:: Love the Mystery ::

scattered divinities.

2012-02-09T22:59:00.000-08:00

To live like a monk
is to walk slowly
noticing the curvings of the earth,
the gentle swells of breathing grass.
A monk dwells in holy sacred syllables:
Latin and Hebrew and Greek--
Sounds that cannot be made sense of
but are known in the soul
as one knows breath
and darkness
and light.
She lingers, noticing
small miracles,
And touches relics
with ordinary fingertips
just to feel the life lived
pulsing beneath the threadbare surface.

To live like a monk
is to see the world as a church,
every moment a cloister
where great mysteries unfold.
The air is never empty
but heavy with the flapping
of great unseen wings
as angels move to the pulse of time
in a rhythm ancient and eternal.
To live as a monk is to feel
that soft brush of holiness
fluttering softly against human skin.
She makes no pronouncements or prophecies,
but curls her lips in a quiet smile
and sings soft indecipherable songs
of sweet divinities scattered everywhere.

be and be not afraid.

2011-05-09T21:36:00.000-07:00

Transitions are frightening places. After spending nearly two years journeying in ministry with one group of people, I had come to know them. Known their needs, their passions, their idiosyncrasies. Known how they connected with one another and with God. Saying goodbye to that community is harder than I can put into words, and moving on from a familiar place, with people I know and love is a painful process. I would be lying if I said, that I am not afraid.

But as I step toward the unfamiliar, even as I grieve what I am leaving behind, I am filled with hope. As I take this leap during the Easter season, I cannot help thinking of resurrection, of the new life that bursts out of grief and death. Through the clouds of my fear, I can see the flourishing possibilities of new opportunities. The miracle of getting to know, love and journey with new people.

Tracy Chapman sings, "Be and be not afraid to reach for heaven." These hope filled words, remind me to step out without fear, and to trust that the reaching will bring us closer to the beauty of God.

hope in the face of death.

2011-05-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

Both Kyle and I were on facebook last night after the news of Osama bin Laden's death was announced. We were both fascinated by the variety of responses. And this is not just the case with our circles of friends, but across the country-- as you can see from reading the variety of celeb reactions to the news here.

I have to say for the most part, I was really deeply touched by the way most people I know paused and thoughtfully reflected about what it means to celebrate the death of a fellow human being, even if that person is a dangerous criminal. As my seminary Professor Rev. Dr. Jay Johnson put it, there is an important "distinction between not being sorry someone is dead and celebrating that someone is dead." With the relief that there is one less terrorist leader in the world, should also come the realization that many many human lives have been lost, and the death of one more may not mean the end to violence, but may suggest that we are only perpetuating a cycle of death.

I've seen many reflections on what a Christian response to this death might be, including a silent candle-lit vigil for all the lives who have been lost, and many beautifully written prayers for peace. I've read many voices raising up the importance of responses of love and peace, even in the face of death and violence. I've read reminders that the Bible calls people of Christian faith to love enemies, and never rejoice over a fallen enemy. Many others have reminded me that we are called to be people of mercy and restorative, reconciling justice, rather than people of hatred, retaliation, or vengeance. Many others have recalled the words of great leaders like Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr. calling nations toward love and peace.

Another friend of mine who does not consider themselves to be religious, posted this wonderful article from the Huffington post. There the writer points out, "We will only have peace when we stop the cycle of jubilation over acts of violence." Which, I think is one of the most wise things I've read in the past 24 hours.

”I will mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that" is actually the quote I have seen re-posted more than any other by friends and acquaintances. That fact gives me hope for the future of our country. The thoughtful theological reflections and prayers that reveal insight into a Kingdom of God where death should never win, also gives me hope for the Christian church. And that so many people from so many different perspectives are taking pause to reflect, rather than celebrating death (even the death of a terrible man), gives me hope for the world.

Perhaps, love wins after all.

day 34 - threaded.

2011-04-16T23:27:00.000-07:00

In a few weeks, I will be finishing my time at the church that has been my ministry setting for nearly two years. As I approach this ending, and look with anticipation and excitement toward a new beginning, I feel so deeply touched by the relationships I have been blessed with. The young people at Trinity Lutheran Church are some of the most amazing people I have ever met. I have been so lucky to laugh with them, learn and serve beside them, worship with them, listen to their stories, and just be a witness to the amazing presence of God in each of them.

Over the last few years, and most especially the last few weeks, I have been able to share some incredible experiences. What I've been noticing lately, is how it has so little to do with the program. I mean, it is important to put time in care into planning worship and other experiences so that they have meaning. Planning is a central part to any healthy ministry. But the real beauty is in the unplanned moments. Staying up late laughing and talking about nothing and everything with Jr. High girls in a cabin. Eating pizza at Cal's campus or exploring bookstores with the High Schoolers. Those moments over coffee where we somehow move from talking about our favorite movie, to a funny story, to the deepest parts of ourselves and our faith.

In ministry, I learn more and more that my deepest regrets are not the times that didn't go according to plan, but the times I planned too much-- especially at the beginning of my ministry. Like so many ministers, I felt so much pressure to find the right program... I wish I hadn't so often forgotten that packing in games and programs and discussion topics and worrying if they would be well received, achieves little compared to just being with people. Listening to them, laughing with them, learning from them. In the end, ministry is the relationships we built, not the program we planned. I seem to be learning over and over that E. M. Forster's simple words, "Only connect," is the deepest truth of all.

So, for two years we have journeyed together, and now our lives are threaded together. I will feel a connection with each of them even when we don't see each other, and even if we someday lose touch. Now we are a part of one another, and because of that connection I feel more whole, and more connected with God... as if by being in relationship and community we are embodying something of Divinity here and now. We are a living, breathing Kingdom of God.

"We cannot live for ourselves alone. Our lives are connected by a thousand invisible threads..."

- Hermon Melville

day 33 - poems in the sky.

2011-04-15T22:17:00.000-07:00

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,

We fell them down and turn them into paper,

That we may record our emptiness.

~Kahlil Gibran

day 31 - go and tell.

2011-04-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

This Sunday I started working with my High School youth group to plan our annual Youth Led Easter Sunrise Service. As we read the Easter story, the theme that came alive for us was "Come and See, Go and Tell." We talked about how the encounter with the resurrected Christ, changes you in a way that allows you to be transformed and share that encounter with others through the way you live. The resurrection isn't merely a personal, spiritual hope, but a life-altering world changing one. It doesn't just change your heart, it changes everything, including the way you live. You are now a part of the resurrection story, and as you go, your life keeps telling the story.

I think that the encounter with the resurrected Christ at the tomb changes us so radically because it reveals that destruction and death do not win. It gives us hope that we do not have to live under the law of death, freeing us to go the way of love. Fr. Steve Hassett shared this thought from Ghandi with me, and I think it summarizes the principle of Easter better than I ever could:

"I have found that life persists in the midst of destruction and therefore there must be a higher law than that of destruction. Only under that law would a well-ordered society be intelligible and life worth living. And if that is the law of life, we have to work it out in daily life. Whenever you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love. In this crude manner I have worked it out in my life. That does not mean that all my difficulties are solved. Only I have found that this law of love has answered as the law of destruction has never done."

Life persists. Love wins. This is the message we go with. This is the message we tell with our lives.

day 29 - the starry dynamo.

2011-04-11T22:30:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching the film Howl. I loved it... mostly because I love hearing poetry read. The whole film isn't really a narrative, or a biography, as much as it is just a visual poem. The most poignant parts for me were not the trial it depicts or the interviews, but the moments where Ginsberg (James Franco) reads portions of the poem. The poem comes alive, and you are able to hear the rhythm and music of it. Parts of the poem are also illustrated by animation based on the illuminated poems Ginsberg published with artist Eric Drooker. The images and sounds evoke feelings and meanings beyond the words themselves. Spoken word is a powerful, powerful thing. The music of language seems to get somehow beyond the words themselves, digging beyond the surface of what is defined.

I hadn't read Howl in a long time, so in some ways it was like experiencing it for the first time. The musical chaos of Ginsberg's howling verse seemed to have power I didn't remember. He wrote, "angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night." And as I heard those words, I felt their yearning for that heavenly connection, I saw the blank eternal workings of night. I saw the wild beauty of the desperation with words like: "battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light." The words batter the listener with their sad, pounding song.

The film just reminded me of why I love poetry so much. How is can evoke desperation, passion, loss, drug-haze, hope, and anguish and all that is beyond words as well. You can listen to Howl in all it's homo-erotic, chaotic, drug-induced, obscene, passionate, creative, desperate glory below or read it here.

day 28 - like incense before you.

2011-04-09T23:31:00.000-07:00

Growing up in the Methodist tradition, then attending a Pentecostal youth group in high school, I did not have much exposure to sung liturgy. I attended Catholic Mass occasionally when family friends were visiting, but I preferred the more relate-able contemporary worship. Then in college attending mass, hearing the words of the Eucharist sung in Catholic Mass suddenly communion was full of a deeper power and mystery. As the priest sung, "Let us proclaim the mystery of faith," I felt a beauty beyond language--as he sang those notes, I felt the mystery of which he sung.

As an adult working in Anglican, Lutheran and Episcopal congregations I have had many encounters with sung liturgy, even having the opportunity to lead it-- some of these experiences were deep and meaningful, and others fell flat. But I believe there is power in this ancient worship. That singing the same words again and again, and creating new liturgies that are put to melodies, creates a different experience than words that are only written or spoken.

One of my calls in ministry, I think, is to find ways of infusing worship, both contemporary and traditional forms, with presence and meaning. I believe that when we gather for worship as the body of Christ, we are really meant to embody Christ. We are called to be authentically Christ's presence-- mysterious, incarnational, miraculous. Part of this means that our worship should not be boring, but overflowing with passion, love, and life. Too often Christian leaders make the mistake of assuming that contemporary=relevant and traditional=boring. But presence infused worship can take many forms, and I think one of the most beautiful is sung liturgy. I am excited for all that I am learning about this tradition, and anxious to see how I can infuse elements of this tradition into Methodist worship.

As part of our Lenten journey, each Wednesday night at Trinity we gather for a short worship service of evening prayer from published by Holden Village. Over the past several weeks, I've been learning this liturgy in preparation for the worship I led last week. What I love about sung liturgy is the way the melody becomes embedded within you. While I'm doing the daily tasks of writing e-mails, doing dishes, reading, or grocery shopping, suddenly I find myself humming the melody, or silently thinking those words. This silent song becomes a prayer that shrouds my whole day, helping me to have a sense that all I do is prayer, that each moment is a part of the great song of God.

One of the melodies that I have been walking in the past few days is "Let my prayer rise up like incense before you." I love this line from the psalms, and how sensory it becomes when we lift those notes and they seem to rise and rise like incense. Images like this inspire me to infuse more imagery, poetry, songs, art and energy into worship. I dream of creating worship that allows people to feel themselves being lifted into the presence of the Holy in a mystical way.

day 27 - validation.

2011-04-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I had a wonderful date night with my sweet husband. We ate dinner and and watched a movie.... and we parked in a garage where we got a little ticket that we had to get validated

and that made me think of this great video that makes me smile every time. I hope it makes you smile too. Happy Friday!

day 26 - infinite yes.

2011-04-08T01:16:00.000-07:00

Some days, I am overwhelmed at the beauty of my life, and nothing can express the exuberant praise I feel more fully than the words of e.e. cummings:

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e.cummings

day 25 - eternally restless.

2011-04-06T23:53:00.000-07:00

In John O'Donohue's book Beauty: The Invisible Embrace, he describes the ocean in a way I have felt, but never been able to pin down into words. He writes, "Words like 'ocean' and 'sea' are too small for such wild divinity. The ocean is beyond language. Her flow is a beautiful dance. She is eternally restless and delights our eyes with the structured rhythm of waves... With sublime elegance, the ocean approaches and embraces the landscape and each wave has a unique grace... Water stirs something very deep and ancient in the human heart. Our eyes and hearts follow its rhythm as if the flow of water were the mirror where time becomes obliquely visible. The image of water can hold such longing."

I have felt that longing and stirring. The sense of awe, beauty and something else unnameable as I watch the constant dance of waves rolling toward shore. Just looking at the ocean is for me a form of prayer. I especially love O'Donohue describing the sea as "wild divinity" and "eternally restless." This wild restlessness resonates deep in me. So often in the Christian traditions, we imagine God as a place of stillness and light and clouds. But the mysterious movement, depth and dazzling darkness of the ocean speaks intimately of the Divine. I look at that fathomless deep, and I think that God must be something like those stirring waters, and I want nothing more than to be drenched.

day 24 - grimy grace.

2011-04-05T22:47:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow night I have the opportunity to help lead our Lenten evening worship. As part of that contemplative worship, I'll be helping to lead the sung liturgy and shape a small reflection time based on last Sunday's gospel lesson. I'm so excited because the lesson for this week is about mud, something I've been thinking a lot about. I love the paradoxical way that Jesus works, using dirt and spit to make someone clean, turning our ideas about what makes a person good or whole or clean upside down.

For me, this healing story has helped me to ask how I am seeing people -- am I seeing with the vision of muddy grace that loves people just as they are, and transforms them with radical acceptance? Or am I blind with my own judgement and expectations? Am I joyfully reaching out with my own muddy hands, or am I so busy trying to keep my own life clean that I don't even notice the people around me?

Jan Richardson from Painted Prayer Book offers up this wise and beautiful poetic reflection:

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dirt.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the earth
beneath our feet.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the dust

like the dust
that God scooped up
at the beginning
and formed
with God’s
two hands
and breathed into
with God’s own
breath.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the spit.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mud.

Lest we think
the blessing
is not
in the mire,
the grime,
the muck.

Lest we think
that God
cannot reach
deep into the things
of earth,
cannot bring forth
the blessing
that shimmers
within the sludge,
cannot anoint us
with a tender
and grimy grace.

Lest we think
that God
will not use the ground
to create us
once again,
to cleanse us
of our unseeing,
to open our eyes upon
this ordinary
and stunning world.

day 23 - when the chatter stops.

2011-04-04T23:48:00.000-07:00

Frederick Franck once wrote, "You can look at thinks while talking or with a radio going full blast, but you can see only when the chatter stops." Don't get me wrong, I love words and music. But there is something about finding quiet that nurtures my soul. When I allow myself a few minutes in the morning to just sit, not looking at my computer, or talking, or watching tv, or checking my phone, but really just hearing the quiet-- it is so still, so unusual, that it is an almost a shocking experience.

My life is full of noise, but lent is a time when I intentionally seek out times and places where the chatter stops. The last few days, I've gotten back into the habit of writing morning pages (a practice borrowed from Julia Cameron that you can read about here). Before I begin writing I just take a few minutes to breathe and to notice. I watch the morning light stream into the window, feel the warmth of my mug of tea in my hands, curl my toes under a blanket against the chill of the early morning air. Then I just write. No chatter, just me and my pen and notebook, and the soft sounds of the world waking up.

It is a practice I love, but that I too often let go of for the sake of a few extra minutes in bed before rushing off to class or work. But when I take the time, in truth I feel so much more rested than if I hit the snooze button an extra time. When the chatter stops, we not only see the world and ourselves in new ways, I think we also find God. It is as if God is in that air, that light, speaking in these deep but quiet ways, and when the chatter stops, I finally hear him breathing.

day 22 - injustice.

2011-04-03T02:52:00.000-07:00

I recently read this horrifying story about a 14 year old girl in Bangledesh who was violently raped. After her rape she was beaten as punishment for her "adultery." The violence of her rape and beating was so severe that her fragile body was bleeding internally. That bleeding led to her death. As I read it, I felt such rage and heart break that it is difficult to even put into words.

For the most part, this Lenten blog has been made up of my reflections on where I find beauty and where I see God in my daily living. But today, I am haunted by the story of this young girl. I cannot get her picture out of my head. It seems like a further injustice to write small words about art or nature or poetry, when her life was ended so tragically and abruptly. In the end, there was no grace or beauty offered to her.

I share her story because it is one that needs to be told. If part of the Lenten journey is to be called back toward the way of Jesus, then this is also the time to notice how broken our world still is. A time to ask ourselves if we are reaching out with the hands of Christ. A harsh desert journey, when we must open our eyes and look at a tragedy like this one, and ask ourselves the hard questions: how we will work as people of faith to keep this from happening again and again to defenseless people all over the world? How will we stand with those who have no one to shield or shelter them? How we will say over and over that we will not tolerate abuse and injustice? How will we work to heal the broken and protect the defenseless?

