it’s funny how in the midst of such beautiful chaos I am occasionally given or latch onto such small, comforting anchors. I haven’t a clue what to do after graduation, but I know the city of Philadelphia has wiggled its way into my heart. I know this. When asked to describe my dream job, my mind still catapults ideas in countless different directions, but there is one thing I do know. I know that I want to give communion. big whoop, you say. you already hold the bread or the cup sometimes, that counts, right? you say.
No, it is deeper than those things. I want to issue that invitation. I want to stand there and break the bread and pour the wine and tell over and over the story of the soul food Jesus shared with his disciples. I want to invite people into the ultimate communion—with God, themselves, and their neighbors. I want to invite people to the deepest way of ‘coming home’, I want to play hostess to the most important meal.
I keep coming back to this invitation as a song, for some reason. I want to spend my life singing that song, that song of invitation and inclusion and hospitality. If I did nothing else in this life—if I never picked up another paintbrush or theological text or stick of charcoal, if I never committed my life to a good man or had children, if I never got published—if I simply were allowed to ‘write out loud’ the Lover’s call to the table…
If I could do that, I would feel as if I had fulfilled at least part of the reason I was created.
And that’s the kind of realization that rings deep and true in the pit of your stomach, the kind of moment that rings clear and loud like church bells on Christmas morning. It’s unarguable in its clarity, and for me, anyway, is a really huge thing to say, to put down in words.
that kind of knowing, i wish for you,
becca
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
loss of indifference
Indifference is worse than evil itself. (Wiesel, I think)
I have been indifferent about politics (among other things) for most of my life. I thought that all politicians were sleazy manipulative liars. I thought most of our laws are set up to advance capitalism, but these laws never affected the nitty-gritty of how I lived my life, so I didn’t care if they passed this law or that one. I began to feel embarrassed about this around the 2004 election; several of my friends had fiercely held convictions about which candidate was better, which issues mattered, etc. I was overwhelmed by how much I would have to learn to catch up, to participate in conversations, so I shut down. I didn’t vote. I didn’t care. I began to care when we invaded Iraq, and when the validity of using torture was actually debated. But still, I was mostly indifferent. I allowed opinionated friends to tug at my heartstrings here and there, but I avoided the myriad of talks given at seminary and the university that had anything to do with all of the ‘hot topics’ associated with politics—abortion, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the war, healthcare, etc.
I became less indifferent when it came to ‘hot topics’ within the church when I was living in the U.K. a few years ago. A pastor there, recently returned from a mission trip to Sierra Leone, ended his sermon by saying, “We cannot continue to sit in our air-conditioned board rooms and debate the ordination of women and homosexuals, or when personhood begins, when little girls are having their genitals torn to ribbons and shreds.” (I’m paraphrasing). It still hurts me to remember those words, because I am so sensitive to images, it hurts to think of that being the reality for so many young girls. But the power of preaching is that it allows the disrupting voice of God to speak through carefully chosen words, even if those words are upsetting and painful. I will never forget those words, that image. And the truth of that challenge influences everything I do in regards to how I participate in the Church.
Despite this jolting from indifference in religio-social topics, my indifference to the world of politics remained. That is, until the first time I heard Sarah Palin speak. The more she spoke and the more I read about her and this election the more truly scared I became. She (and the more I observed John McCain in the debates) began to represent every politician who lived and fulfilled his or her duties like pitbulls with lipstick on—cutthroat and manipulative, smiling as he or she twisted the knife deeper.
As Cornell West spoke last night, so incredibly eloquently, about indifference, racism, politics, possibility for change, oppression, and love (among other things), I realized why I had stayed indifferent so long, and why the habit of indifference is still ingrained in me. West described addicts as those people who feel things so deeply that they can’t take it; they have to escape the sensitivity and intensity through other means. He said they were like “an orange without a peel”.
I have remained indifferent because the weight of pain and horror from the wounds we have inflicted on each other is too much. I have remained indifferent because I am afraid of the intensity of anger I would feel in the face of the systemic oppression and hatred that has been condoned and endorsed by our government, Church, and individuals (complicit or otherwise). I am afraid of that un-harnessed sadness, of that boundless anger. I am afraid of being so overwhelmed by those feelings that I’ll become paralyzed. And more afraid that I’ll be overwhelmed by those feelings and actually take a step forward in the hope of change, do something that gets me into trouble, the kind of trouble other prophets and protesters have gotten into. I also too easily write off hope as mere optimism. I forget that hope and love are weighty, concrete things, concepts that involve joy as well as disappointment, concepts that should be more than concepts (“Justice is when love becomes action”-West) but real decisions and actions that bear up the poor, the weak, the abused, the sick.
What would you do if every act of injustice irreparably broke your heart? What would you do if you found out that hope and love are living, breathing agents that stir you to enact justice wherever you could, as the spirit leads?
