hand to ease our suffering

All the while You hear each spoken need
Yet love is way too much to give us lesser things

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near?

What if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love
As if every promise from Your Word is not enough

And all the while You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near?

And what if trials of this life
Are Your mercies in disguise?

When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not, this is not our home
It's not our home

'Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears?
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You're near?

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
This world can't satisfy?

And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?

Lyrics and music by Laura Story
© New Spring Publishing

Give Up Everything You Have

This comic by David "Naked Pastor" Hayward, "graffiti artist on the walls of religion," explores the idea that we may need to be willing to relinquish more than our physical means in order to be at peace with God.


"Trash Your Theology"

Of course, Hayward and some of his readers discovered a rather meta loop, unable to avoid theologizing about the possibility of relinquishing one's theology. But the significant point remains: that if we go so far as to ascertain that our own understandings each somehow fall short of Ultimate Truth, it seems inevitable that there will need to be some sort of adjustment involved before either we embrace Truth or Truth embraces us... whatever the case may be.

The most common interpretations of Jesus' command for someone to give up everything and follow him are to leave behind one's former work or personal life (the first disciples, for instance) or to sell one's possessions (the wealthy man who received exactly that word of guidance).

Certainly, material and monetary accumulation and major shifts in one's path are all worthwhile topics for discussion and self-reflection. These matters are more profound than self-denial or suffering. Loss of this nature opens up the possibility for an incredible gain. Consumer culture tends to teach us that the only good "loss" is weight loss. What little else are we readily willing to give up?

But simply put, as Lois A. Lindbloom writes, when we say "no" to one thing, we simultaneously say "yes" to something else, and vice versa (Cultivating Discernment As a Way of Life). I would extend that: when we say "no more" to one option - in habit or lifestyle, relationship or career, location or mindset - we simultaneously embrace something new, even if we aren't quite sure yet what it is.

So I find the idea of dying to self as an ideological liberation to be inspiring and perhaps less thoroughly explored terrain. The first time I noticed the concept articulated well was in the book Three Simple Rules: A Wesleyan Way of Living.

Author Rueben P. Job writes: "Are we ready to give up our most cherished possession - the certainty that we are right and others wrong?"


Questions for Discussion and Reflection:

What do you think you may need to shed before you can move on? Consider the physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual facets of your life.

Today, what might God be calling you to let go? ...to embrace?

Meditate or journal on your views about loss.

What do you think it would look like to attain a balance of trusting in what you believe to be true and giving up the certainty that you are right?

Respect the Differences

While preparing my materials for the coming year of youth ministry, I did some internet searches for discussion topics and stumbled across a list of suggested writing topics for teen penpals over at YouthOnline.ca.


Click to enlarge image.

The AmenAbility Lady in me just has to ask. Why is "spirituality" the only thing on here for which the compiler(s) thought it necessary to add a friendly reminder that penpals "respect the differences" between them?

I understand that spirituality is an intensely personal thing, but color me amused that there seems to be no general guidance offered at the get-go for people to be, say, generally respectful of one another.

Other suggested topics range from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Reality TV" to "Government change" and "War." Are they implying that they don't anticipate any political friction, no differences in opinion about Giles or the United Nations or Wherever's-Got-Talent?

Let's keep it real here, OK?


Now that's more like it.

On a related note... Hit it, Aretha!



I think if everyone belted this out upon waking each morning, the world just might be a better place...

An Open Letter to God

Hi God,

Driving along the Interstate one day, doing nothing particularly blessed or interesting or special at the time, I embraced a promise that I have been struggling to receive. This has been a difficult season in my life, sometimes for reasons even I do not understand, yet I know your love is strong, your intentions are good, and your joy and mercy will prevail.

You know in the last several years I have experienced strange variations of the so-called dark night of the soul, each time so unique in the way that I was aware of your absence and aware or unaware of your presence. I know that dark nights are not all that rare, and I'd figured each person's experiences are unique to them, but I never dreamt that one person could have such varied experiences under a common category. This year, the theme has been a sense of your absence and in the most bizarre way to me yet; with it came a deep sense, somewhere in me that I can't identify, in which I - thought, believed, heard, understood? - 'This' is important. This is not eternal; you will feel differently again. It is part, and only part, of the journey. Continue on it.



I had never been aware of your "distant presence" before. In the past, we have wrestled. I would try to pin you down and before I knew it you'd wriggle free, amorphous and magnificent as ever. You never seemed to want to pin me. You took more joy in the movement, the tumbling, the energy. Even when I was stubborn and doubtful and angry, you loved me; loved that I brought my questions and frustrations to you.