I hate that as I form and wrestle with these questions, I have no answers that are enough. I have no idea how to protect other girls in Bangladesh who may face the same fate. It makes me feel helpless and small. But I know I need to tell this story. I need to remind myself and others that this is happening, and that we cannot be silent. I know that this girl's life and death is a call to create safe places in our own communities where the vulnerable can find solace, support and shelter. I know I want to be a part of helping young girls not to be prey to sexual, emotional and physical violence. Her story is a reminder that we have failed and that we are not doing enough. I pray that somehow I will be a voice fighting for people like Hena. I hope against hope that I will have the courage to have a faith that doesn't just reflect about how God makes me feel, but a faith that I live -- a faith that actually saves and protects people. A faith that doesn't allow this to keep happening. A faith that doesn't rest until such violence stops. A faith that will not be silenced.

day 21 - no words.

2011-04-01T23:27:00.000-07:00

One of my new favorite things is Story People art. I love how playful they are while still being so full of feeling, depth and meaning. The combination of vibrant colors, whimsical figures and simple story is magical.

One of the art pieces says, "I read once that ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand and Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that."

As someone who loves language and is constantly reading and writing, I am so often trying to pin things down in words, but when I read this it reminded me of how the people and things we love are beyond language. How it is the feel of a person's hand, the way they smell, their patterns of freckles, and all those tiny indescribable things that make them their particular self that we love. I am so thankful for love beyond words.

day 20 - loving that crazy collage.

2011-03-31T23:54:00.000-07:00

One of the guys in my youth group (the awesomely creative Ian Erickson) introduced me to this incredible artist, Swoon. Watching this and seeing her passion, inspired me to reconnect with my own creativity. I've been trying to read and write more, and simply to look for beauty and inspiration everywhere. Too often we lose our artist selves to the business of daily tasks and the stress of every day living. I love the way that art always awakens me to life. Swoon reminds me to see the beauty in the living chaos of the city. She talks about loving the crazy collage, and I can't think of a better metaphor for the magical mess that is life.

day 19 - in this light.

2011-03-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

The very rainy month of March is coming to an end, and at last the sun has come out. The whole world seems different in the soft sunlight: awakened and bursting with life. It's as if we are all emerging from the cocoons of winter rains, stretching our newly grown wings for the first time. Days like today make it easy to praise: easy to see God in the joyful fresh faces, and the dewy green of the grass. There seems to be light everywhere, as if it has always beens just beneath the surface of things, waiting to break open the dim. Instead of fighting against the harsh edges of things, we are all softened in this daylight, able to see with the eyes of hope and compassion that we should have been gazing with all along. For at least a brief moment in this spring air, we are able to pause the constant battle to change one another, and just see all this battered beauty, and hold it in our loving gaze.

William Meredith's poem seems written for just this sort of day:

Consequences by William Meredith

ii. of love

People love each other and the light

Of love gilds but doesn’t alter,

People don’t change one another, can scarcely

By taking will and thought add a little

Now and then to their own statures

Which, praise them, they do,

So that here we are in all our sizes

Flooded in the impartial daylight sometimes,

Spotted sometimes in a light we make ourselves,

Human, the beams of attention

Of social animals at their work

Which is loving; and sometimes all dark.

The only correction is

By you of you, by me of me.

People are worth looking at in this light

And if you listen what they are saying is,

Love me sun out there whoever you are,

Chasing me from bed in the morning,

Spooking me all day with shadow,

Surprising me whenever you fall;

Make me conspicuous as I go here,

Spotted by however many beams,

Now light, finally dark. I fear

There is meant to be a lot of darkness,

You hear them say, but every last creature

Is the one it meant to be.

day 18 - play in the mud.

2011-03-29T18:25:00.000-07:00

With my Jr. High students at confirmation we talked about Miracles this week. As we discussed about Jesus calming the storm, we made connections to God's redemptive and creative work with water elsewhere in the Bible. From God's spirit hovering over the waters in the first act of creation, to the parting of the red sea, to the story of Jonah being swallowed by a fish, to the new testament images of water turned to wine, baptism and walking on water. In each story, the youth talked about the ways God used water to cleanse, to heal, to reveal, to mystify, and to bring about redemption. Jesus' calling the storm to be calm was not a one time miracle; its a part of this much larger narrative of redemption. Of God speaking over and out of the waters of chaos, to bring grace, wholeness and resurrection.

Father Rick Moley makes a similar observation about the mud in the story of Jesus giving sight to the blind man. He writes, "I can't shake the poetic links to God digging in the dust of the ground in Eden, and giving us his breathe that we might live. God lifted us out of the earth in the Beginning, and Jesus is still in the business of lifting us up. And opening our eyes. And bringing us Life.

And, as the Way of Jesus, it is meant to be our way too. There are a lot of broken lives out there that need picked up. Whole countries of lives, in fact. Japan. Libya. Sudan."

God doesn't use extravagant methods. No magic potions or expensive jewels. Just a little dirt and water. Jesus is unafraid of getting his hands dirty. Because that's the way healing happens: not in pristine, sanitized cathedrals, but in the real organic dirt of people's lives. And I think we are called to do some miracles. We are called to follow Jesus and play in the mud.

day 17 - several lives worth living.

2011-03-28T19:58:00.000-07:00

I was flipping through radio stations on my ride home from work last night, and I found myself listening to a man's voice on a public radio station. He describes the lives he imagines he could be happy living. He said he imagined himself being a repair man who fixed the parking meters. He described the joy he would feel walking outside on a sunny day, checking the machines and providing a small and simple need. He also said he imagined being a bread delivery man in the city. He imagined loading the freshly baked bread into the truck in the early hours of the morning, smelling that warm toasty fragrance as he drove through the almost empty streets. The he imagined delivering the loaves to restaurants across the city, and chatting with chefs as they began their prep work the day and started to simmer their stews. He imagined sitting in the almost empty kitchen and drinking a cup of coffee as he and the chefs called each other by their first names and made small talk.

These wonderful imaginings brought to my mind the line from a Mary Oliver poem: "I know several lives worth living." I like the idea of being freed to imagine the particular beauties of your unlived lives, from the most glamorous to the most ordinary.

Here are several lives worth living:

A nanny, wiping away tears, playing games, feeding, clothing and loving the most precious little ones.

A dog walker in the city, leading playful furry friends through the chaos of the streets and the freedom of parks.

A folk singer/songwriter, putting all the beauty into words.

A museum security guard, standing almost imperceptibly among such brilliant creativity.

A baker, combining simple ingredients to create mouthfuls of joy.

A worker in an orchard or at a winery, plucking the fruit from its branch at the brief moment of perfect ripeness.

A teacher in Jr High or High School helping students discover their favorite novel or poem for the first time.

day 16 - breaking the stone, sharing the story.

2011-03-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I am preaching from the story of the woman at the well (John 4:5-42) , along with the wilderness story of the moveable well in the dessert (Exodus 17-1-7).

I've been wrestling with Jesus' promise that those who drink of the water will never be thirsty again. I know so many people who are so very thirsty -- and whether or not they have faith seems to have little to do with it. Christian people still hurt, still face loneliness, still struggle, longing and needing good health, love, acceptance, and an endless list of wants. We are thirsty people.

And this woman at the well was no different. She was thirsting. A woman who had been through five marriages, gone through more loss than most people experience in a life-time. She had been discarded, considered used up and therefore of no worth -- tossed aside like trash.

But with this man Jesus, she is seen. Really seen. And counted as a person of value. This short conversation changes everything. In reality her circumstances are the same: her past hasn't disappeared. Her reputation still proceeds her. Whatever prejudice, rejection and isolation she faced before the encounter with Jesus, she will still face afterwards.

But still, she goes away changed because he broke open the stone of her life. With his open ears, his knowing gaze, his few words, Jesus held her story. He held the hurt, the pain, the regret, the fear, the hopes. Holding someone's story is a powerful thing, and for her that was all it took. She didn't need for her life to be fixed. She needed to be seen and heard. It was such a powerful experience, that she told as many people as possible; she shared the story, and allowed them to become a part of it.

When we gather for worship we come to a well of rich stories. Like the early Jewish people drank of the Torah when they had no temple, and nothing else, we come to worship and in the Eucharist we drink of the living Word, drinking from the deep well of a God who forgets no one. We eat of the Living Word -- a Word that isn't just the story of Jesus, but a Living Word that holds within it, all our own stories. Just as he broke through the stone of the life of the woman at the well, the moveable well of Christ breaks through our own stony hearts to quench our deepest thirst: to be seen and heard. Through worship, even in this wilderness of lent, the stony earth of our sin and mistakes is for a moment broken open with possibility, as we hear God's story, and each others stories, and know that in this community we are seen and known. In being known, we are transformed, as we see ourselves as part of the story of God.

day 15 - be a child.

2011-03-25T23:49:00.000-07:00

I rode a ferris wheel today and smelled cotton candy. I walked a dog through a happy chaos of tourists, street artists and food vendors. I watched the ocean and laughed with friends.

There are moments, when I think I would give up every book, every class, all the knowledge I've acquired in years of higher education, for just a few minutes of the pleasure of salty sea air and child-like joy.

day 11 - sabbath is good.

2011-03-21T22:36:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I enjoyed a sabbath for the first time in more than two weeks. No work, no class, no place I needed to be. I slept in and awoke to a stormy day, and no reason to get out of my sweatpants. I drank a cup of tea, got caught up on school work, read almost an entire book for fun, read poetry, looked at art, started my sermon, blogged, cooked a real dinner with homemade somosas, did laundry and prepared a sunday school lesson. I prayed and I rested, and I felt like I got so much done with time to spare.

Just that space of one open day, made me realize how important taking a sabbath is. Over the last few months both Kyle and I have had our parents in town for weekends... while seeing family is always a blessing, it is rarely a sabbath. You are out and about -- site-seeing, entertaining, walking or in my case learning to ski (a tale of pain, discouragement and ultimate triumph for another time). All of that is fun. But it is not relaxing.

I feel that for the last month, I've been playing catch-up. When I'm at school, I feel there's some work thing I should be doing. When I'm at work, I'm thinking of all the things I've left undone at school and at home.

So, I am overwhelmingly thankful for a sabbath: a day to just stay inside listening to the rain, getting a few things done, but more importantly just enjoying the act of just sitting and being cozy.

After this weekend, I came to Monday ready. Ready for the wildness of Jr. Highers at confirmation, the sermon and paper writing, the planning, the commuting. All of it. Sabbath makes me into a better, kinder, more patient person. I hope that when I am no longer juggling full-time work and full-time school, I will be better at making time for these kind of days. These sabbaths are the days that allow us to be our best selves, that prepare us for the work ahead, that let us celebrate the life we've lived and the life that is coming. To allow yourself to just be is such a rare and significant gift.

day 10 - the shape of absence.

2011-03-19T21:39:00.000-07:00

These lines from a poem by Christina Hutchins cause me to feel sad, wistful, free, warm, regretful, at-home and far-off all at once. All from one simple image of a crumpled pair of jeans... I love when I read something that makes me fall in love with poetry all over again.

Here is the warmth of my stride, left in a heap

on a rug beside the bed, blue jeans shed

in the shapes of my legs. I, too, have held

the shape of an absence.

day 9 - the moveable well.

2011-03-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

Next Sunday, I will be preaching on two stories of thirst. The first comes from the exodus narrative as told in Exodus and Numbers, when the people wandered through the dessert, and began to complain of thirst. Miraculously, God provides, spilling fresh clear water from a broken rock:

"From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the Lord commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?" But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried out to the Lord “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go.I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?” -Exodus 7:1-7

In my art class, we've been talking about how this story is represented in Jewish and early Christian art. The story became such a deep part of the culture when people had no Temple to go to, that it was no longer thought of as a one-time miracle event. Instead, it was a living legend known as the "moveable well." People spoke not of just one rock, but a deep well that followed the people all the way from Sinai to the promised land and never ran dry. This legend became particularly important after the temple fell and the dream of the promised land was fading. It seemed a promise that no matter where they traveled, God would feel their thirst and fill them up with what they needed. They imagined that the springing up of the well occurred every time Moses gathered the people for worship and set up the tabernacle.

So, on the walls in Synagogues the movable well is painted, reminding people that although the Temple has fallen and they are displaced, God's presence is welling up in their worship. That as they read scripture and participate in the liturgy, God is still quenching their thirst. Through worship, they are bathing in the deep spring of life that never runs dry.

I love to think of worship as our moveable well. Each time we gather together, lifting our voices in song and prayer, retelling the story of God, and sharing in the mystery of sacrament, we are breaking open the stone of our lives, letting the river of God rush in once again.

day 8 - the sun.

2011-03-17T23:56:00.000-07:00

Is thankful for a day of sunshine, laughter with my youth over coffee, voicing doubts, fears and sadness to my always understanding and compassionate husband, dark chocolate, red wine and Mary Oliver. Sunny days always remind me of my blessings - both big and small.

the sun. By Mary Oliver:

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

day 7 - wonder.

2011-03-16T23:48:00.000-07:00

Hagia Sophia is a breath taking worship space originally built under the rule of Justinian in 6th century Constantinople. It is magnificent -- in scale, in craftsmanship, in materials. Even looking at photos you can feel a bit of the sense wonder one would feel standing in this expansive space. The marble floors are wavy like a sea, allowing anyone who enters the chance to be a participant in the Biblical narrative. You are with Peter as he takes those shaky steps across the water toward Christ. You are in the midst of those mysterious moments of creation when the spirit hovers over the waters. Looking up, as the massive dome arches toward heaven, you feel closer to the infinite. Nothing in symmetrical, everything in disorienting, drawing the viewer past a world of understanding, into a mystical experience. As we study these pictures in art, I am reminded of the power of beauty to draw us into the heart of God.

day 6 - sound deep.

2011-03-15T17:18:00.000-07:00

In my dance meditation class we join in a practice called "sound deep to the witness of God." In this prayer you choose a partner and sit facing each other. Then a scripture is read. One of the partners closes their eyes and reflects prayerfully on the passage, expressing their prayer through slow intentional embodied movements with each outward breath. These movements can be as small as lifting or raising your arms, folding your hands in prayer, or bowing your head. As the person moves, their partner sits across from them and gazes at them, holding them in prayer.

I cannot describe the deep intimacy and gentle mystical power that I feel doing this activity. When I was the partner doing the prayer movement, I felt so embraced and so cared for as I moved in the safety and comfort of my partner's prayerful gaze. And even more powerful for me was being the one who held the other in watchful prayer. It feels so sacred to be allowed to witness the prayer life of another person. Although I was sitting still, it was as if my soul was moving with hers. While her body moved, I was moved internally. I was so blessed as she bowed and as she reached for God, my heart was also bowing and reaching. It was as if we were praying the same prayer although we exchanged no words.

I want to do this activity again and again and to work to create more of these moments of deep connection with one another. Too often we talk in such general terms about God, and never stop and truly sound deep to the witness of God in each other.

day 5 - i am home.

2011-03-14T23:03:00.000-07:00

My schedule the last few weeks has been crazy. Almost every day I am at work and school from 9am until 9 at night. In all the busyness of this semester, it sometimes feels impossible to rest in the presence of God. I am wondering how to find and make time for creativity, reflection or prayer, when to be honest, I come home at the end of the day, all I want to do it lay on the couch and watch tv.

I am still growing in this area, struggling to figure out how to make time for what my body and soul really needs.

One small way that has helped me find stillness in the midst of chaos these last few weeks is the practice of walking mediation. I do this on my to class, or even from the short walk to and from my car. It is a practice in which you count the number of steps you take as you inhale and exhale. As you walk, you become aware of your breathing and of your own presence as your feet find the ground. Then you can begin to pick words to meditate on with each step or breath.

Lately, my meditation is simple. "I have arrived. I am home." So, as I walk, I am aware that I am stepping into just the right moment, the right place on the earth. It brings me a sense of rest, and with each step I feel I am coming into the embrace of the divine.

day 4 - the shelter of each other.

2011-03-13T23:11:00.000-07:00

Last night I had the opportunity to go see the Rock and Worship Roadshow at the ARCO arena in Sacramento with my youth. I admit that Christian music can sometimes be cheesy and repetitive, but it can also be so amazingly powerful. Great music speaks to souls in a way that spoken words just can't.

One of my favorite new songs of the night was a song called "Shelter" by Jars of Clay. It's incredibly simple, but I like the idea of having worship songs that express not only our communion with God, but also our communion with one another.