Would you preach? Would you vote? Would you get involved in an organization that spends its time knocking on the doors of powerful, influential people to get their attention, to educate them about the injustices that cannot continue, injustices that are happening right under their noses? Would you ask for forgiveness? Would you extend it?
What would you do? The time is now. The phrases “I have come to make a way in the wilderness…” and “I have come to proclaim release for the captive…” come to mind. The time is now.
a jolting word, i wish for you,
becca
I have been indifferent about politics (among other things) for most of my life. I thought that all politicians were sleazy manipulative liars. I thought most of our laws are set up to advance capitalism, but these laws never affected the nitty-gritty of how I lived my life, so I didn’t care if they passed this law or that one. I began to feel embarrassed about this around the 2004 election; several of my friends had fiercely held convictions about which candidate was better, which issues mattered, etc. I was overwhelmed by how much I would have to learn to catch up, to participate in conversations, so I shut down. I didn’t vote. I didn’t care. I began to care when we invaded Iraq, and when the validity of using torture was actually debated. But still, I was mostly indifferent. I allowed opinionated friends to tug at my heartstrings here and there, but I avoided the myriad of talks given at seminary and the university that had anything to do with all of the ‘hot topics’ associated with politics—abortion, Israeli-Palestinian conflict, the war, healthcare, etc.
I became less indifferent when it came to ‘hot topics’ within the church when I was living in the U.K. a few years ago. A pastor there, recently returned from a mission trip to Sierra Leone, ended his sermon by saying, “We cannot continue to sit in our air-conditioned board rooms and debate the ordination of women and homosexuals, or when personhood begins, when little girls are having their genitals torn to ribbons and shreds.” (I’m paraphrasing). It still hurts me to remember those words, because I am so sensitive to images, it hurts to think of that being the reality for so many young girls. But the power of preaching is that it allows the disrupting voice of God to speak through carefully chosen words, even if those words are upsetting and painful. I will never forget those words, that image. And the truth of that challenge influences everything I do in regards to how I participate in the Church.
Despite this jolting from indifference in religio-social topics, my indifference to the world of politics remained. That is, until the first time I heard Sarah Palin speak. The more she spoke and the more I read about her and this election the more truly scared I became. She (and the more I observed John McCain in the debates) began to represent every politician who lived and fulfilled his or her duties like pitbulls with lipstick on—cutthroat and manipulative, smiling as he or she twisted the knife deeper.
As Cornell West spoke last night, so incredibly eloquently, about indifference, racism, politics, possibility for change, oppression, and love (among other things), I realized why I had stayed indifferent so long, and why the habit of indifference is still ingrained in me. West described addicts as those people who feel things so deeply that they can’t take it; they have to escape the sensitivity and intensity through other means. He said they were like “an orange without a peel”.
I have remained indifferent because the weight of pain and horror from the wounds we have inflicted on each other is too much. I have remained indifferent because I am afraid of the intensity of anger I would feel in the face of the systemic oppression and hatred that has been condoned and endorsed by our government, Church, and individuals (complicit or otherwise). I am afraid of that un-harnessed sadness, of that boundless anger. I am afraid of being so overwhelmed by those feelings that I’ll become paralyzed. And more afraid that I’ll be overwhelmed by those feelings and actually take a step forward in the hope of change, do something that gets me into trouble, the kind of trouble other prophets and protesters have gotten into. I also too easily write off hope as mere optimism. I forget that hope and love are weighty, concrete things, concepts that involve joy as well as disappointment, concepts that should be more than concepts (“Justice is when love becomes action”-West) but real decisions and actions that bear up the poor, the weak, the abused, the sick.
What would you do if every act of injustice irreparably broke your heart? What would you do if you found out that hope and love are living, breathing agents that stir you to enact justice wherever you could, as the spirit leads?
Would you preach? Would you vote? Would you get involved in an organization that spends its time knocking on the doors of powerful, influential people to get their attention, to educate them about the injustices that cannot continue, injustices that are happening right under their noses? Would you ask for forgiveness? Would you extend it?
What would you do? The time is now. The phrases “I have come to make a way in the wilderness…” and “I have come to proclaim release for the captive…” come to mind. The time is now.
a jolting word, i wish for you,
becca
Thursday, October 16, 2008
body apology
On my facebook page I posted this link yesterday; it's a poster contest for the National Organization of Women celebrating "Love Your Body Day". I thought some of the posters were really interesting. This site (which is one part gossip, one part fashion, one part women's interest issues) offered a follow-up blog to that contest and in it encouraged its staffers and readers to participate in 'Love Your Body Day' by writing short apologies to themselves for ways they haven't loved their bodies. Here is the specific entry about apologies: body apologies. Some of the responses are silly, or flippant. But some are touching and humbling. What would you apologize to your body about? Eating cheeseburgers? Cutting? Hating your nose? I think the exercise is a good one for us all, especially if we push ourselves to apologize about something specific. Think past "I'm sorry for thinking that we're fat" and more to something like "I'm sorry I let my obsession with how fat I felt ruin our senior prom".