Later on, we wrestled again, but instead of actively participating, I broke away, wandered off. I didn't want to fight anymore. Unfortunately, it wasn't just that I didn't want to fight you, but also that I didn't want to fight for you. And while at the time I occasionally recreated the scene in my mind to show you as the one who walked out, it became clearer to me that, even in my longing for you and recent growth in you, it had been me who had to get away. It was soon after something of a spiritual transformation, simple and yet significant, and perhaps I was scared, or resistant, or even unsure that what I had discovered was real. And even when I thought I had dug myself into a pit, you reached in and swept me up into your arms. All I had to do was look up. There you were.

But this time, it has felt like you have withdrawn from me, even without truly abandoning me, and I still don't really know why.

Have you left this time? Or am I recreating the scene in my mind that way to spare myself the truth that I have strayed again? I have so many questions, and I find it difficult to bring them to you when I can't seem to tell where you are. I don't know how you will come back to me, or how I will come back to you, or why I'm in the midst of a dark night even as I keep finding myself to be where I ought to be.

And while I knew when this experience began that this is indeed part of the journey, part of what I must learn, whether so that I can do the work you would have me do or simply so that I can be the soul you intend for me to be - I think I "know" it now. Thank you.

Looking forward to this being more of a dialogue again. Wrestling match would suffice as well.

With love,
Kimmery

An Independence Day Prayer

In the midst of our celebrations for Independence Day, let us also embrace an attitude of reflection and a spirit of growth.

Here is a prayer of confession from a July 3, 2011 service at a United Methodist Church. I found it poignant and pertinent.

Peace and blessings, everyone.


Source

Dear God, we read our Declaration of Independence with humility today:

We have proven unworthy of freedom and equality, and of having and sharing the rights to life, liberty, and happiness.

We accused Britain of refusing to pass laws to encourage migration to our shores,
but we have done the same thing.

We accused Britain of depriving prisoners of a trial by jury,
but we have done the same thing.

We accused Britain of quartering large bodies of armed troops among us,
but we have done the same thing to others.

We accused Britain of economic tyranny and greed,
and now we see these same forces in ourselves.

We accused the Native Americans of undistinguished destruction,
but we have poisoned the trees and plants of Vietnam.

We accused Britain of aggression and violence,
but we, too, have not always chosen the path of peace.

Dear Lord, You have so richly blessed us,
and, at our best, we have responded to your abundant grace.
Have mercy on us, and heal our blindness and self-deceit,
especially in this time of prayer.

Amen.

A Girl's Best Friend, Anglican Style

It's been a while since I've posted one of my own song parodies, but I have a special treat for you.

Apparently the apple doesn't fall far from the ministerial tree -

I've just been notified that one of my former ministers and great mentors, the priest from an Episcopal Church I attended regularly over 10 years ago, is a parody lyricist.

This is rather how I imagine it would be to discover a hidden part of my family tree, thus clearing up some unexplained genetics. Really. This explains a lot.

But it gets better. She's not only written lyrics but has also taken it to the next level... and recorded a video.

So without further ado: "The Prayerbook Is A Girl's Best Friend." (Didn't you know that?)



Written and performed by Rev. Suzanne Guthrie (lyrics found here), based upon "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

She puts me to shame. I think I need to step up my song parodies.

Thanks for the inspiration, Rev!

Top 3 Myths About Immigration

A friend of mine recently found this video on myths about immigration. Prof. Ben Powell of Suffolk University speaks very articulately on some of the issues I addressed in an earlier post (Do I Look Illegal?). He offers helpful explanations and illustrations as to why a few of the most common myths of immigration are, indeed, myths.

Check out the video below:

This is How You Deal with Prejudice

Reginald Rose's 12 Angry Men, to which I last alluded in a post called 12 Angry Seminarians: On Diversity, is among my favorite works tackling prejudice. Brilliant play and film.

Just check out this short scene, which packs a lot of punch on its own merit:



Ed Begley, portraying the incredible (and yes, quite angry) Juror #10 in the above clip (1957) acts commendably here. His character's actions, on the other hand, are nothing short of detestable.

But I think it's worth discussing how easy it is to pin blame on certain people, to label some as bigots and assume that everyone else loves and supports diversity and says and does nothing to perpetuate stereotypes, intolerance, and double-standards. And this is by no means meant to condemn everyone or those who condemn bigotry, but rather to illuminate the complexity of the issue.

When we villify someone on the basis of that person's prejudice, is our judgment ever justified? If so, when, and if not, why not?

If you had been among the jurors in this scene, would you have responded to #10 in the same way? What would you have done or said differently?