The lyrics go like this:

To all who are looking down
Holding onto hearts still wounded
For those who’ve yet to find it
The places near where love is moving
Cast off the robes you’re wearing
Set aside the names that you’ve been given
May this place of rest
In the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
You will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Never walk alone
In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Your arms are all around us

If our hearts are turned to stone
There is hope we know the rocks will cry out
And the tears aren’t ours alone
Let them fall into the hands that hold us
Come away from where you’re hiding
Set aside the lies that you’ve been living
May this place of rest
In the fold of your journey
Bind you to hope
We will never walk alone

In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Never walk alone
In the shelter of each other
We will live, we will live
Your arms are all around us

Here's the video of Jars of Clay talking about it:

day 3 - where is god?

2011-03-11T22:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, one of my Jr. High youth at our after school coffee house hours said that he thinks that God exists, but also that God more or less gave up on earth and humanity for the time being and left. He explained that he still believes that God watches over us, but that God hasn't really worked miracles or acted on earth in the last few thousand years. This led to a really powerful discussion about how God acts in the world, the truth of the Bible, and what makes something a miracle. While one of my youth felt certain that God doesn't work miracles, I left the conversation feeling certain that God is so deeply present in and around us, and that miracles are happening every day.

Here are a few of the ways that I see the Divine moving:

the willingness of young people to wrestle with deep theological questions.

the passion and creativity of the high school students I work with.

the love of my husband.

the enduring symbol of the mark of ashes.

the laughter and imagination of children.

music that awakens my soul.

the peace that comes from the practice of walking meditation.

my talented, loving, supportive, incredible friends.

the communion we share each Sunday through the eucharist.

the amazing young adults who volunteer their time week after week to help with youth ministry.

the way the light looks alive as it dances on the bay.

the work being done by city of refuge, glide, and other inner city ministries.

the power of a poem to transport and transform its reader.

That's just the short list of infinite ways I see God working. I know that during lent, as I continue to pray with others and share this journey that I will find countless miracles to add to this list.

day 2 - praying for transformation.

2011-03-10T10:26:00.000-08:00

Too often, my prayers are selfish. I pray to feel closer to God. I pray for personal transformation. About a month ago, I memorized this well-known prayer of St. Francis. Now, I try to pray it at least once a day. As I pray these well-worn words, whispered by the lips of so many others, I try to think of the real places of hatred, darkness and doubt, and ways that I, today, can be an instrument of God's love, light, and hope. These words call me to be something better than I am. Instead, of a prayer for personal transformation, it is a prayer that prays for the courage to transform the world. Each time I speak or write or think these words, no matter how I've fallen short, I am humbled and inspired.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love,

Where there is injury, pardon,

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled, as to console,

to be understood, as to understand,

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive,

in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and in dying that we are born to eternal life.

day 1 - beginning the journey.

2011-03-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

This year for the season of lent my goal is to reflect on my blog, and to pray with at least one person each day. On Wednesday, this first day of Lent, I had the opportunity to pray one-on-one with my Senior Pastor and later in the day I prayed with one of the amazing young adults at my church (Rachel Lambros). Both of these prayer times reminded me of the intimacy and power of sitting with another person and lifting up a few small words to God. For me it is one of the deepest forms of communion.

As I begin Lent, I feel excited for an opportunity to intentionally make space in my life for God to speak and move. I'm hoping that by carving out time and space for prayer and reflection, I will be more aware of the Divine call that is whispering beauty and hope all around us.

A few days ago, one of my professors shared a story about her daughter that I think describes the power and purpose of lent perfectly. My professor comes from a UCC background and didn't raise her daughter in a very liturgically oriented church, so as a young girl of 8 or 9, her daughter didn't have any familiarity with lent. Around that time she visited a different church with a friend where she learned for the first time about Lent. She was enthralled with this new idea. Ash Wednesday that year fell just a few days before the little girl's birthday. Early on that Wednesday morning, she jumped on her parents bed, giggling and shouting, "It's here! It's finally here!" Her mom, with eyes barely open, sleepily said, "No, honey, your birthday is still 2 days away. It's not here yet." But the little girl smiled radiantly, and answered, "No, Mom, not my birthday. Today is Ash Wednesday! Starting today we have 40 days to do good things for God."

So, starting today, we have 40 days to do good things for God. What could be more exciting than that?

through your eyes.

2011-02-27T02:53:00.000-08:00

"You are here so that God can experience the world through your eyes. See what you see. Feel what you feel. Everyday He can't wait to see what you'll do. What makes you laugh. What moves you. He can't wait. Everyday through you, He falls in love with the world all over again."

-John Hindman

words.

2011-02-26T21:43:00.001-08:00

I love this idea from Vintage Indie to cover a file cabinet with the pages of an old dictionary. I'm currently looking around my apartment and wondering what I should cover in words. This could be dangerous.

"It's the words that sing, they soar and descend . . . I bow to them . . . I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down . . . I love words so much . . . The unexpected ones . . . The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop . . . Vowels I love . . . They glitter like colored stones, they leap like silver fish, they are foam, thread, metal, dew . . . I run after certain words . . . They are so beautiful that I want to fit them all into my poem . . . I catch them in midflight, as they buzz past, I trap them, clean them, peel them, I set myself in front of the dish, they have a crystalline texture to me, vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily, like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives . . . And I stir them, I shake them, I drink them, I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them, I let them go . . . I leave them in my poem like stalactites, like slivers of polished wood, like coals, pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves . . . Everything exists in the word." -Pablo Neruda

the face of God.

2011-01-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

I had the opportunity to attend a half-day spiritual retreat this morning led by the amazing Joellynn Monahan. She introduced me to Soul Cards (learn more about Soul Cards and the artist who produces them here). They are small cards with images on them and serve as wonderful tool for spiritual reflection. The process is simple: gaze into an image and take time to notice what is there and how it speaks to you. It was a powerful experience of reflection and connecting with God.

Below is my reflection on the image to the right.

The eyes of this face, look intently out and upwards, though I know not at what. The face is beyond description: without gender or race. It seems to be one with the stony surface. The colors are muddied grays and browns - like clay or rock. But there seems to be color beneath, just barely breaking through the gray. This is no dull stone you know. There is light in the rock, burning through with pure joy. The smile curls into a grin, smiling through the darkened fish. The smile suggests that this face has a secret -- or a multitude of them -- which the face dares you to guess, though will never tell.

The darkened, translucent fish, swims with another. Both of them float in the waveless rock sea together in the same direction. Above them floats another fish, swimming confidently the opposite way, alone. Just above that singular fish break waves of light, which cast a glowing crown upon that knowing face. The light steadily shines, though its source is indiscernible. Does it shine down from some unimaginable heaven above? Or is the mysterious being with the unrelenting gaze radiate the light from within? Or perhaps it is the fish's light -- an outward expression of inner beauty, an outpouring of soul. Around the face is shadow, suggesting depth and darkness. But the eyes gaze on, fearlessly, peering out from the deep.

What this image means, I cannot say for certain. Except to say that I know this face. It is kind and constant, and suggests something of Divinity. I want to stay with it here, floating in the mysterious shadowy waters of rock. I want to be the fish that floats in his light. I want to dance in that glowing crown. I want to fearlessly swim in a new direction. I've been so weary of swimming, so weighted with this heavy clay, I've nearly forgotten that these waters are full of light. It has at moments seemed so dark, so rocky, that I've hardly moved forward at all -- I flail and push and paddle in vain. The waves of granite feel to heavy to bear.

But all the while, the face of God has been with me. Those kind eyes, looking into me and through me, that mouth speaking words of life, into my weary body. "Look up," the divine whispers in silent words, grinning. "Look up and see the light. These waters are not stone. Swim freely here. The dark is mystery, not doom. Just turn around, don't be afraid to swim a different direction. Swim in the light of my freedom, never forgetting, I am as present with you in the darkest deep, as I am in the flecks of golden light."

Your glowing eyes, O God, see me. In them, you behold every fear and doubt. Every stubborn habit, every weary bone. In your gaze, you hold even the moments when I've given up swimming all together, floating limp and broken in the still water. You look and look, as if you cannot get enough of me. That look of love, ever patient, urges me forward. I look up and expect to see wounded disappointment in your eyes, but there is none. You smile with love. Looking fully. This look I know can only mean acceptance. You seem to know something I can't even begin to imagine. Some great possibility and hope that I can only guess at.

Your look seems to say, "I know you. I know what you can do. I know what worlds you will create, share and live in. Swim on, lovely girl. Let go of those stones you think you carry. Swim on, in the freedom of my love."

God's glowing face brings new life to these murky waters. We swim on, and the face of the Divine looks and looks, and never tires of looking us into being.

a new map.

2011-01-11T15:50:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to share this amazing poem by Jan Richardson from her blog Painted Prayerbook. For me, reading it was a renewed invitation to experience the mystery and adventure that is the Life of God. It pulled me back into the miracle of the journey of faith that I too often take for granted.

Where the Map Begins

This is not
any map you know.
Forget longitude.
Forget latitude.
Do not think
of distances
or of plotting
the most direct route.
Astrolabe, sextant, compass:
these will not help you here.

This is the map
that begins with a star.
This is the chart
that starts with fire,
with blazing,
with an ancient light
that has outlasted
generations, empires,
cultures, wars.

Look starward once,
then look away.
Close your eyes
and see how the map
begins to blossom
behind your lids,
how it constellates,
its lines stretching out
from where you stand.

You cannot see it all,
cannot divine the way
it will turn and spiral,
cannot perceive how
the road you walk
will lead you finally inside,
through the labyrinth
of your own heart
and belly
and lungs.

But step out,
and you will know
what the wise who traveled
this path before you
knew:
the treasure in this map
is buried not at journey’s end
but at its beginning.

cathedral of dirt.

2010-09-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

I've been reading the treasure that is Barbara Brown Taylor's Leaving Church. This passage reminded me of the way ordinary things become places of sanctuary, and how God often speaks loudest in the miraculous unexpected corners of every day living. I read this and wanted just to be outside with the earth, and all the amazing things living in it. It inspired a long coffee break outside watching children play, a walk to the farmers market and a trip to the zoo.

Here are her amazing words:

"When, I think of my first cathedral, I am back in a field behind my parent's house bathed in a kind of golden light with every stalk of prairie grass lit from within. I can hear an entire community of crows, grasshoppers, and tree frogs who belong in this field with me. The smell of grass is so sweet that it perfumes me from within... There is more in this field than I will ever be able to discover...

Lying there is very good. My skin is happy on the black dirt, which speaks a language my bones understand. If I roll over and think only about places on my back that are touching the ground, then pretty soon I cannot tell whether I am pressing down on the earth or the earth is pressing up on me. The feeling is the same as when my father holds me up in the swimming pool... I am floating in this field, held up toward the sun by the black dirt under under my back. I am this earth's child, and I know it."

These words were an important reminder to me of how overly serious and intellectual we can make the business of spirituality. I hope I never forget how to be a child like this. I hope I never forget to see divinity in the dirt.

this is not okay.

2010-09-14T21:42:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine found this website and pointed me to it as "fuel for the feminist fire." The content is disturbing for many reasons to me, not only as a woman called to ordained ministry, but just as a Christian who believes in God's love and grace.

The website not only suggests that the depth of female spirituality is child-rearing and husband-obeying, but portrays the Divine in ways that I feel suggest that God is both abusive and domineering.

Here is a quick excerpt to give you an idea about the general tone of this blog. It comes from an entry about women's concern for their physical appearance: "what we all deserve is not to feel beautiful but rather to be condemned to hell for sinfully seeking to attract the worship of our fellow creatures... God did not send Jesus to this earth to die so that women could get over their self-esteem problem and feel better about themselves. No, He sent his Son to die to rescue us from our sinful, futile quest for physical beauty and to reveal to us the satisfaction that comes from knowing God."

I find this particularly horrifying when I consider the young girls in my youth group that I work with every day. They struggle with the images of beauty that are constantly upheld by popular culture. What this blog fleetingly calls "their self-esteem problem," is a problem that is perpetuated in magazines, pop-culture and even Christian resources like this blog that tell women that their primary role is to obey and please men. In my opinion, the amazing young women I know DO deserve to feel beautiful. They also deserve to know that their beauty is within them (in their soul, their mind, their passions) as well as in their bodies (whatever shape and size those bodies may be). To simply say, God thinks your insecurities are sinful is damaging to their image of themselves (the created) and their image of God (the Creator).

In short, THIS IS NOT OKAY!

I would love to hear your reactions to this blog.... I could literally rant about it for hours.

we used to wait.

2010-08-30T17:01:00.001-07:00

If you haven't yet seen "The Wilderness Downtown" interactive music/film experience, go to this link: http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/

I think this is a really amazing project, and I hope you enjoyed experiencing it as much as I did... For me it was a beautiful way of experiencing the sense of anticipation that comes with youth. It reminded me so vividly of all the things I was waiting for, running toward and running away from as a teenager --as so many dreams were just coming into view.

Here are the lyrics, from the amazing and innovative Arcade Fire:

I used to write

I used to write letters, I used to sign my name
I used to sleep at night
Before the flashing light settled deep in my brain

But by the time we met, by the time we met
The times had already changed
So I never wrote a letter
I never took my true heart, I never wrote it down
So when the lights cut out
I was lost standing in the wilderness downtown

Now our lives are changing fast
Now our lives are changing fast
Hope that sonething pure can last
Hope that something pure can last

It may seem strange
How we used to wait for letters to arrive
But what's stranger still
Is how something so small can keep you alive

We used to wait
We used to waste hours just walking around
We used to wait
All those wasted lives in the wilderness downtown

We used to wait

Sometimes it never came
Sometimes it never came
Still moving through the pain

I'm gonna write a letter to my true love
I'm gonna sign my name
Like a patient on a table
I wanna walk again, gonna move through the pain

Now our lives are changing fast
Now our lives are changing fast
Hope that something pure can last
Hope that something pure can last

We used to wait

Wait for it

rest in peace albus dumbledore.

2010-08-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

I just finished the 6th book in the Harry Potter series and am about to start the 7th and final book. I know I jumped on the bandwagon much later than I should have, but since starting the first book back in July, I (like so many others) have been swept away in the magic of this great story. I feel like I know these characters, and I am both sad and excited to join them in the last part of their journey.

And unsurprisingly, I cried as I finished the sixth book. Albus Dumbledore, you will live on in our hearts :)

"There is nothing to be feared from a dead body, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness... It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."-Albus Dumbledore, in memoriam

heat wave.

2010-08-24T18:34:00.000-07:00

So, today in Berkeley there was a high of 97, and in Pleasanton where I work the high was 104. I know to many mid-westerners and southerners this does not seem so bad compared to humid, hot weather you've been suffering for weeks. And I have to admit that I have been quite a whiner all summer about how its been in the 50s and 60s and I wanted real summer weather worthy of a trip to the pool or beach.

But this week the heat finally hit and I realized two important things: I do not have time to go to the beach or pool when I work all day. And two: we do not have air conditioning.

I know I am being a baby, but I must confess I actually used the phrase, "It's hotter than the devil's balls." I don't even know what that means, I just know its true.

I need an icy margarita. Or at least a diet coke.

borrowed eyes.

2010-08-23T17:58:00.000-07:00

Christian theologian Dorothee Soelle writes, "What really happens in mystical union is not a new vision of God but a different relationship with the world-- one that has borrowed the eyes of God... God calls upon the soul to give away its own ears and eyes and to let itself be given those of God. Only they who hear with other ears can speak the mouth of God. God sees what elsewhere is rendered invisible and is of no relevance. Who other than God sees the poor and hears their cry? To use God's senses does not mean simply turning inward but becoming free for a different way of living life: See what God sees! Hear what God hears! Laugh where God laughs! Cry where God cries!"

So, often we think of spiritual experience, especially those we name as mystical, as deeply inward and personal. A moment where we are one with God. I love how Soelle turns this on it's head. For her, to be one with God, means turning outward toward the world. It means to see others, not just yourself, with new eyes. The heart of Christian spirituality is not merely a personal interaction between ourselves and God, but a transformation of our interaction with everyone and everything. It is literally a new way of seeing and being in the world.

For this week, I am making a goal of praying this simple prayer each day: "God, help me to see what you see. Help me to borrow your eyes. Amen."

one sermon.

2010-08-22T15:41:00.000-07:00

Over on her blog, the Painted Prayer Book, Jan Richardson writes about the idea that every preacher really has only one sermon, and she writes about what she imagines her "one sermon" to be. She suggests that most of us have one real message that we see in the gospel, and we simply find new ways of saying that same old message over and over.