Anyway, that's just a thought (and a challenge). I won't leave you to do it alone, though. This is one of my many body apologies to myself:
Body, I'm sorry I spent so, so long denying the fact that you are beautiful, lovely, and strong.
self-love, in all its forms, i wish for you,
becca
Monday, October 13, 2008
and this is grace...
...a reminder, lord, how we need so many reminders...
Taking my familiar spot in the balcony for chapel, flagellating my still-maturing self that too often procrastinates and undermines all things that move toward health and wholeness and happiness, I expected to be bored, or further frustrated. I expected to feel isolated and lonely, for who knows what reason. I expected to fall asleep because I could feel the caffeine draining away, could feel the edges of my alertness grow frayed and blurry.
I did not expect so many reminders. So many reasons, real, concrete, weighty reasons, that I have been placed on this particular chunk of earth. So many reminders as to why in the world I was created at all. I will leave you with two.
This is my story
This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long
This is my story
oh This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long
I did not expect to hear these simple words infused with such life and breath and color. I did not expect an old, old hymn to ring so deep, to feel so new.
I did not expect a sermon about stories. About THE story, about our stories, about how it all matters, and matters a lot. I did not expect to fall back in love with the words 'narrative', 'story', 'in the beginning', 'once upon a time', 'and then', 'the word'. I did not expect to experience, once again, the paradox of You speaking, the paradox being that You are both concrete and vague as hell, all at the same time. but I am getting a feel for it, I am learning what You sound like, You with Your cacophony of whispers.
prone to wander, we are. prone to getting lost in the confusion of our self-induced hells, we are.
and You are prone to reminding us, of our habits, of where the path is, of how You love us, with a patience that will baffle me forever.
amen (let-it-be-so).
Taking my familiar spot in the balcony for chapel, flagellating my still-maturing self that too often procrastinates and undermines all things that move toward health and wholeness and happiness, I expected to be bored, or further frustrated. I expected to feel isolated and lonely, for who knows what reason. I expected to fall asleep because I could feel the caffeine draining away, could feel the edges of my alertness grow frayed and blurry.
I did not expect so many reminders. So many reasons, real, concrete, weighty reasons, that I have been placed on this particular chunk of earth. So many reminders as to why in the world I was created at all. I will leave you with two.
This is my story
This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long
This is my story
oh This is my song
Praising my Savior
all the day long
I did not expect to hear these simple words infused with such life and breath and color. I did not expect an old, old hymn to ring so deep, to feel so new.
I did not expect a sermon about stories. About THE story, about our stories, about how it all matters, and matters a lot. I did not expect to fall back in love with the words 'narrative', 'story', 'in the beginning', 'once upon a time', 'and then', 'the word'. I did not expect to experience, once again, the paradox of You speaking, the paradox being that You are both concrete and vague as hell, all at the same time. but I am getting a feel for it, I am learning what You sound like, You with Your cacophony of whispers.
prone to wander, we are. prone to getting lost in the confusion of our self-induced hells, we are.
and You are prone to reminding us, of our habits, of where the path is, of how You love us, with a patience that will baffle me forever.
amen (let-it-be-so).
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
procrastination is every grad student's best friend
so, so true.
i'm experiencing a good deal of writer's block at the moment as I'm trying to write a short story for the first time in who knows how long. so, once again, in lieu of any original writing (despite that being the primary purpose of this blog), i'll share with you a poem/prayer that touched me recently. i'm not sure who wrote it.
We give thanks for our friends.
Our dear friends.
We anger each other.
We fail each other.
We share this sad earth, this tender life, this precious time.
Such richness. Such wildness.
Together we are blown about.
Together we are dragged along.
All this delight.
All this suffering.
All this forgiving life.
We hold it together.
Amen
an awareness of being held together by this community,
i wish for you,
becca
i'm experiencing a good deal of writer's block at the moment as I'm trying to write a short story for the first time in who knows how long. so, once again, in lieu of any original writing (despite that being the primary purpose of this blog), i'll share with you a poem/prayer that touched me recently. i'm not sure who wrote it.
We give thanks for our friends.
Our dear friends.
We anger each other.
We fail each other.
We share this sad earth, this tender life, this precious time.
Such richness. Such wildness.
Together we are blown about.
Together we are dragged along.
All this delight.
All this suffering.
All this forgiving life.
We hold it together.
Amen
an awareness of being held together by this community,
i wish for you,
becca
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