---

If you haven't seen/read 12 Angry Men, click here to see the full film online or here to find the book on Amazon.

An Open Letter to Harold Camping

(the man for whom May 21, 2011 marks Judgment Day)

---

Dear Mr. Camping,


"I establish my covenant with you: Never again
will all life be cut off by the waters of a flood; never again
will there be a flood to destroy the earth." (Genesis 9:11)

Discuss.


Sincerely,
Kimmery

Clinging to Hatred

I just read a really well-written post about hatred at the blog Christian Girl at College. It is particularly poignant in light of the complicated response to the death of Bin Laden.

Click here to read Midwesterndiva's thought-provoking post.


Image Source

And here is the response I wrote to her post and the subsequent comments, an interesting discussion on judgment and righteous anger/hatred:

At the risk of proof-texting and skipping around Bible verses in a way that does justice to none of them, this conversation reminds me of the warning against hypocrisy in Matthew 7:5 and Luke 6:42 - taking the plank out of one's own eyes before attempting to remove the speck in someone else's.

When we are called to hate evil, we are called to hate the evil in our own hearts and at our own hands just as much as we hate evil elsewhere. There is too high a price for assigning a point system based on human understanding of which acts are more evil and thus which people are more evil.

If we justify our hatred of people who have murdered and terrorized, perhaps we are not as different as we think from those who justified their hatred of the people they then murdered and terrorized. This frightens me, yes, and it is difficult to look at my own life and realize that even if I have never killed another person, I have certainly been angry with others and perhaps unjustly so. The best I can do is to reconcile that in myself and strive to live out the love I have unduly received.

Passover Animated: If Moses Had Internet

My home-church often has a seder to commemorate Jesus' final Passover and Christianity's Jewish roots. This year Passover will begin at sunset on April 18th, so here's something to get you in the spirit over the course of this next week...

Or just to geek out over an animated retelling of Exodus. Either one.

The Con Man: Hell Is All There Is

Check out this great piece from Six Sentences, a blog of creative submissions, each only six sentences long.

This one by David Blanton is an interesting follow-up to my recent "Overheard" post about one view of hell.

"Conning came natural to me. When I was 13, I met the man who would change my life, a con artist who called me Adam even though that's not my name..." Read more.

Shane Claiborne and The Simple Way

This is a chapel service at Drew (February 2011) in which the community welcomed activist and author Shane Claiborne to speak about his prophetic ministry, "The Simple Way."

I should have shared these videos in the first place, so please pretend that I'm not just posting them because I'm currently working on an assignment about Claiborne (and because I'm not signing into facebook during Lent, getting the codes to post these videos on AmenAbility was the best vaguely-facebookless way for me to review them!).

No, this service is worth sharing. I have mixed thoughts on Claiborne and his ministerial work, and I'm still struggling through this very short yet somehow agonizing assignment, but Claiborne has managed to work his way into several interesting conversations with colleagues and with others outside of Drew.

So see for yourself. What do you think?

And now excuse me while I go and write my pretend-letter homework.

Why Don't You Want to Pray?

Wisdom from the film Then She Found Me (2007)


Source

This is not an extraordinarily memorable film, but I do appreciate the following scene in particular. Beautiful exploration of one's relationship to - and distance from - God, especially in times of fear, anger, and frustration.

At the hospital, April (Helen Hunt) is preparing for in vitro fertilization. Her mother Bernice (Bette Midler) accompanies her. It has been established that April is a practicing Jew and Bernice is essentially agnostic.

Bernice [to April]: "Do you want to pray?" [to the medical staff, smiling] "She does that. She prays." [to April] "Want to say a little prayer or something?"

April [curtly]: "No."

Bernice [to the staff]: "I'm so sorry to interrupt..."

April: "What is the matter with you?"

Bernice [to the staff]: "Could you, uh, give us a minute?"

April: "Bernice! Listen to me. Right now."

Bernice: "I know, I'm sorry. Just a minute."

Doctor: "Just find us when you're ready. We'll be around." [Staff exit.]

April [to Bernice, annoyed]: "What?"

Bernice: "Why don't you want to pray?"

April: "What do you care?"

Bernice: "I don't. I don't give a s---. But you do. You told me that. You pray before you eat a bowl of spaghetti! And now, right before you do the most important thing you'll do in your life, suddenly you're not interested?"

April: "This is none of your business." [She walks across the room, but Bernice blocks her.] "Get out of my way."

Bernice: "Say a prayer with me and I will."

April: "I don't want to pray."

Bernice [gently]: "One stupid little prayer."