Which of course, got me thinking about what my one sermon would be. I think, boiled down it probably goes something like this: Notice the Miracle, and become new. In other words, look at the incredible beauty of every moment, look at what God is doing right now in your life and in the lives of those around you. Look how the Divine is breathing in the painting, coming to life in that poem, shining with dewy green in the grass. Look, look! How could we be missing this?! And think how that God is creating still, even now, even in you. The God who breathed life in the dust, who became incarnate in Christ, who rose from the dead-- is creating and recreating. Right now. In us. We get to be a part of it.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized how this is really the sermon I most need to hear. It is the message I most often forget, and need to be reminded of. I fill my mind and my life with things and forget that God is in all of it. I forget to take time to see God in the poem, the painting, the day. And more than anything, I so often doubt that change and transformation is possible, especially in myself. So, the sermon I try to give over and over, is really the one I am giving myself.

I wonder, if it is the same with most of us. Is the message we preach, really the one we need to hear? I was also thinking of how most people I know, whether or not they are in professional ministry, seem to have a sermon they are living as well. The message that they hope to share with their words, and their choices. Whether it is as simple as, "Love others," or "Dance whenever you can," each person I know has an amazing sermon they are telling me with their lives. What do you think yours is? If you had to boil down all your sermons (or all your days of living) into one overall message, what would it be?

virginia woolf in the afternoon.

2010-08-22T14:49:00.000-07:00

Whenever I feel a little lost and have had a day of wondering about my calling, my future, my ministry and questions abound, but answers are few, I find it hard to pray. I can't seem to get to that quiet place of rest where I can just swim in the presence of God. I also cannot sort my thoughts enough to put my restless mind into into words.

The way I sometimes pray is to open familiar books. I run my fingers across the soft worn pages and I look to find some place of comfort in the space of words. Words that have spoken to me before, I know may speak some new thing to me now.

This afternoon, I opened an old favorite, To the Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf-- and here is what I found. For some reason, this makes sense to me, and bring me a peace I rest in. I feel the sense that all the little moments of love are mounting into the wave that is my life -- my own particular life, which is exactly the one I was meant to have.

"They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sang through them. And what was even more exciting, she felt how life, from being made up of separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach."

Though life sometimes feels like a confused series of unconnected moments, and random choices, I rest in the sense that in the end it does build to this whole thing. And even though, it happens so quickly, a mere blink of an eye, the crash of a wave. Still, there it is: our life lived, our calling unfurled, our moment of becoming what God created us to be.

this guy will melt your heart.

2010-03-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

My nephew Ashton recently started smiling, and every time I see a picture he completely melts my heart. I mean, I really don't think I've ever seen anything quite so cute. I didn't think it was fair to keep him all to myself. So here he is.

Blogging world, meet Ashton Reid Parker, Professional Heart Breaker.

imperfect paradise.

2010-03-13T21:54:00.000-08:00

I'm taking a poetry class this semester, which has been wonderful. I don't love every poem we cover, but having poetry as part of my weekly school reading has been like medicine for my soul. It expands my mind and my faith in a way I can't explain in words. It helps me find beauty not just on the page, but in my life as it unfolds daily.

My favorite thing about this class is that we get to write our final paper/project about any theme, subject or poet we want. I had trouble trying to pick just one poet, so I've settled on a theme. The subject I am diving into is finding the beauty in what is imperfect. The poems I want to study are those that find meaning and even divinity in what is broken. I am excited to see how poets draw on theology and expand it. I'm looking forward to sharing the poems on this blog as I work on this project over the coming weeks. Here are a few lines from some of the poems I've already decided to include.

"To say it once held daisies and bluebells

Ignores, if nothing else,

Its diehard brilliance where, crashed on the floor,

The wide bowl lies that seemed to cup the sun,

Its green leaves curled, its constant blaze undone,

Spilled all its glass integrity everywhere;

Spectrums, released, will speak

of colder flowerings where cold crystal broke...

The splendid curvings of glass artifice

Informed its flawlessness

With lucid unities. Freed from these now,

Like love it triumphs through inconsequence

And builds its harmony from dissonance

And lies somehow somehow within us, broken, as though

Time were a broken bowl

And our last joy knowing it shall not heal." -James Merrill, "The Broken Bowl"

"Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.

There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds." -Wallace Stevens, "Poems of Our Climate"

"But every/ morning on the wide shore / I pass what is perfect and shining/ to look for/ the whelks, whose edges/ have rubbed so long against the world/ they have/ snapped and crumbled---/ they have almost vanished,/ with the last/ relinquishing/ of their unrepeatable energy,/ back into everything else. / When I find one/ I hold it in my hand,/ I look out over that shrinking fire,/ I shut my eyes. Not often,/ but now and again there's a moment/ when the heart cries aloud:/ yes, I am willing to/ be/ that wild/ darkness,/ that long, blue body of light." -Mary Oliver, "Whelks"

My hope is that all of us might have the eyes of poets: to find inspiration, brilliance and love in the most cracked and imperfect corners of our lives.

banana-awesome-grams

2010-03-06T22:57:00.000-08:00

Thanks to one of my youth introducing me to this during our trip to Tahoe, I am now obsessed with this game. I love word games in general (taboo? scategories? boggle? yes please!), and this is my new favorite. It's basically speed scrabble, minus the board and point system. Trust me you will love it.

I just ordered my own from amazon. I'm thinking about making banana bread and having a banana themed party upon its arrival. Who's in?

Lenten prayer.

2010-03-06T21:37:00.000-08:00

"Artist of souls,

you sculpted a people for yourself

of the rocks of wilderness and fasting.
Help us as we take up your invitation to prayer and simplicity,
that the discipline of these forty days
may sharpen our hunger for the feast of your holy friendship,
and whet our thirst for the living water you offer
through Jesus Christ. Amen." (from the Vanderbilt Divinity Library)

last stand.

2010-02-15T13:54:00.000-08:00

So, this year it seemed to many of us, the super bowl's adds were particularly sexist. These commercials portrayed men as macho, truck driving, violent, stupid neanderthals and women as bitchy, uptight, nagging shrews. Neither image is particularly flattering, and I find these stereotypes to be neither useful or funny.

Two assumptions I think advertisers ought to rethink are these 1) only men watch the superbowl. 2) men secretly hate their wives and girlfriends. The first, is obviously not true. This year's superbowl was the most watched television program in history, and included an audience made up of both women and men across the country and various age brackets. So, by attempting to advertise to just men, they missed out on more than half of their potential market. The second assumption, I have to hope and pray is not true. I just can't believe that most men hate women. I think they actually like women, and want to be with their wives or girlfriends, which is why they date and/or marry them. So, I am left not simply offended, but perplexed. Who do these adds appeal to and why?

For me, the winner of most offensive/sexist add goes to this gem from Dodge:

However, I am very pleased with this women's response to the orginal add, which is delightful. Now, hear me out: I do not hate men. But I do think it is a witty and well-thought out response. And if nothing else, it shows me I am not alone in hating the machoism of superbowl advertising. Enjoy!

journey to Bethlehem.

2009-12-10T13:10:00.000-08:00

Every Wednesday night, I spend an hour and half with 15-20 Jr High aged youth. They are loud, energetic, funny, and so fun to be around. But, as anyone who works with this age group knows, they often make me very tired. And while I know they had fun, I'm not always entirely sure if they connected with God.

As youth group ends, I look around the fellowship hall where we meet and it looks like a tornado has gone through... whatever snack we shared and activities we've done, have somehow exploded into every inch of the space. I sigh, and know as tired as I am, it's going to be at least a half hour of clean up.

The thing about all this is, that despite their energy sapping wildness and the trail of mess that they leave behind, my kids amaze me. The way they love each other, the way they laugh together, and the way they see God, opens up my heart in unexplainable ways. I realize that I have become so "adult" in my spirituality that I forgot that church shouldn't just be deep, it should be fun. That God is never boring or neat, but explosive and imaginative.

But more than any of this, my kids show me the simplicity of loving God. They enter into their relationship with God with such openness and honesty. They love and trust so wholly, but never fear asking questions. One of the simple joys of my Wednesday nights is that when I'm cleaning up the mess, I also get to look at their prayers, pictures and reflections that they leave behind.

Last night one of the activities we did was a journey to Bethlehem. A few students at a time went into a candle lit space where there were several stations for prayer and reflection. At each station there was a short scripture about one of the characters in the Christmas story, and an invitation to imagine what it was like to be that person through some reflective questions. They entered into the story with such authenticity and imagination. Their post-it reflections helped the Christmas story come alive for me in a whole new way. Here's some of what they wrote down:

Imagine you are a wise man: "I would feel weird following a star, and scared. But it would be amazing when I saw Jesus." "I would be so happy."

Imagine you are a Shepherd: "I would be frightened, but curious." "I might be disappointed that it was a baby, but I would be hopeful too." "I would wonder what the heck is going on." "I'd be happy to tell other people about the good news." "I would tell everyone about it."

Imagine you are the angel: "I would be happy and maybe joyful to spread God's word. i would be excited, and feel kind of powerful [because] delivering God's word helps people know about what is happening. I wouldn't be worried that people won't believe me, because it needs to happen and it is joyful to deliver God's word." "I would be scared what people would say about it and afraid of doubt." "I would feel good spreading the word and I would be excited. " "I wouldn't worry about anything because of God's power." "I would be excited to tell people the joyful news but worried to see if they would believe me."

Imagine you are baby Jesus: "It would be scary, but excited. I would feel cold and see cows and birds around me. I'd be happy and thankful to be with my mom. I'd feel proud that God sent me and I would want to grow up and help all people." "I would be happy and excited that God sent me to be the Light of the World." "I would feel vulnerable and comforted." "I would feel small, sad and scared." "I would feel cold from the wind and hear the animals making noises."

Imagine you are Mary: "I would feel hopeful and amazed." "I would be happy." "I would be scared and happy, nervous and joyful." "So happy."

Imagine you are Joseph: "I would be mad and weirded out when Mary got pregnant." "I would be disappointed and angry." "When the angel told me that the baby came from God I would feel awkward." "When Jesus is born I would be happy and excited." "I would be nervous and hopeful."

These simple reflections reminded me that Christmas isn't just an old story, but something that lives in us. It has real, vivid emotions, and expectations and hopes and fears and loss... all of which we still experience in our own lives. And yet with all these mixed emotions, we are still called to journey forward, to worship, to trust, and to share this amazing story with the world.

Another activity we did was this mosiac icon of the Mother Mary and Christ Child made out of advertisements (pictures above). I stole the idea from here - I think it's a great idea if you happen to be looking for a fun and easy art project for a group at your church. Ours doesn't look quite as good or as clear as I'd hope, and my youth got bored with it a little quicker than I'd expected (warning - it takes a long time, especially if Jr High boys are involved). But in the end they were excited about the end result and being able to see it turn into something, and I was happy that they transformed consumerism into something beautiful together.

I hope you are all getting to experience Advent in new ways this year. I love this season... it's such an amazing time to see the world through the eyes of a child: with love, hope, joy and imagination.

opening.

2009-12-08T23:55:00.000-08:00

I went to a writing workshop last Saturday. It was taught my the lovely and inspiring Jane Hirshfield. If you aren't familiar with her work, check it out. "This was once a love poem" is a favorite of mine.

The workshop involved developing first lines that don't just open up a poem or essay, but open the possibility of many directions. It reminded me how much I crave to be playful and creative. How my soul longs to pour out images, without summarizing or boiling down or analyzing. Sometimes we just need to let ourselves be creative without purpose, just to see what comes out.

Here's one of the lines that came out of my writing at the workshop:

"A mound of wet clay contains within itself an infinite number of possible becomings, but its beginnings are always the same: dark, sloppy, and of the earth."

sexist much?

2009-12-01T23:07:00.000-08:00

Please watch this (especially the part that starts at 1:54) and tell me you share my rage:

An open letter to Mark Driscoll:

I find this offensive on so many levels, I don't know where to begin. The idea that the church is in decline because it is "chicafied" is completely outrageous. Most pastors are men. Most worship services are shaped by men. Blaming it on "femininity" is not only offensive, but illogical. Secondly, being manly has nothing to do with hairy chests, and slaying other men in pools of their own blood. I like how you talk about David as this macho man, but conveniently leave out his passion for music, poetry and dance, and focus only on brashness, brute strength and violence as though that is what made him innovative. We do need innovators in the church. We also need men, just as much as we need women. But having a penis has nothing to do with being innovative. And there are incredibly creative voices (both men and women) who are being stifled in churches everywhere based on assumptions such as the ones you clearly are making about what it means to be manly or to be feminine. As a woman who is called to ordination, innovative worship and ultimately, I believe, church planting, I am so deeply disappointed that you, one of the dominant voices of the Christian church, would be so insensitive to such important gender issues and would make such broad generalizations. We need young innovators in the church, without a doubt, but stereotyping is not the way to do it. I find it difficult to articulate just how angry and disappointed I am that this is the kind of "creative innovation" that is being spoken into the Christian Church. This is good old-fashioned sexism at its worst. Please stop spouting your anti-female rhetoric in Christ's name.

creative prayer.

2009-11-28T21:27:00.000-08:00

I came across these ideas on the Rethink Youth Ministry website. I love them because they are so simple, but allow really expressive and physical ways to pray. Some I knew about and have used, but others were new to me. They could be used in worship or small group settings or private prayer... and I think they could translate to some adult groups as well. Man, if I had a youth room, I would do the magnetic poetry prayer wall today. Anyway, these are so good, I wanted to share with my other blogging friends. Enjoy!

Tinfoil prayers - Pass out a sheet of aluminum foil to each person. Invite them to take time in silence to craft the foil into the shape of something they want to offer up in prayer. They could create an object, an initial of a person's name, or even something abstract. When finished, students can choose whether or not to share about their prayer request represented by their foil creations and then all foil prayers are placed in the midst of the group for a closing prayer.

Play-Doh Prayers - Much like the one above, youth are given a lump of Play-Doh and asked to create a shape representing a prayer need. When everyone is ready, join in a circle and have persons, one at a time, place their creation in the center of the group and in some way attach it to the other Play-Doh creations to represent the way our shared prayers become one.

Pipe-Cleaner Prayers - Pass out several multi-colored pipe cleaners to each person and invite them to create a shape that represents a prayer need in their lives. When all are ready, present each prayer creation verbally or in silence and then have the group work as one to attach all the pipe cleaner shapes together.

Photo Prayers - Sometimes youth just can't think what to pray about so this idea uses photos to spur young people to consider the prayer needs in their lives or world. Cut out photos and images from magazines and place them in the center of the group. Invite youth to retrieve an image that connects with them and some need for prayer in their lives. Ask each person to share why the image grabbed their attention and how it speaks to them about a prayer concern.

Candle Prayers - Place a ton of votive candles in your worship space with a larger central candle in their midst. Light the central candle and invite youth in silence to come forward and light a votive from the central candle to represent a prayer for another person in need. Allow this to be an unstructured time so that youth come forward as they feel ready and allow individuals to light as many candles as they like.

Bulletin Board Prayers - Establish a bulletin board or other wall space in your youth room where youth can regularly post photos, news articles, and messages lifting up joys and concerns they want to share with the group.

Magnetic Poetry Prayers - This one is a little more ambitious. Create wall space in your room painted with magnetic paint (yes it exists) and provide an ample supply of magnetic poetrywords for youth to create a wall of creative prayers to share with others. Similarly, paint a section of wall with chalk paint and allow students to graffitti their joys and concerns right on the wall.

Sand Prayers - Set our a plastic container filled with sand. One at a time, invite each person to go to the container and trace in the sand a world or symbol of something for which they seek forgiveness. When they are finished, invite them to pass their hand over what they have drawn, obliterating it as a way of accepting God's forgiveness.

um... creepy?

2009-10-26T23:21:00.000-07:00

So, I've always kind of liked this guy's youtube videos. Yeah, he looks kind of creepy, but in a fun, harmless entertaining way. And he lips-sinks animatedly to up beat, old favorite songs. It's like, "oh, silly, creepy old man, look how ridiculous you are! You creep me out a little, but you also make me laugh. How fun!"

But apparently he's a registered sex offender. He's not harmless at all. He's a real live dangerous sex-offending creeper. My heart is sad.

Boo. That's the worst.

but, what do i love when i love my god?

2009-10-26T20:58:00.000-07:00

I'll just say it plain: I had a bad day in ministry today. One of those days when the students I work with just didn't engage, when nothing seemed to work, when they didn't want to be there. And because they don't want to be there, I didn't want to be there. I found myself wondering, "what's the point?" Why make them come to something they hate? I've tried re-imagining what youth ministry looks like. I've tried everything I can think of from games, to discussions, to worship, to small groups, to interactive prayer. I've tried to simply be present, to listen, to relate. But today, they looked disinterested and bored. They talked to each other, and rolled their eyes, and wanted to be doing anything else. I crave for them to connect with God, but today I confess that for a moment, I thought, "If they don't want to, there's nothing I can do. I give up.

But when I came home, Kyle was telling me about a passage from Augustine's Confessions that he had been reflecting on, and it reminded me of something beautiful. Instead, of asking, "why don't they care? why don't I feel more respected and appreciated? why do I do this? what is the point?" This amazing passage re-oriented my thoughts, and breathed life into my faith at the moment I needed it most, by asking a question that is bigger than all my negative thinking:

"What do I love when I love my God? Not material beauty of a temporal order; not the brilliance of earthly light, so welcome to our eyes; not the sweet melody of harmony and song; not the fragrance of flowers, perfumes, and spices; not manna or honey; not limbs such as the body delights to embrace. It is not these that I love when I love my God. And yet, when I love him, it is true that I love a light of a certain kind, a voice, a perfume, a food, an embrace; but they are of the kind that I love in my inner self,when it listens to sound that never dies away; when it breathes fragrance that is not borne away on the wind;when it tastes food that is never consumed by the eating;when it clings to an embrace from which it is not severed by fulfillment of desire. This is what I love when I love my God.

But what is my God? I put my question to the earth. It answered, "I am not God, and all things on earth declared the same. I asked the sea and the chasms of the deep and the living things that creep in them, but they answered, "We are not your God. Seek what is above us." I spoke to the winds that blow, and the whole air and all that lives in it replied, "I am not God." I asked the sky, the sun, the moon, and the stars, but they told me. "Neither are we the God whom you seek." I spoke to all the things that are about me, all that can be admitted by the door of the senses, and I said, "Since you are not my God, tell me about him. Tell me something of my God." Clear and loud they answered, "God is he who made us.” I asked these questions simply by gazing at these things, and their beauty was all the answer they gave…

I know that my soul is the better part of me, because it animates the whole of my body. It gives life, and this is something that no body can give no another body. But God is even more. God is the Life of the life of my soul."

So, today I am reminded of the Life, who gives life to my soul. The one whose embrace is never severed. The one who I taste, see, and feel in the deepest unexplainable ways. The one who is expressed in all the beauty that springs out of creation, but is more than the sum of all created things and beings. So, the question of why I do ministry has a simple answer: because I love my God, and the question of who I love when I love God is one I want to spend my life contemplating.

The question of who we love when we love God, is why we try to find God's presence in worship, why we talk about our faith, why we argue about theology, why we struggle to re-imagine the church in a way that is relevant. Today, I will not throw in the towel. Today, I will pray that the God I love will be present in ways I cannot begin to imagine, and that I, and every student I work with, will come to know the one we love in a deeper way.

saturday afternoon bounty.

2009-10-24T17:52:00.000-07:00

I love fresh produce. Today, I came home with this beautiful pile of apples and pears among other things (lots of other things). And these are all grown on local farms on the west coast. Today, I'm in love with our bountiful earth and the Creator of all this life and beauty.

the hours.

2009-10-19T22:19:00.000-07:00

I've been rereading the lovely (and pulitzer prize winning) book by Michael Cunningham. It is magical. He is truly a lyrical writer. A novelist, with a poets sense of music and beauty. Here are a few of my favorite pieces of this sad and achingly beautiful story about human longings and relationships:

"What I wanted to do seemed so simple. I wanted to create something alive and shocking enough that it could stand beside a morning in somebody's life. The most ordinary morning."

"[The story] was full of a love complex and ravenous, ancient, neither this nor that. It will serve as this afternoon's manifestation of the central mystery itself, the elusive brightness that shines from the edges of certain dreams; the brightness which, when we awaken is already fading from our minds, and which we rise in the hope of finding, perhaps today, this new day in which anything might happen, anything at all."

"Why is it so impossible to speak plainly, to ask the important questions? What are the important questions?"

"She feels the presence of her own ghost; the part of her at once most indestructibly alive and least distinct; the part that owns nothing; that observes with wonder and detachment, like a tourist in a museum."

"It seems possible that she slipped across an invisible line, the line that has always separated her from what she would prefer to feel, what she would prefer to be. It does not seem impossible that she has undergone a subtle but profound transformation, here in this kitchen, at this most ordinary of moments: she has caught up with herself... She will not lose hope."

"There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined, though one knows these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning; we hope, more than anything, for more."

dance break.

2009-10-07T11:02:00.001-07:00

I have long believed that if people had a mandatory dance break in the middle of their day, we would be about a billion percent happier. If we would just give ourselves a moment to be silly and to move our bodies... then we would feel a little free. We spend so much time sitting. So much time contained. What would it mean to really let ourselves let loose, to not just think and feel things, but to embody them? What if offices had dance rooms instead of break rooms? Or what if church leaders as they invited people to pray said, "let us move joyfully and dance," instead of "let us bow our heads?"

I think it would be good. I spend too little of my life dancing, and truth be told it is very difficult to be in a bad mood if you are on your feet, jumping, swaying, moving your limbs in rhythm.

Katherine Mansfield once wrote something about the way we treat our bodies like some kind of rare antique. She suggested that we act as though moving or being silly is shameful - so we contain ourselves. In the story "Bliss" she wrote, "She still had moments when she wanted to run instead of walk, to take dancing steps on and off the pavement, or to stand still and laugh at -- nothing -- at nothing, simply... What can you do if you are [an adult] and turning the corner of your own street you are overcome suddenly by a feeling of bliss -- absolute bliss -- as if you'd suddenly swallowed a piece of that late afternoon sunlight... Is there no way you can express it without being drunk and disorderly? How idiotic civilization is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?"

She wrote that 1918, but 90 years later we are still just as idiotic. When we feel something, we rarely express it in any way except what is dignified or labelled as socially acceptable. Or better yet, we deal with it in the privacy found behind closed doors. But, have you ever watched the way a child plays? The way they run and spin and laugh with true abandon? I want that kind of freedom. They are unabashedly joyful. And I wonder if adults haven't so much lost joy, as much as we've lost suitable ways of expressing it.

Have you ever watched those "Where the Hell is Matt?" videos on youtube? Basically this guy goes all over the world, and just does this silly dance. Is seems completely absurd, but I think he's on to something. The truth is the world has watched those videos a million times because in them we see something we crave. Silliness. Fun. Humans just being human together.

In a segment for NPR Matt says,"When I dance with people, I see them smile and laugh and act ridiculous. It makes our differences seem smaller. The world seems simpler, and my caveman brain finds that comforting."

I am with Matt. I want to smile and laugh and be silly with people, For a few moments I need the world to seem a little less complicated. So, I'm going to try to make more time for dance breaks, and hopefully invite others to join me.

I hope that you'll treat yourself to a little dance break today, too.

inspired.

2009-10-06T23:28:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I stress about my job. I worry about all the youth I haven't connected with. I worry that I'm not fun enough or honest enough. I worry that often the youth seem bored and disengaged. I wonder if what I do matters.

Then I have a moment when the amazing youth I work with remind me that God is doing something very real in them. And that I am blessed just to witness it.

At the youth lock-in on Saturday night, I set up some prayer stations and at one of them they wrote down some of the things that were on their hearts and laid them at the foot of a cross. Today, I was reading through what they wrote and I felt inspired by the beauty of their spirits.

Here is the list of their prayers:

family. friends. and life.
You are love, life and purity. I feel for anyone who does not yet know you.
My relationship and belief in God.
My parents and grandparents, all people in suffering, people dealing with pain or with handicaps.
The ones who are always there, Christ, family, relationships, long-lasting impressions and people who listen.
People who are suffering, loved ones, others, friends, people who feel alone and lost, Please help them feel better, God.
Bring me back.
People you love, ones who love you, church, sufferers, ones who help, family and friends.
My family, old friends, lonely people, my aunt, people with incurable diseases.
Home, new opportunities, love, life, family, friends, those who are suffering and those in need.
Life , love, worship, family together, home, friends, and joy.

I am humbled by their compassion and their honesty. Their hunger for God in their own lives and their hunger to see God comfort and heal the lives of others is amazing.

I can't believe I get paid to hang out with these incredible people. Today, for at least a little while, I set aside my worries and was simply thankful. Through them, God touches me.

I love her.

2009-10-05T14:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I went to ridiculously packed concert in the park to see Neko Case. Her voice takes my breath away. Her song lyrics are incredible. If you are not yet a fan, you should become one.

my name is katie and i am not hip.

2009-09-21T23:07:00.000-07:00

So, one of my youth told me that last night's youth group was "kickin," which I had to assume meant fun. Then I was facebook chatting with another youth and they wrote "lmao" and I had to ask Kyle was that meant (laughing my ass off). Also, I now use twitter, but still don't really understand it or its appeal.

Moral of today's story: hanging out with teenagers makes me feel old and super lame... please tell me I'm not over-the-hill and culturally irrelevant at the age of 25 :)

i've been thinking.

2009-09-21T00:16:00.000-07:00

That more people should read Romantic poetry. It's not sappy. It's not mere descriptions of flowers and trees or gushy love poems. It has to do with the soul. Romantic poetry is about the soul's longing for beauty and for meaning... its an intensely personal inner monologue, that has universal appeal. For who hasn't looked at a beautiful scene and tried for a moment to allow the view to transform and fill them? Who hasn't sadly looked back at youth as a time when fulfillment seemed simpler and attainable? Who hasn't felt the ache to feel something big and beautiful and uncontained? Who hasn't longed to be somehow connected to something beyond one's own skin? William Wordsworth in particular sings of all of this with words so lovely they seem to have more than meter and voice... they seem to have an actually melody. Everytime I read this poem, the song of it floats off the page and washes over me.

For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

Sometimes, I wish I could spend my life being an advocate for poetry. Not a teacher or professor. But an advocate standing on a corner with a sign held high, or holding a sit in, or promoting legislation and giving speeches at rallies. "Save Poetry," I want to shout. We need it more than any of us know.

can't wait to meet this little guy.

2009-09-17T16:49:00.000-07:00

So, I am so excited to say that I am going to be an aunt to Ashton Reid Parker, who I am already convinced is the cutest thing I have ever seen. My sister Mary Beth is expecting her first baby at the end of January. She found out that he's a boy this week and sent me the ultrasound pictures. Unfortunately, the pdf is too big of a file and I can't post it here. The pictures are amazing. I was in awe of his legs and hands and beautiful tiny body. It's hard to believe there is a whole person living inside my amazing sister. I just think pregnancy is so miraculous.

I am lucky to have a friend, Alakecree, who is training to become a doula. Basically, that means she will be similar to a midwife, in that she helps women through pregnancy and birth. She provides non-medical emotional and physical support through the process. Alakecree's occasional e-mails and links to videos and articles, remind me how truly incredible our bodies are. It makes me sad that most of what we hear about is how scary and painful giving birth is. A while back Alakecree showed me this video of a woman singing during the early stages of labor:

Isn't that lovely? Here, birth in an opportunity for peace, for celebration, and for worship. Instead of thinking of it being painful or gross, this video helped open my eyes to how beautiful the process really is. How in birth we experience an act of creation, and the wonder of our own life giving abilities. I am so excited for my sister and all she is experiencing, and all that she will experience in the coming months. I know pregnancy isn't all peace and singing, but I can say thank goodness women don't have to be the Betty Drapers of the 1960s anymore. [For those of you who don't watch Madmen, in last week's episode the character Betty Draper went through a horrifying birth. She was forcibly restrained and screaming for her husband (who was happily drinking and smoking in the waiting room), then she was given an enema and Demerol and had frightening and bloody fever induced dreams. And finally, she woke up in a drugged haze with a baby in her arms to whom she had no recollection of actually giving birth to. I could have a whole rant about the way men have made women feel ashamed of their bodies through the medical establishment, but I'll save it for another blog.] Anyway, YAY! Birth doesn't have to be like that. It is a beautiful celebration of life giving us more life.

Don't worry, I don't have baby fever. I don't intend to have any of my own anytime soon. I'm just so excited that my sister is going to bring a little person into the world, and just amazed at the miracle of life --- it is truly miraculous. Also, it means I get to be an aunt and have a little cutie pie to spoil and love (and give back to his parents). Ashton, I can't wait to meet you and welcome you to the world.

just in case you haven't seen it.

2009-09-17T16:35:00.000-07:00

If you are in ministry, especially youth ministry, you've probably seen this already. But if you haven't yet experienced the amazing power of Ignatius and Flame Ministry, you need to watch this:

hehehehe.

It gets me every time. Probably because I've spent a lot of time in youth ministries and young adult ministries, and so much of it rings true to what we present as the "cool" Christian culture. Lots of hair gel and graphic design -- but no depth. I watch it and laugh (hard), and pray that Church can be something better and more authentic.

I'm using it for my youth group this week as a starting point for talking about what ministry is and what they envision youth group to be. Should be fun.

I'd love to hear your reactions :)

the day.

2009-09-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

"The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet."

I woke up thinking of these lines by Wallace Stevens. These words make the day seem still and endless, like anything is possible.

offensive.

2009-09-14T23:40:00.000-07:00

I find this commercial offensive. Or at the very least very poor advertising.

And it seems to be on all the time.

The first time I saw it, I actually said out loud, "seriously?" It seems to want me to say, Oh, look how clorox products have helped women do laundry for decades! As if all we've done in the last century is do the wash, and I will find that thought comforting. I hate that its blatantly directed at the female viewers, and the way it tries to cleverly joke that "maybe even a man or two" has done the laundry-- God forbid.

I believe that more than a man or two has done laundry. And I believe they are quite capable of doing it. This commercial is targeted directly at me (the adult female), and wants to create some comradery about how me and all the other ladies do the laundry and most of the boys are left out of the Clorox club. Look how happy we are wearing all those cute vintage clothes while we throw in one load after another! What a wonderful club we are a part of because we have a uterus! Well, here's news: I don't care to be in that club, thank you.

I actually don't mind doing the laundry at all, but every time I see this commercial I feel like never doing laundry again. It's not terribly often that the raging feminist in me comes out, but this add seems to do it every time... It makes me want to come up from the basement and announce to the world I am capable, I can do more than wash clothes, I don't want to miss out on history taking place because I'm stuck down there doing the laundry. I'm also offended on behalf of men everywhere. I know that you also purchase laundry detergent, and I'm sorry that Clorox has assumed only a few of you are capable and worthy enough of joining the magical Clorox world.

So, that's my rant for today. :) Am I the only one who hates this commercial?

different light and life.

2009-09-11T23:23:00.000-07:00

I stumbled on Adrianne Rich's "An Atlas of the Difficult World" today. A poem I have loved in the past but not read in at least a year.... And today, it seemed a completely different poem. Parts of the poem refer to the foggy bay, the reaching redwoods, the vast shimmering Pacific. Images that were once almost imaginary, creations in my mind's eye that could be envisioned, but not experienced. But now, living in Berkeley, spending afternoons in San Fransisco, watching the sun slice through layers of fog, casting shimmery shapes across the ocean and sand and towering pines -- the poem takes on a new familiarity. Coming to this poem today felt like finding a sweater packed away for many months, that is rediscovered, and is suddenly treasured with new love and need during a cold season. Its a poem I can wrap myself in. She writes:

Within two miles of the Pacific rounding

this long bay, sheening the light for miles

inland, floating its fog through redwood rifts and over

strawberry and artichoke fields, its bottomless mind

returning to the same rocks, the same cliffs, with

ever-changing words, always the same language

--- this is where I live now. If you had known me

once, you’d still know me now though in a different

light and life. This is no place you ever knew me...

These are not the roads you knew me by.

But the woman driving, walking, watching

for life and death, is the same.

I connect so deeply with finding oneself in a such a different world and new life, yet experiencing the familiar language of the inner life that has always been your own. A feeling of existing in a new world, with an old self. Being unchanged yet changed in the same moment. And Rich captures it like few other writers could. With poignancy, with certain beauty and a tinge of sadness. She embraces her new world with such tender attention, and yet with her love of newness, there is a hint of longing to be recognized, and to be seen as the one you've always known yourself to be. I love the poem's rich descriptions of experiencing life in a strange yet known landscape -- they seem intimately familiar and deeply personal. The more powerful part of the poem, still, is the final section. It is the most quoted, most well-known part for good reason:

I know you are reading this poem

late, before leaving your office

of the one intense yellow lamp-spot and the darkening window

in the lassitude of a building faded to quiet

long after rush-hour. I know you are reading this poem

standing up in a bookstore far from the ocean

on a grey day of early spring, faint flakes driven

across the plains' enormous spaces around you.