April: "No." [Bernice blocks her again.] "Move!"

Bernice: "Maybe you just don't want it enough."

April: "You have no idea how badly I want this."

Bernice: "Then why won't you pray? Why?"

April: "Because I'm not going to hand this wish over to some..." [pause] "...whatever it is - who's supposed to be loving. Who..." [silence, then whispers weakly] "I had faith in. I thought... God was... good."

Bernice [gently]: "Maybe God is..."

April: "What?"

Bernice: "Difficult. Awful. Complicated."

April: "Like me?" [pauses in full realization of a past error] "I took the one man on earth who's right for me and I dropped him on his head."

Bernice: "Right. You did."

Just before the procedure, April sings the Shema, a beautiful prayer in Hebrew, thus beginning a journey of reconciliation - with God, with others, and with herself.

Overheard in Madison: Hell Is...

Bits of a conversation I overheard in town today.

Note that all use of the word "you" was implied not to mean the listener, but a generic, indiscriminate person.

Teen to Adult: "But the thing with me is, I don't believe in God. I don't believe you're going to heaven or hell. I believe your belief is a choice. And if you believe in God, I respect that. . . . I believe there's a heaven, a hell and a purgatory. And hell is where you live in your nightmares, and purgatory is neutral."


Source

The teen never did give an idea of what heaven might be. I think this is a theology in progress.

Love Wins in The Shoes of Happiness

Today Bob Edgar of Common Cause came to speak to our Ministry in Non-Parish Settings class. He was a great speaker with many quotes and words of wisdom to share. I'd like to pass along this one.

This is a poem called "Outwitted" by Edwin Markham, from The Shoes of Happiness, and Other Poems (1913):

He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.


Image Source

We Didn't Start the Fire: Church Edition

Billy Joel wrote his song because he originally wanted to be a history teacher.

I wrote this parody song because I suspect we've already covered more people and events in the 500 years of Church History II than we did in all 1500 years of Church History I.

This one goes out to theo students and churchgoers everywhere.

Best appreciated along with the video of the original "We Didn't Start the Fire" (I chose the one with the lyrics in case you'd like to sing along with Joel's version, too):



John Wycliffe, Jan Hus, Calvin, and Erasmus
Ulrich Zwingli, Luther's Theses, 1517
Johann Tetzel, humanism, Institutes of the Religion
Augsburg, Zurich, Marburg, Munster, Wittenberg's the scene

Menno Simons' Mennonites, T'resa's Discalced Carmelites
William Farel, Dentiere, England's Book of Common Prayer
Church of England splits off, Catholic Pope is ticked off
Edward's king at nine years old (he was Henry's male heir)

(Chorus)

Thomas Muntzer, Peasants' War, Thomas Cranmer, Thomas More
Anabaptists, Conrad Groebel, St. John of the Cross
Thomas Coke, George Blaurock, Argula von Grumbach
Richard Hooker, John Mott, France gets Huguenots

Plague spread by street rats, Communion causes Christian spats
Battles about liturgy: Queen Liz plays the referee
King James Bible, John Knox, Margaret Fell weds George Fox
Quakers pray - in PA; at the meetings no one talks

(Chorus)

Madison, Jefferson, and the Presbyterians
Puritan Commonwealth, Zinzendorf in ill health
Philip Spener, Pietism, Wesley brothers, Methodism
Church Revivals raising zeal; Edwards' words are working well

Independents, Baptists, Brown-Blackwell, Berry-Smith
Melchior Hoffman, J. Gresham Machen
Lott Carey, John Murray, Circuit Riders, Asbury
Whitefield's people praise him, even Franklin pays him

(Chorus)

Helen Kim, Reverdy Ransom, girls think Billy Sunday's handsome
Moody, Finney, journal of Jarena Lee
Cane Ridge and Azusa Street, Baptist congregations meet
Allen founds the AME, Varick adds to that a Z

Winthrop, Rauschenbusch, Willard gives girls' rights a push
Each school day, kids must pray; what else do I have to say?

(Chorus)

Social gospel, Lottie Moon (this song will be over soon)
Cartwright starts right; known to preach and fight
Shailer, Taylor, Prosser, Liele (progress sure can take a while)
Roger Williams, Modernists, Oberlin Perfectionists

Fundamentals, worship trends, changes at the Vatican
Dead Sea Scrolls, Rahner, Barth, World Council, Kierkegaard
Missionaries on new shores, schisms beckon at the door,
Now for all new holy wars, I can't take it anymore

(Repeat Chorus)

And God Said, "Abracadabra!"