I know you are reading this poem

in a room where too much has happened for you to bear

where the bedclothes lie in stagnant coils on the bed

and the open valise speaks of flight

but you cannot leave yet. I know you are reading this poem

as the underground train loses momentum and before running up the stairs

toward a new kind of love

your life has never allowed.

I know you are reading this poem by the light

of the television screen where soundless images jerk and slide

while you wait for the newscast from the intifada.

I know you are reading this poem in a waiting-room

of eyes met and unmeeting, of identity with strangers.

I know you are reading this poem by fluorescent light

in the boredom and fatigue of the young who are counted out,

count themselves out, at too early an age. I know

you are reading this poem through your failing sight, the thick

lens enlarging these letters beyond all meaning yet you read on

because even the alphabet is precious.

I know you are reading this poem as you pace beside the stove warming milk, a crying child on your shoulder, a book in your hand

because life is short and you too are thirsty.

I know you are reading this poem which is not in your language guessing at some words while others keep you reading

and I want to know which words they are.

I know you are reading this poem listening for something, torn between bitterness and hope turning back once again to the task you cannot refuse.

I know you are reading this poem because there is nothing else left to read

there where you have landed, stripped as you are.

The poem up until that section seems to be a mirror in which we see Rich, or at least in which we view a particular way of experiencing the world. But then she suddenly turns the mirror. We stop gazing at someone else’s reflection, and begin viewing ourselves. She sees each of us, our needs and intricacies are both particular and universal. I read it and feel my own hunger and thirst for poetry and art. I feel at home in the fact that she speaks directly to me and to others in our wide need to find beauty, and to make meaning. In this moment, Rich isn’t just writing a poem because she needs to, but she is writing to us, the readers, the dreamers, the hungry, the broken, the passionate and the tired, because we need her to write. We need her words. We need her mirror. And more than anything we need the blessed gift of somehow feeling seen. And that is what this poem does… it does not merely help us to see, but it sees us, looks up at us from the page and loves each of us ferociously. Loves us, whatever light and life we have landed in.

music of the mind.

2009-06-15T12:56:00.000-07:00

Recently, two incredibly talented people joined forces and created something amazing. A neuroscientist and a composer worked together to create music and poetry that expresses the mystery and miracle of the human mind. The resulting art is truly amazing: its layers express such beauty and intensity. You can close your eyes and visualize brain cells interacting and bringing thought to life. In the harmonies you can begin to imagine the complex process of a sea experience becoming images and words. It's a celebration of humanity -- a celebration of the miracle that is consciousness. It's about everything that makes us uniquely human. The ability to imagine. To become. To shape thoughts and futures.

One of the lines of poetry reads: "Once minds began blooming, nothing was ever the same." I love this image, the idea of the mind blooming, like a plant opening to life and possibility. And suddenly the entire landscape was changed. There are so many miraculous things that happen every day that we take for granted... especially within the worlds of our own bodies. This artwork reminded me of this whole complicated world that exists within my skull and makes me who I am. Listening to this music and imagining the intricacies of the mind, I am completely in awe of this vast mystery that is life.

We so often see art and science as separate and even competing fields, but this is a great misconception. Both the arts and sciences search for and express truth and mystery. Art is not just about feeling, and science isn't just about reason. Both are this incredible mixture of reason and feeling. Both are about a passion for discovery and creativity. Both are significant. Both make us human. One is not to be valued over the other. Artists and Scientists are not in opposition with one another. Both are in the business of expressing and revealing life's beauty. I think this collaboration that represents the music of the human mind is proof that science and art are deeply connected, and intimately intertwined in the most wonderful way.

To hear the music and hear the whole story, follow this link to NPR's website: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=103713700

Happy listening.

new obsession.

2009-06-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

I have a new obsession: a Canadian worship folk duo. These songs are so beautiful, and her voice is AMAZING. It's worship in its purest form. In short, I love Jacob and Lily. And I want you to love them, too:

beautiful.

hello again.

2009-06-12T23:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know. It’s the oldest story in the blogger book. I started a blog and in all the excitement started with at least weekly postings; soon, these began to dwindle to a more irregular bi-monthly posting… and then April came, the end of the semester craziness began, and suddenly it was mid-June and there wasn’t so much as a word of update on my blog page.

Well, I’ve decided to resurrect my very sad and neglected blog. Mainly because life is full of beauty, chaos and general absurdity, that too often it goes unnoted and unnoticed. Blogs are this great place where we can jot down our thoughts and observations to share with each other, and to look back on later. The poet John Ashbery once observed, “What is beautiful seems so only in relation to a specific life, experienced or not, channeled into some form…” I think that blogging has to do with this urge to offer some bit of beauty to the world by putting our lives into a kind of form and offering it to others. Little snapshots of a life experienced.

I must admit, my desire to return to this world of internet sharing also has to do with the fact that I am coming to point of huge changes in my life. In May, I got engaged to the love of my life. Getting to spend my life with him is the biggest blessing I can imagine. Not only because he is a wonderful person, but because he helps me see things in new ways. Having a partner in the journey makes the landscape so much more beautiful. We also made the decision to move together to Berkeley, California (right across the Bay from San Francisco). I will be transferring to the Pacific School of Religion to finish my Masters of Divinity and Kyle will be attending the Graduate Theological Union to begin his PhD work. This means packing up and moving across the country, beginning the job search once again, finding new friends and new ministry opportunities—building a new life together. It is scary and incredibly exciting all at the same time.

Anyway, I’m back and I’m going to try to make regular updates. In honor of this momentous (not-so-much) occasion, I would like to celebrate with the creepy old man who loves the 30 rock theme song. He’s the best.

Poetry for Holy Week

2009-04-10T12:17:00.000-07:00

As most of you know, one of the most powerful ways that I commune with God is through poetry. For me, it provides these images and spaces where I can experience the divine through my imagination. It provides these vivid colors and experiences which for me aren't just about God, but become God's very whisper. A whisper that says, "I am present, I am the miracle in ordinary things, I am the tension that holds together the paradox, I am the mystery that makes fragments whole." For me, reading poetry is worship of the most intimate kind.

This week, I was asked to read a poem in chapel, and this sent my on a search for poetry that was particular to Holy Week. Words that could express the poignant sorrow, darkness, mystery and celebration of the events of Christ's life, death and resurrection. Language that could touch somehow on this holy mystery that claims a God-man who was and is and is to come.

In this search, I found myself rediscovering the poetry of Thomas Merton. If you are unfamiliar with his work, you should definitely consider reading more about him. He was a life-time learner, monk, writer, and seeker of beauty. Deeply Christian, but always seeking for more of God's presence in all places, he was also profoundly interested in inter-religious and cross-cultural understanding.

Here are a few of his poems for reflection this holy weekend. Enjoy.

The Vine

When the wind and winter turn our Vineyard
into a bitter Calvary
What hands come out and crucify us
Like the innocent vine?

How long will starlight weep as sharp as thorns
In the night of our desolate life?
How long will moonlight fear to free the naked prisoner?
Or is there no deliverer?

A mob of winds, on Holy Thursday, come like murderers
And batter the walls of our locked and terrified souls
Our doors are down, and our defense is done.
Good Friday's rains, in Roman order,
March with sharpest lances up our vineyard hill.

More dreadful than St. Peter's cry
When he was being swallowed by the sea
Cries out our anguish, "O we are abandoned!"
When in our lives we see the ruined vine
Cut open by cruel spring,
ploughed by the furious season.

As if we had forgotten how the whips of winter
And the cross of April,
Would all be lost in one bright Miracle.
For look! The vine on Calvary is bright with branches!
See how the leaves laugh in the light,
And how the whole hill smiles with flowers,

And know how our numbered veins must run
With life, like the sweet vine, when it is full of sun.

My prayer is that we all find space to cry out to God in our anguish and sorrow, like the weeping starlight, and to know the hope of the Resurrected Christ, the living vine who felt our deepest anguish and sorrow, and who lives on to bring us life. Perhaps, even if only for a week, a day, or just a moment, we would all be lost in that one bright miracle.

In Silence

Be still.
Listen to the stones of the wall.
Be silent, they try
to speak your

name.
Listen
to the living walls.

Who are you?

Whose
silence are you?

Who (be quiet)
are you (as these stones
are quiet). Do not
think of what you are
still less of
what you may one day be.

Rather
be what you are (but who?)
be the unthinkable one
you do not know.

O be still, while
you are still alive,
and all things live around you

speaking (I do not hear)
to your own being,
speaking by the unknown
that is in you and in themselves.

“I will try, like them
to be my own silence:
and this is difficult. The whole
world is secretly on fire. The stones
burn, even the stones they burn me.
How can a man be still or
listen to all things burning?
How can he dare to sit with them
when all their silence is on fire?”

I love this poem because it calls us to be present, to be still, and to be what we are. Each of us are full of Christ in this very moment. So, rather than look towards a future of what we might become, I want to be what I am. To hear and see the whole world that is secretly on fire with God's presence. In this holy week, I want to be still, and hear the voice of the Most Holy in the sound of silence.

um... what?

2009-04-06T17:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Christian Film makers,

Please stop making these horrible films. They are creepy, ridiculous and laughable.

Seriously. Stop.

With sincere thanks,

Katherine J. Trinter

wonderful dust.

2009-02-24T18:15:00.000-08:00

Today is ash wednesday, the first day of lent. I am preaching for the first time at Lee's Summit UMC tonight, and am excited because lent can be such an amazing journey. And hopefully, I will be able to invite others on that same journey.

Joel 2 :12 says, "Return to me with all your hearts." I think this act of returning is what makes lent so beautiful. No matter how far we've drifted, how distracted we've been, how broken our hearts are, we are invited on a journey to return to God.

So where is it we are returning to? I've been contemplating that for the last few weeks, and the image that keeps coming back to me is that of God in the first moment of creating humanity. The earth is this flat wasteland, and through any other eyes would have looks dry and hopeless. But God sees possibility. He reaches into the dust, and sees possibility. From little bits of earth that seem like nothing at all, our great Artist God creates humanity, and calls us children of God.

Lent is a return into God's hand. It is an opportunity to make space in our lives for the great creator to transform us. By setting aside 40 days to intentionally pray, fast, and seek God, we allow God to once again reshape us. We return to the intimacy of that first act in which we were created. And just as God saw possibility in that dust, the divine still sees and creates possibilities in whatever mess we've made of our lives.

Wherever you are at, whatever pieces your life is in, God can recreate it. That is what the resurrection promises. This night, we cry out that we are nothing, we repent of our egos, our materialism, our selfishness, and our failings; we confront our own mortality, remembering that our days on earth are numbered. But in this very moment of admitting we are nothing, we are reminded of a God who can do all things. A God who calls us his children, and who at the end of every wilderness journey provides an Easter, a recreation, a promise of new life.

So, when you hear those words: "Remember that you are dust, and to the dust you shall return." Be reminded also that God is the greatest artist, and has intentions for us beyond our mortality. You are wondrous dust, with which God can do marvelous things, if only we return to his hands.

This year, I am committing to fast from food one day a week, to journal every day, and to spend less time surfing the web. I am excited about intentionally creating space and time in my life for the spirit to move.

My friend Flip came up with a really creative idea for Lenten practice this year, by committing to give one thing away each day for the forty days of Lent:

You can check out his journey throughout lent by viewing his video blog at http://flipcaderao.tumblr.com/ .

Whether or not you have any Lenten practice, I hope you are finding ways to experience the power, creativity and hope of the divine in your life. I'd love for you to share about the ways that God is moving in your life this season.

christian media.

2009-02-21T12:10:00.000-08:00

According to this article by NPR: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=100927647 the highest grossing independent film this year wasn't Slumdog Millionaire or Milk. It was a Christian movie called Fireproof starring Kirk Cameron.

This NPR article about the continuing growth of Christian media and art really bothered me. And it's not just that Kirk Cameron happens to subscribe to a more conservative/evangelical theology that is different than my own. It has to do with this obsession we have of separating Christian and Secular culture. As if God is only present in one place. These Christian filmmakers talk about culture as though it's all about immorality and sex and violence, as if it is the enemy of God. But actually there is a lot of really beautiful, powerful God-filled art and film out there. Slumdog Millionaire and Milk are two great examples. Both films confront us with ideas about equality and justice and the power of love. All of these are essentially Christian messages. I really believe that God speaks through those films.

Fireproof has these very overtly Christian images of the Bible, prayer and the cross. These are important pieces of our faith, and in my life have been powerful forces. But with Christian music and film making I wonder if we sometimes end up just preaching to the choir. I mean, aren't the only people who are going to be impacted those that recognize and relate to those images already?

I've been thinking about the parables of Jesus. Rather, than speaking in religious terms, Jesus tells stories that essentially don't have God or scripture in them. They are stories of working people, of masters and servants, of families, of nature. Everyday things that people experience. But people could relate to those images, and in the story, even though religion isn't overt, we find God's presence over and over again. Christ understood that the redeeming message of God couldn't be divorced from culture and context. He didn't simplify God into a religious concept. He spoke in the language of the people, used metaphors, told stories and in doing so invited them into this great mystery of the Divine.

One of my favorite Christian books in Ben Pasley's Enter the Worship Circle. I love this book because it challenges its readers to find the divine everywhere, to make their whole lives worship. He writes, "Some might argue that since not all artists believe in God, we could not find God in their work. On the contrary, many artists who do believe in God have so poorly caricatured the nature of the divine that they do little but diminish God. It is often the innocent and uninitiated that give best expression to a vision of God... Whether in realism or abstraction, the artist has the ability to tell the story of experience, and we have the opportunity to listen for the Divine."

On the one hand, I do believe in Christian art. I believe that songs, stories and art that represent God as revealed through the Christian faith are important. I love going to worship and singing praise songs and experiencing artful expressions that embody who Christ is. Without artistic expression, religion dies and becomes sterile. It is an amazing expression of our living God. But to say that this is the only place that God is revealed and expressed puts such incredible limitations on God. We don't need to fear non-Christian culture, and assume that only overtly Christian art is "truly meaningful to the kingdom of God."

God is speaking in all these amazing ways, everywhere and every moment. If we draw a hard line between "Christian" and "Secular" we miss so much of the God who is present in all of creation. Also, when the Church becomes divorced from culture and the people of that culture, religion stops being relevant. We can no longer speak into lives in the meaningful way that Christ did. There's a huge difference between being counter-cultural and anti-culture. By separating ourselves from "secular" culture we don't save our Christian identity, but in fact we lose it. Christian identity means being Christ in the world in a meaningful way. It means meeting people where they are. It means experiencing God revealed where one least expects.

I mean, didn't you like Kirk Cameron better when he offered those happy accessible messages about growing up, finding identity and being a part of a family on the show Growing Pains?

I love bananas too, Kirk, and think they are an amazing part of God's creation. But is an apple less created by God just because it doesn't have a convenient pull-tab and hand grip? I actually think you are a nice guy, but please stop being the spokesperson for Christianity and get back to "sharing the laughter and love" like you used to.

Giving something the label of Christian, doesn't necessarily mean that it offers a more life-giving message.

lyrics.

2009-02-20T21:33:00.000-08:00

These are the lyrics to the song that is played at the end of every yoga class that I attend. It is hopeful, comforting and so powerful. It has been in my head all week, and I think it's beautiful. Enjoy.

Close your eyes; Go Inside
Give up control, let a stronger hand guide you
Back to where you want to be
Dry your eyes, Don't you cry
It's all going to be alright
It's all a dream, a dream
you've been sleeping, a bad dream that's all it is
There's nothing wrong with you really
You're perfect just as you are
We've all just been acting silly
But now the game is over and we know who we are
Northern Star, Shine on me
Fill me up with starlight
Awaken my soul
My heart and my true desire
Walk with me, Take my hand
Trade love for fear
You don't have to be perfect
That's not why you're here
There's someone waiting to find you
There is something inside
Patiently loving and guiding
protecting and waiting
for you to decide
Let a stronger hand guide you
back to where you want to be
Back to your true home.

happiness.

2009-02-20T21:02:00.001-08:00

I think there is an art to happiness. A way of just being in the center of your own life, being totally present, and just celebrating all that you are, mistakes and all. There is an art to being present in those moments that take your breath away.... The other day I was walking out of the grocery store, feeling the winter air, and the afternoon sunshine, arms full of groceries. And it just came over me: "this is my life. all of our hard work and journeying and questioning leads to these simple satisfactions, of light and air and food." And even if that very moment summed up all the meaning in life, I would be perfectly happy. I wish I had the wisdom to always live into that beautiful everyday ordinariness. That is everything. There is freedom in just appreciating all that is.

I was reading through the New Yorker today, and they did a wonderful tribute to John Updike with pages of excerpts from his writings. Updike's work is so full of those ordinary beautiful moments. It's so real, it breaks your heart.

Here is John Updike describing a young man who is driving a car through the middle of the night, his friend asleep in the passenger seat. For me this is a description of perfect happiness, the kind of complex simplicity that life is made up of, deep and meaningful precisely because it is so accessible:

"Nothing happened, the car stayed firm on the road, Neil slept, his face turned skyward... There were so many reasons for me feeling happy. We were on our way. I had seen dawn. This far I had brought us safely. Ahead, a girl waited who, if I asked would marry, but first there was a long trip. Many hours and towns interceded between me and that encounter. There was the quality of the 10 am sunlight as it existed in the air ahead of the windshield, filtered by the thin overcast, blessing irresponsibility... And there was knowing that twice since midnight a person had trusted me enough to fall asleep beside me." -John Updike

whelks.

2009-02-05T23:21:00.000-08:00

a poem from the beautiful pages of mary oliver:

Here are the perfect
fans of the scallops,
quahogs, and weedy mussels
still holding their orange fruit—
and here are the whelks—
whirlwinds,
each the size of a fist,
but always cracked and broken—
clearly they have been traveling
under the sky-blue waves
for a long time.
All my life
I have been restless—
I have felt there is something
more wonderful than gloss—
than wholeness—
than staying at home.
I have not been sure what it is.
But every morning on the wide shore
I pass what is perfect and shining
to look for the whelks, whose edges
have rubbed so long against the world
they have snapped and crumbled—
they have almost vanished,
with the last relinquishing
of their unrepeatable energy,
back into everything else.
When I find one
I hold it in my hand,
I look out over that shaking fire,
I shut my eyes. Not often,
but now and again there’s a moment
when the heart cries aloud:
yes, I am willing to be
that wild darkness,
that long, blue body of light.

miracles.

2009-02-05T21:33:00.000-08:00

I sometimes pray for miracles. I wait in expectation for God to move, to heal friends who are sick or broken, to meet the needs of myself and of others. I pray to see the divine in some kind of undeniable way that will restore the faith of all of us. I look around and feel that in some moments we all seem so lost that we could never find our way to wholeness and happiness and love without some mighty miraculous sweep of God's hand. I sit and hope and wait.

But miracles are common things. As usual and solid as the ground that we step all over every day. There is hurt, yes. And so much poverty and brokenness it breaks my heart. But waiting does no good. I have hands to help. That is a miracle. I have a voice to speak. That, too, is a miracle.

I know in my heart that God moves through human skin, human thoughts, human love-- but still I so often sit and do nothing. Perhaps the most miraculous thing of all, is that even when I choose to be lazy, when I sit doing nothing, waiting for God to move; even when I am so utterly selfish, failing so incredibly... grace rains. It pours. Abundant blessings fill up my life. Miracles shower down on me, even when I forget to be a miracle for someone else.

Today, I ate a clementine and a banana, fruit shipped across the world, over lands and seas so I could hold it in my hand and taste it on my tongue. Today, I heard a familiar voice say I love you after a long day. Today, I sat with friends and talked about fears and hopes and smaller silly things. Today, I walked and the earth met my feet and kept me from sinking. Today, I read words on a page and was moved. These are my rich blessings. These are real miracles.

God is moving, every day, every moment, graciously inviting me to be a living miracle for others. To be the one who hears, gives, loves.... I hope that I have the courage to say Yes. To out pour miracles with the same kind of free abundance that is poured out on me.

an uncomfortable moment with angela lansbury.

2009-02-04T19:02:00.000-08:00

At first I was just confused. Then I was a little uncomfortable. Then I laughed so hard I almost peed a little.

For your viewing pleasure, here is Angela Lansbury sharing thoughts about her body and her sexuality:

First of all, way to go angela! Your legs look better than mine and you are like 70 in this video.

Second, my favorite part is when she says, "I think feminity and sexuality go hand in hand." And she says it in her sexy voice, with the porno-style-soft-jazz playing in the background. Creepy.

Third, the way she says "massage" is amazing.

Fourth, if her goal is to present herself herself as "a woman of loveliness and dignity," I'm not quite sure this video achieved that... I mean the music? The constant massaging of herself? Really?

Fifth, for as much as this is halarious and disturbing, I also think its kind of great that an older woman who is not normally seen as sexual is saying to the world, "I am a woman, and I am sexual and that's part of my identity I won't ignore just because society tells me to." Kudos on the feminist message, creepy youTube video.

And lastly, all I can say is hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe. :)

beauty that moves.

2009-01-30T16:20:00.000-08:00

I read an article in the New Yorker this week about the choreographer George Balanchine, one of the founders of the New York Ballet. One thing he used to speak about was his frustration of people always needing to attach a meaning to art's expression. When they see choreography they always asks, "What does it mean?" There is this need the audience has to qualify what they see on stage by attaching it to a particular idea or experience.

He once compared dance to flowers, pointing out, that when we view flowers we are moved by their beauty, but we don't ask what they mean to tell us. They don't "mean" anything, but simply are beautiful. Balanchine suggested that viewers ought to see his dancers in the same way: to accept their beauty and be moved by it, without needing to make some kind of sense out of it.

Often I think art does ask us to attach meaning. Sometimes artists (musicians, choreographers, poets, sculptors, painters) have a point to make, a story to tell, a challenge to present. But other times, as Balanchine points out, the point and challenge may be to just let it move us. To dwell in its beauty as it is, without adding our interpretation. As humans I think we often struggle to accept mystery and beauty. It feels chaotic to us, and we want to boil it down to something we can make sense of. It seems there are very few times that we allow ourselves to be moved, without asking what the point was.

I think this is why things like meditation, mysticism and yoga have become so popular in the recent decades. There is a craving to dwell in the mystery and stillness. Often religion puts so much emphasis on teaching and preaching. We sometimes act as though religion and spirituality is all about learning the "right answers." But most of us know that's not all there is. We crave more of God; we long to be moved in a way we can't put into words. I think the Emergent Church and authors like Tony Jones have tried to emphasize this point. But as a whole, the church (even the Emergent Church) still struggles with knowing how to dwell in the mystery. We still look at God, or a dancer, or a painting, and produce an answer: "Here is what it means. This is what it is teaching us." And sometimes that's good. We have learned a lot that way. But it seems to me we're missing out on something essential too -- the kind of beauty that moves the way Balanchine described. What truly moves us, is often that which cannot be quantified or qualified. So, I guess the question for all of us, whether we be artists or pastors, teachers or friends, is how do we express the inexpressible? How do we dwell in truths to large to think about?

To want something Passionately.

2009-01-28T23:57:00.000-08:00

I just finished watching Woody Allen's latest film, Vicky Cristina Barcelona. It's beautiful and light hearted, with underlying themes about the life-long search for passion and meaning. It also has the kind of strong, intense, female characters that are typical of Woody Allen. If you watch it though, I have to warn you, you will want to drop everything and fly to Barcelona. Right this minute. So before pressing play, pack your bags.

There is a moment in the movie where Scarlett Johansson's character, Cristina, says that its sad, really, that she loves art and music so passionately, but has no gift or talent to speak of. It reminded me of a similar moment in the film Adaptation where Meryl Streep says, "I suppose I do have one unembarrassed passion: I want to want something passionately." I connect with that feeling of self doubt. That we feel so much beauty and see so much passion, but haven' t found our gift, our art, our passion. We see and admire that passion and art in others, but feel we haven't expressed that kind of beauty ourselves.

I am a lover of poetry, art, and music. I write often, paint (very) occasionally, and have sung in choirs and worship bands in the past -- but I don't have any kind of unique or extraordinary talent in any of these areas. I read poetry that is so beautiful it breaks me open to a whole new way of experience, and I know there isn't a sentence I have ever written that comes close to that kind of true art. I think I am so much better at appreciating than creating. I can look at a poem or a painting, and find so much depth. There is an art to that, I think. An art to seeing and hearing and studying. But I think it pales in comparison to the kind of art that creates, that offers something new to the world, that arranges the pieces of life in a new way, particular to a moment, to a person, to a feeling, to a life. That kind of particular expression comes only out of passionate creativity -- a creativity I strive for, but haven't yet found.

I wonder, do others feel this same sense? Do most of us walk around being appreciators and longing to be artists? Do artists see themselves as artists? Or are they also longing for that moment of true passion and inspiration? What is it that makes us feel that this daily art of living and loving isn't enough? Why do we always assume that other people's passions are more extraordinary than our own?

I don't have any answers today. But I know I believe that every person I meet is an artist. I'm not sure why I struggle to believe that of myself.

widening pool of light

2009-01-20T11:34:00.000-08:00

I know it has been several weeks since my last post. Change has been in the air. I'm finishing my work at Project Transformation, beginning new work in a new place. With that comes all kinds of hopes and anxieties. On all of this, I will write more this week.

But for today, I set aside my own thoughts and struggles. My own little path of change. A bigger change is happening today. Today, President Obama began his term.

Like others, I am feeling celebratory and hopeful; thankful that we've come far enough as a nation to elect this great leader to the white house, knowing also how very far we still need to go on the journey towards equality, peace and hope for all people.

But there is a sense of a new beginning. One we are all hungry for, one which we've been craving for many months, years, decades. Who knows what may happen. Obama is a great man, undoubtedly, but still only a man. A person with only a limited sphere of capability and influence and a thousand obstacles which could scatter that influence to the wind. Yet, still a person, who like each of us has real power. Real influence. Real life that can impact everyone and everything.

Dr. Elizabeth Alexander read this poem today. Beautiful, powerful and eloquent, I think it expresses so much of what this particular day holds:

"Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others’ eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus; A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, “Take out your pencils. Begin.”

We encounter each other in words, Words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; Words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, “I need to see what’s on the other side; I know there’s something better down the road.”
We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables.

Some live by “Love thy neighbor as thy self.” Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need.

What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun.

On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light."

So, here we stand, all of us together, whatever our politics, whatever our economic status, whatever our religion, whatever our race: on the brink, the brim, the cusp. About to walk into something new. I can only hope with Alexander that the mightiest word will be love.

Praise song for walking forward into that widening pool of light.

love is the little things.

2008-12-21T23:23:00.000-08:00

Friday night I helped chaperone a youth lock-in. Sometime around 4 am I fell asleep on a couch, using my coat as a blanket. Around 7 or 8 I half woke up and saw Kyle through my barely opened eyes. He smiled and asked how I was. I sleepily mumbled, "chilly." I drifted back to sleep and when I woke up Kyle had covered me with his big coat, and I felt warm and happy, and so deeply cared for.

Its always the most simple things that remind me how blessed I am.

snow day.

2008-12-17T20:21:00.000-08:00

I love snow. In all my complaining about it getting colder as winter sets in, I had almost forgotten how truly magical winter can be. Snow paints everything in this soft, sparkly white. And suddenly our whole world looks new. It feels like we are getting a blank canvas, a fresh start. Its really amazing.

And something about being out in the snow makes me feel like such a child. It brings back memories of growing up in the snow belt in Ohio, when school would be cancelled due to freezing weather or multiple feet of snow. And it seemed like we'd spend hours upon hours outside no matter how cold it was. We'd layer multiple pairs of socks and gloves and pants, and go out in our thickest winter coats, all to build snow forts, go sledding and throw snow balls. By the time we came inside for hot chocolate we couldn't feel our fingers or toes, but it was so worth it.

As an adult, I spend way too much time inside. Choosing not to go outside either because I'm too busy, or because its too cold, or too hot, or too rainy. It's like at some point in life, we forget how to play and enjoy this magical world.

Well, this week I went on a walk through the snow, and remembered the magic. I hope you are enjoying the magic too. Let yourself play a little. It's good for the world. :)

"I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving; then I am in love again and very young and I believe in everything." -Anne Sexton

a trip to the art museum.

2008-12-16T22:15:00.000-08:00

While my friend Nick from out of town was visiting me this week, I took a trip to the Nelson Adkins. I've probably been there a dozen times before, but each visit is different. It's like seeing it with new eyes. Something different always speaks to me, or something the same speaks to me again in a new way.

I know so many people who really don't like art. Modern art especially. They see a Rothko or a Picasso, and they shutter. But I entreat you, please don't say, "Oh please, I could do that! That isn't art!" First of all, you didn't do it. You probably never thought about how color itself is art. Or how obscure, sloppy shapes could say something about ourselves or our society. And even if you thought to try, would you know how to put it on canvas? Painting is difficult. Even to make a solid color or a splattered canvas demands technique for the colors to gain depth and texture. Look closer. It's not as simple as you think. Secondly (and more importantly), the point of art isn't to jump to judging if its good or bad. Let it draw you in. Let it speak. What is it saying, what is it asking? What does it make you feel? You don't have to like it. It may make you feel disgust, or anger, or worst of all, just plain boredom. For all your efforts, you may still come away thinking, "I don't understand what they are trying to do."

I'm not asking everyone to love all art. I don't love all art. But I think each of us should challenge ourselves to be open to that which is different from what we know. We should come to it, and bring our whole selves, opening our eyes and our emotions to it. To converse and dialogue with it, to really look, instead of judging first. There is such opportunity to be changed, to be made into more than what we already were.

Art teaches endlessly, effortlessly. It evokes emotions, thoughts, ideas and passions that I almost forget I am capable of. It causes me to pause, in a life where I don't pause nearly often enough. It humbles me with its beauty and power. I feel small beside it and also large, filled with its beauty and power, all at the same time.

Art it full of such vitality. It isn't just about being on a wall in a gallery or museum; and it certainly isn't about a $5000 price tag. Oldenburg wrote, "I am for art that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum. I am for art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art with the chance of a starting point of zero. I am for an art that embroils itself with the every day crap and still comes out on top. I am for an art that imitates the human, that IS the human. I am for art that takes its form from the lines of life itself. That twists and extends and accumulates and splits and drips and is heavy and course and blunt and old and sweet and stupid as life itself. I am for an art of underwear and taxi-cabs. I am for an art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete. I am for the majestic art of dog-turds rising like cathedrals."

It seems to me that this isn't only talking about art. Reading this, I think: I am for Christianity that doesn't sit on its ass in church pews. I am for religious people who don't think of their own holiness all day and worry about seeming religious, but who humbly serve with love and power beyond their wildest imaginations. I am for Christianity that embroils itself with the every day people, the dirty and the difficult, and is only more beautiful because of it. I want to see a church in a state of extreme entanglement in the world. I am for seeing the divine not just in a worship service or in a building, but in human faces, human words, human actions. I am for faith that is life changing, that shakes me, that makes me look twice at the ordinary. A Church so active, so entangled with the living, that it can't help but take new shapes, cast new visions, twisting, extending, splitting and connecting in ways never dreamed of. I want a church that finds God everywhere, that builds God's kingdom in the thrown away, that sees beauty in the excrement. That makes the poor, broken, dirty, forgotten places into places of worship.

I am for church that makes me feel the way I do when I see art: startled, vulnerable, new, alive, open to richer possibilities...

being for others.

2008-12-10T13:20:00.000-08:00

I was thumbing through a national geographic magazine a few weeks ago, and read about these amazing women and was overwhelmed by the amazing story of what they are doing in the world. These uneducated, unwealthy, discarded women in the lowest classes of India are being trained to be community health workers. For no pay, these women learn to care for others and devote their lives to caring for the health needs of their community. And what is even more amazing is that in the whole process, these women find their own power and identity, and begin to erase class lines and transform society. It's so beautiful, and it can't help but restore some of my faith in the goodness of people. I dream of doing even a fraction of the good these women do in the world.

“If you do a good job for others, you heal yourself at the same time, because a dose of joy is a spiritual cure.” - Bonhoeffer

the mittens of the future.

2008-12-01T11:28:00.000-08:00

Like many other people out there, I have an iphone. And I love it... I use it all the time for checking e-mail, listening to music, figuring out where I am going (seriously, google maps is my life line), and, of course, texts and phone calls.

But its getting colder outside, and my fingers need the toasty warmth and comfort of a great pair of gloves. The unfortunate thing is that the touch pad on my phone won't respond to a gloved finger.... well, some wonderful people have already thought of a solution to this problem. Check out these mittens of the future.

If I was Oprah, I would definitely put these on my "favorite things" list this year.

peace, love and techno-mittens,

-katie

nolde's sea.

2008-12-01T00:10:00.001-08:00

In Emil Nolde's "The sea" the sky looks almost dirty, with its yellow tint, as though it has a muddy brown underside.