In celebration of AmenAbility's 100th post, behold! A fun (illustrated) fact:

The phrase "abracadabra" is derived from the Aramaic abra (אברה) and cadabra (כדברא), meaning, "I would create as I spoke."



In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth,
the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep,
while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.
Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light.

Genesis 1:1-3 NRSV

From the Mouths of Babes

Source

At an afterschool program in a rough Yonkers neighborhood, the children typically spent their free time outdoors in the parking lot on fair-weathered afternoons.

One day, two students picked leaves and grass and the odd flower from an incongruous bit of green encroaching on the disrupted pavement around a rotted out stump. One young girl took my arm and pointed to the stone wall topped with iron bars and railings, which enclosed their unequipped playground.

"Do you know why that's there?" she said; "Somebody was shot. They died." Then, without further explanation, she took some more grass back to her makeshift garden on the greenless end of the parking lot.

The children were not oblivious to the world beyond the protective fence, nor were they unaware of what was lacking in the small lot where they played.

They sought earth-space. They longed for an environment that could sustain life; sustain peace.

Ten Rules of Peace

Peace activist Father John Dear has been arrested 75 times in acts of civil disobedience, and Archbishop Desmond Tutu has nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize.




Ten Rules of Peace
according to Fr. John Dear, based upon the work of Henri Nouwen

1. Peace-making starts with prayer. Let Jesus disarm your heart.

2. Peace-making requires resistance to war and violence.

3. Peace-making creates community.

4. Peace-making requires serving the poor and marginalized.

5. Peace-making means accepting weakness.

6. Peace-making requires nonviolence.

7. Peace-making demands social justice.

8. Peace-making makes connections.

9. Peace-making leads to gratitude.

10. Peace-makers follow a nonviolent peace-making Jesus. Jesus was not passive.


Fr. John Dear is an excellent speaker and author who spoke at Drew last semester. Check out his website at FatherJohnDear.org and his autobiography entitled A Persistent Peace, among his other works.

God is in the Detours

My alma mater, Sarah Lawrence College, has unique course registration methods which sometimes work in a student's favor, but usually only if the student has recently sacrificed a rack of veggie burgers on the grill behind Westlands. (Now you know the real reason for all those orientation BBQ picnics.)

Alas, in my sophomore year I was bumped from the apparently popular course called Psychoneuroimmunology, which had taken me a substantial chunk of the summer to learn how to pronounce... so it's probably for the best that I didn't get to take it. Still, I suspect that I would have (blissfully and ignorantly) enjoyed it, because I'd bought some of the textbooks in advance and started reading early. This, in light of my procrastinating nature, was downright miraculous.

Being bumped sort of popped the miracle bubble.

Reluctantly, I returned my orphaned books and began the well-loathed ritual of Alternate Registration. I revisited the course listings, jotting down feasible second choices. Possibly the most fear-inducing part of this process is that registration takes place the week before classes begin, and by the time Alternate Registration rolls around, you have both fewer options and less time until term. Not uber conducive, I feared, to good decision-making.

I eventually narrowed it down to two courses, including a philosophy course called "Language and Religious Experience." The title hummed back at me from the page, like a fiendish zombie or a frustrated teenager (obviously interchangeable): Take meeeeeeeeee.


Source

It drooled. Or I drooled. I'm not really sure. Anyway, it suddenly sounded especially interesting, and the very fact that both of my remaining options were each somehow theological in nature (and I'd not yet studied anything of the like) sort of whacked me upside the head with insight.

Okay, God, I get it.

Ultimately I decided that this two-and-a-half-hour, 8:30 AM class would be well worth it.

Mind-blowing academia aside, it certainly left me with a few quotable gems, like this one from a discussion on humans' "sense of time," and the student was entirely serious and unaware of what he was saying (TO OUR PROFESSOR) until it was out:

"Sometimes time seems to go by very quickly and other times it moves very slowly. Like this class is two and half hours long, but it feels like forever."

Beat. Laughter. Yeah, it was a good time.

But most significantly, I gained vivid understandings of ideas that had absolutely baffled me, particularly the doctrine of the trinity and the duality of Jesus' humanity and divinity. By the end of the course, I still couldn't articulate it for beans. Yet there was a distinct time of growth in my spirituality, mostly toward reconciling intellect and mystery of faith.

The irony is that these are exactly the sort of topics (and then some) with which I am struggling now in my theology program.

Sometimes we have to take multiple detours.

And all the while, there is a pervasive sense that any such pain truly is an aspect of growth, that this is just one step in a complex process. Like wanting to loathe the detour of Alternate Registration, yet knowing in my core that I'm headed to where I must be.