But here in this muddy brown-black is the shock of purple and blue. It's these shades of brown, this dirty underbelly, that give the painting its power. Only such a backdrop could cause the sea and the clouds to have such luster. The coloring reveals that beauty here is a miracle -- the dirty lens suggests that it might have been ugly. It might have been nothing as all.

We need new eyes that find such beauty in muddy waters.

perspective.

2008-11-30T23:01:00.000-08:00

I read this poem over thanksgiving, and it made me feel so hopeful. So I thought I would share.

From here
so much goes by
too fast or slow for sight.
(Is death a stretch of time in which
a life is just a flash?) Whatever
we may think, we only
think that we will lose. The fetus,

expert at attachment,
didn't dream that
cramped canal would open

into sound and light and love--
it clung. It didn't care. The future
looked like death to it from there. -Heather McHugh

This poem beautifully uncovers the limitations of our perspective. Like a fetus clinging to the womb, wanting to remain unborn, we, too, become "experts of attachment," clinging to what is familiar as if our lives depended on it. The unknown sometimes looks like a loss. From where we stand, it is surely death or a dead end. But the miracle is that when we let go of what we know, the true adventure begins. We are born into sound, and light, and love.

I don't know about you, but the possibility of all this new birth -- the knowledge that my perspective is limited-- fills me with hope. And reminds me to step into the dim and foggy future unafraid.

give thanks.

2008-11-26T18:49:00.000-08:00

just a few blessings that make me glad to be alive, in no particular order:

kyle, the love of my life, who never fails to make me feel like I am home.
nestle semi-sweet chocolate chips.
my sister's rambling phone messages, that always me feel like she is in the next room, even when she's miles away.
my mom and dad, who believe in my choices.
dogs, with their curiosity, playfulness and loyal love.
my covenant group, who inspire me and remind me of my calling just by being who they are.
lake erie.
female friends, who make me laugh and who understand.
charlie helfert and willard spiegelman -- two undergrad professors who helped me see the world with open eyes and an open heart.
the psalms, that remind me of God's presence.
the way the air smells when seasons are shifting.
poems that open me up to the miraculous life that was right here all along.
a good cup of strong black tea. with milk.
Process Theology, that provides such vivid language to talk about faith.
sonic bevs.
Dr. Harold Washington and Dr. Young Ho Chun, who reveal the power of God's love, even when students are barely listening.
christmas music.
new opportunities.
busy streets in the city, where everyone looks like they're going somewhere, journeying down their own separate paths, together.
the 2008 election of Obama and the hope of becoming a better nation.
indian food.
the beautiful children and the interns who I've met the last two summers -- each one the living presence of jesus christ.
the open table of communion.
fresh flowers, fresh fruit, fresh vegetables -- earth's rich bounty.
football games. everything about them.
sharing a bottle of red wine and great conversation.
the community at st paul school of theology.
music that makes me dance foolishly.
london.
art books.
warm laundry, right when it come out of the dryer.
thanksgiving food. and leftovers.
zack's pumpkin roll.
the smell of wood furniture at world market.
my brother's dry sense of humor.
the Alexanders, who are my second family.
the rocky mountains.
texas, and the wonderful people who live there.

This is only the short list.
I am abundantly blessed and so very thankful.

re freaking diculous.

2008-11-22T19:38:00.000-08:00

So, I was once a huge fan of grey's anatomy. I will admit it: it was one of my favorite shows. But what the heck has happened? Did the writers just tired of thinking of interesting medical cases, and think, "to heck with it, lets see how dumb we can make this show and keep it on the air?" It's bad. It's so so bad.

And do I still watch it? Yes. I do. I'm part of the problem, one of the many foolish viewers who keeps watching and keeps the show on the air. I alternate between laughing at it, and being rather horrified at its absurdity. Either way, its entertaining. It's like watching a train wreck. I just can't look away.

Here is a scene, where the dead man, Denny, explains to his living girlfriend, Izzie that he is real. Stupid? well, yeah. Funny? most definitely.

for the love of cooking...

2008-11-22T19:08:00.000-08:00

Tonight, Kyle and I settled in for an evening of football, but you won't find any of the typical "game food" here (chips, hot dogs, etc.). Instead, Kyle made me homemade sushi - spicy tuna rolls to be exact. They were wonderfully delicious. One of my favorite recipes in Kyle's repertoire.

Both of us love to cook. There's so much joy in going to the grocery store, bringing home fresh ingredients, and creating something from scratch from the bounty of the produce section. (seriously, i could wander the produce section for hours -- I always stumble upon fruits and veggies I haven't even heard of, and am amazed at all the goodness that comes from the earth). Not only is cooking at home cheaper and healthier than eating out, but its so enjoyable. I love putting on music (my favorite cooking tunes are the stylingsof Billie Holiday), the rhythm of chopping vegetables on the cutting board, and the scent of sizzling spices filling up my apartment. All stress and busy thoughts seem to float away as life slows down in the kitchen.

Sadly, the last few weeks this time in the kitchen had fallen to the wayside, as schedules were filled with papers, work and other things. We've been eating out more than staying in. I'm excited that school is winding down and we will be on break for holidays. It means more time to meander the aisles at the grocery store and try out new recipes and old favorites. I'm especially excited about baking some of my favorite cookies, pies and other desserts for the holiday season.

I stumbled on to this article on the NPR website (two signs I'm a huge nerd: I eat sushi while watching football, and read NPR on Saturday night). It lists some of the top cookbooks of this year. Even just the little blurbs about the books made my mouth water. I definitely plan to add one or two of these to my christmas list. All I can really say about it is mmmmmmmm.

Unfortunately cooking has one dangerous downside: a sink full of dirty dishes, pots, and pans. I guess every joy has its price :)

the law of language.

2008-11-19T13:04:00.000-08:00

When I voted on Nov. 4th, I voted against section 34, which ammended the state constituion in Missouri to state, "That English shall be the language of all official proceedings in this state. Official proceedings shall be limited to any meeting of a public governmental body at which any public business is discussed, decided, or public policy formulated, whether such meeting is conducted in person or by means of communication equipment, including, but not limited to, conference call, video conference, Internet chat, or Internet message board."

In other words, it would legally make English the official language of the state of Missouri. And I was in a minority of people that voted against this amendment. Not only did it pass. It passed by with 86.3% of the vote.

Frankly, I am heart-broken. And I am angry. I don't understand why such a law would pass by such a large margin. I have been trying to educate myself on the reasoning of the other side, to open my mind to opinions that differ from my own. Some websites I've visited are: www.proenglish.org/ and http://http//bobmccarty.com/2008/11/05/missouri-voters-make-english-official-language/. Not only do I still not understand the reasoning of the other side, but I am even more angry about the issue. This law denies information to people who have a right to be informed. It denies rights to children whose parents do not speak English. It denies and divides; I don't believe that it unites us as these websites suggest.

As part of working with Project Transformation, I have worked in areas of Kansas City where a large part of the population is spanish speaking. Often, the children of spanish-speaking parents, have been born in the U.S. and are full U.S. citizens. However, their parents may not have english skills. And I'm sorry, the argument "if you want to live here, take an english class" is completely ridiculous. Taking a college-level language course is incredibly expensive. And even in those cases where non-profit organizations offer free English training, the families that I worked with often worked several jobs, and had no money for child care. So, between taking care of their families and making ends meat, not to mention the difficulty of learning a new language, they simply do not have time.

In many cases, there are government programs that offer assistance to these families. There are welfare, health care and various educational programs that as residents and citizens they and their children ought to have access to. However, if communication from the government is only ever in English, they have no way of finding out about their rights or such beneficial programs.

This is not an issue of national unity. It is one of basic human rights. And to me this law is saying that if persons don't speak english, or if their legal guardians do not speak english, then they can be denied their rights. In fact, they are being denied even the knowledge of what their rights are.

I believe that diversity is America's gift. It is not a threat to our identity. It is our identity.

Please feel free to comment and share your own thoughts on this issue.

journeys afar (from the comfort of home).

2008-11-18T20:09:00.000-08:00

Here are two magical films that I was able to enjoy thanks to Kyle's Netflix today. Outsourced is the story of a man who goes to India to train a new call center where American jobs have been outsourced. As the story unfolds, he becomes open to new people, experiences and culture -- and ultimately a new way of being human.

The Visitor is another tale about becoming more human through relationships. The main character is a professor and widower, who has basically come to lead a lonely life where every day is the same as the last. In New York, he comes into contact with an immigrant named Tarek. Through Tarek, drumming and other new relationships, the professor is reminded of all he used to be and feel, and is able to feel connected to the world in a new way.

I don't want to spend any more time summarizing these movies here. But they are really wonderful stories, without being cliche. So you should rent them and watch them. You won't be disappointed.

Outsourced made me want to go to India. The Visitor made me want to go to New York. Both made me want to connect to the people around me, and appreciate the wealth of beauty and diversity that I look past every day.

colors unearthed.

2008-11-17T17:39:00.000-08:00

As I work through reading assignments and papers, I want to feel the color beneath the words. After reading or writing a few pages, I want to close my eyes, and with patience uncover in my imagination those vivid images beneath the sentences. What is this making me feel? What fiery passionate red does it awaken? What vibrant green is unearthed? What sweet blue rest is here, waiting to comfort and envelope me in its fold? What golden orange speaking of hope or light?

This printed black on this clean white surface is so much more than it seems. There is life in these words, born and unborn. Waiting to speak such truth, to ask such questions, to demand such feeling, to dream such dreams that our minds can hardly fathom. All I can do is read, write, dig, contemplate and slowly unearth the dynamic color coming into view. To get beneath these sentences and find the abundance that they signify.

Theology, like poetry or music, is not mere fact: contained, small, certain. It is not an instruction manual. But like art, theology speaks of a flowing truth, rich in color, beyond the description offered by the words themselves.

“We are set free on an ocean of language that comes to be a part of us… The sky is bright and very wide, and the waves talk to us preparing dreams we’ll have to live with and use. Toys as solemn and knotted as books assert themselves first, leading down to a delicate landscape of reminders to be better next time, urging us all to return to our senses, to the matter of the day that is now ending.” –John Ashbery, poet

"In his incarnation Christ gives himself totally for our salvation by identifying and consecrating himself to the task of reconciling us to the God of covenant. He identifies with everything human, including the worst most inhumane kind of death, so that no one stands beyond the reach of his oneness with us in the incarnation... His sacrifice is far deeper and more personal than a settling of accounts. The problem Christ confronts in his sacrifice is one of broken relationships that need healing, not simply a breach of contract that needs legal redress. His sacrifice is a passionate expression of his profound love." -R. Larry Shelton, Professor of Wesleyan Theology

the legend of betty's tea cups.

2008-11-16T20:58:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting here attempting to work on a paper, drinking coffee and missing my grandmother. Betty Trinter died last January, leaving behind a million little legends, stories, memories and treasures that she scattered to her 3 sons, 7 grandchildren, and 3 great grandchildren.

One such treasure is her willow patterned china which has been divided among us. I ended up with the tea cups, and as I drink from one now I can't help thinking of the story its picture tells which my grandma used to tell me as a child.

Supposedly, derived from a Chinese folk-legend, the story depicted on the China is about Impossible Love (which hearing this story as a little girl, seemed the only love worth having). The legend is this: the daughter of a wealthy man falls in love with her father's clerk. Her father, of course, views this match to a mere accountant as completely inappropriate and arranges a marriage with a powerful Duke, who is not the young woman's beloved. Before the marriage takes place, the clerk breaks into the castle, rescues his true love, and the two lovers flee into the night on the Duke's ship. By the time the father and the Duke realize the two have gone, it is too late. They have sailed away. However, sometime later, the Duke discovers the that happy pair have taken refuge on a nearby island. The Duke sends his soldiers to the island, where they capture and kill the lovers. However, the gods take pity on the young people in love, and turn them into doves, so that they can still be together, far above the world of their plight.

This story, with its violence and fantasy, and its message of love overcoming all obstacles seems so appropriate on the lips of Betty. A woman of stubborn strength and beauty, who seemed to me to be fearless, always taking us on journeys to the beach, the park, or the library -- pointing out wildflowers, trees and birds along the way, she seemed to possess an endless knowledge of the legend behind every creature and creation. A lover of the beach, gardens, literature and art, she was who I inherited so many of my passions from. Even though she grew older, and spent more time in bed than out of it, that part of her life seems somehow false to me. A mere interlude in the story of a true adventurer. Like death for the lovers; it is in disruption, but not a lasting reality.

Drinking from this cup now, and dreaming of this story, I am hoping that I have some of her magic in me; that incredible ability to see the legend and find the story in the most ordinary things. I imagine she is something like those doves. Having outwitted not only the obstacles of life, but death itself... She is happier as a dove, I imagine. But still, I can't help missing her.

Its funny how something as small as a teacup can hold so much meaning, and so many memories.

I think she would have liked this quotation, it seems to describe her way of life so exactly: "To live amidst the universe without thinking about it -- why that is to have Beethoven on the player and be afraid to turn it on... If only I had enough of the volcanic awareness needed to realize that every second is a miracle. We exist, therefore I gasp." -paul west

I hope you are dreaming of impossible love made possible, obstacles overcome, and gasping at those ordinary miracles of every moment.

because sometimes we just need to smile.

2008-11-14T00:00:00.000-08:00

Yes. It's just a kid. Whose dance is pure amazing. It starts off slow, but give if a few seconds and it might just change your life.

enjoy.

Joshua dancing to "Apologize" from Joe Tran on Vimeo.

thoughts on love.

2008-11-13T21:30:00.000-08:00

This past weekend Kyle and I celebrated our one year anniversary of being together, and it got me thinking about how lucky we are to find people in our lives to love. People who will walk beside us, see us at those moments when our lives seem to be little more than a mess, and still help you look forward and take the next breath.

I've learned a lot about love from Kyle, but more than anything I've learned its simplicity. How the moments of having someone to just do nothing with, to sit beside on the good and the bad days, and to talk and laugh with is everything. To have a person with whom things are not complicated, when everything else is complicated is the most powerful kind of medicine.

All I can really say is that I am thankful. Thankful that none of us have to do this journey of life alone. That we get this miracle of intimacy in the forms of family, friends and relationships.

Thank you, Kyle, for walking beside me for this past year. You make my world so much more beautiful.

“I saw that he inhabited his own flesh as fully and with the same mix of wonder and confusion that I brought to my own. Until then I had half believed—though I would never have confessed it, not even to myself—that all others were slightly less real than I; that their lives were a dream composed of scenes and emotions that resembled snapshots: discrete and unambiguous, self-evident, flat… But in that moment he cracked open. I could see him—he was in there. He moved through the world in a chaos of self, fearful and astonished to be here, right here, alive in a pine-paneled room.” -Michael Cunningham

new city.

2008-11-10T17:52:00.000-08:00

"You made my deserts into gardens; you made my ashes into beauty."

My friend, mentor and boss, Creighton Alexander, is in the building stages of a new ministry for young adults in Kansas City called New City. The whole vision is to create a transformational community of worship and mission that seeks to make all things new.

The prayer of this new ministry is adapted from Isaiah 61: "Jesus, Pour out Your Spirit upon us, Anoint us to bring good news to the poor , To bind up the broken-hearted, To proclaim freedom to the captives and release to prisoners, To proclaim the year of Your grace, To rebuild the old ruins, To raise a new city out of the rubble, Through Your love, make all things new."

Over the past week, I've been reading this prayer over and over, and longing to have this be the prayer of everything I do. Shouldn't every ministry be about being transformational? Shouldn't we be bringing good news that does something? Every moment, can't God use us to create something of whatever rubble has fallen around us?

The truth is, as much as I long to believe that through God's love, all things new can come, there are days when I can't even bring myself to have hope about even the stresses of my own fairly comfortable life. What is it that makes us forget about God's power to transform? What makes us so afraid of our own power? There is a poem by Adrienne Rich where she writes, "We are scared shitless of what it could mean to take and use our love. Hose it on a city, on a world." I for one, am tired of being afraid. I want this prayer for newness to be my prayer. Not just "on the job" in ministry, but in every moment.

There are a few songs inspired by the psalter that keep running through my head, which I feel are calling me towards a hope I often forget: "You turned my deserts into gardens, you turned my ashes into beauty... into my blackened branches you brought the springtime green of new life." So the questions I'm asking tonight are: where are the deserts in my life? Where are the ashes in the lives of those around me? What ruins are calling to us to begin rebuilding?

As I wrestle with those questions, please leave me your thoughts about the places you see needing transformation.

And, in the meantime listen to some of that powerful music of the psalmists. You can find some of my favorites here: http://www.entertheworshipcircle.com/