blah, blah, blah

When I write, I kinda assume that it goes out to cyberspace, never to be seen again. I get awfully excited when someone comments, some how validating that this whole blogging thing is not simply a self-indulgent practice. And spending time with folks at home, I was surprised to find more folks and friends who are reading what I write. Hmmmm.

I am a part of many communities of language. There is of course the seminary community, where certain words are privileged, and we learn lots of words that make us sound smart to everyone else... if for no other reason that they are really long words, that we don't always know the meaning of. There is the church community, my church at home and the Mission Bay community, where the same words can mean different things when used by different people in different places. There is my family, where I can be loud and obnoxious, if for no other reason that being heard above the rest of the noise, and they tend to forgive me for it. There is the language of my friends, that my parents said they never understood, mostly for its speed. I am part of a language community in the Midwest, and one in California too.

This can make communicating very exhausting, and sometimes I wonder if I am good at conversation at all.

I was confronted with this when my dad asked my what I meant by my use of the word/concept of privilege in reference to myself in my blog. I am so used to throwing that concept around in seminary that I couldn't even remember talking about it. As we talked about what I said and what I meant, our generational differences and their impact on our use of language became very apparent, as did the other communities of language my dad is a part of and I am not--law, insurance, finance, etc. I was reminded of the power of words, and my inability to wield that power well. So, I ask for generosity on the part of anyone who reads this.... and all I write. Hold me to a high standard, call me out, question me, and remind me of what I am saying. But, keep in mind that I sit here typing away, often generally ignorant about the world ( I am just in my first quarter century--how much can i really know?).

So comment on this here blog and on anything else you see or hear coming from me. If you can't comment on blogspot or don't know how, shoot me an email... agkkaiser@gmail.com. Help me learn how to converse and not just talk to a wall.

home changes

I never expect home to be any different when I go back. I want to roads in my corner of Ohio to be the same, I want the restaurants to be the same, I I even want the people to be the same. Needless to say, this means that I am often disappointed (or pleasantly surprised... depending on my frame of mind, attitude, and perspective). This is the paradox of nostalgia.

I went back to my home church the weekend before Christmas and for the late night Christmas Eve service. Of course, there were changes that made me grumble--like the absence of individual candles at what used to be a candlelight service. But, I must say, overall I was pleasantly surprised. I live in the seminary bubble, where we can get it in our heads that everything about the church that is the best is in the books we read, the people who teach is (and sometimes even in our own heads). This can be a little dangerous, but mostly just arrogant and annoying. So , when I went to the service and saw my pastor practicing (in real life, in a real congregation) some of the things that we discuss in class I was floored.

My jaw first dropped when, out of the ceiling, in front of the cross, in our big white, formal and traditional Presbyterian sanctuary... a media screen dropped. What? They use media here? And computers? Where have I been?

As my football loving, Midwestern pastor started his sermon, I was even more pleasantly surprised. Most of his message was centered around art, and use depictions of the nativity to inform his interpretation of the scripture. I sit in art and religion classrooms, and preaching discussions, and we talk about this stuff like it never happens in "real life". And here I was, in my home church, seeing my way of understanding my faith incorporated in worship as I never had experienced in that congregation before. It was a Christmas miracle (and I say that will a little humor, but mostly honesty).

So, I am reminded to be gracious and open in my heart to the changes that are placed before me. Home will always be home, even if it doesn't look or sound the same as it did when I was a child.

joy to the world!

The final week... Joy. And it is a joyful time. I keep having to remind myself that I love my life in California, so that I don't just give up and stay home (cause I am having just so much fun).

My brilliant sister pointed out that she enjoys that the Christians decided to put Christmas right after the winter solstice... the darkest day of the year. With the birth and ministry of Christ in the liturgical calendar, the world gets brighter and brighter. (of course this is biased to the perspective of the northern hemisphere Christians, cause for those in the south it is the summer solstice, but it is still a nice thought.)

So, joy to the world!

week three... love

This was by far the hardest week. Love is hard. The scriptures were not as visual as for the other weeks. Images did not jump out at me. What are your images of love?

living in an alternate universe

I am back in the Midwest. And I love it. I love the Bay Area too, but my heart is in the Midwest. Some of the features in the last couple days that have struck me:

- running into multiple people I knew from high school at my first night in town at Chipotle (ok... so this can be good and bad...)
- catching up with my next door neighbor, that also lives states away, who I grew up with
- walking into my parents house because they don't lock it
- borrowing cooking oil from the neighbors
- going to a restaurant with my whole family (all eight of us) and finding out at the end of the night that one of my dad's friends who was eating there too was picking up the bill
- Christmas carolers!

There is a lot about the Midwest that can make me crazy. But, right now, I am basking in the familiarity and coziness of the place that I know in my bones and love with all my heart.

Pleased

Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. But John tried to deter him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and you come to me?"

Jesus replied, "Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness." Then John consented.

As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased."

... Matthew 3:13-17

I have been pondering the nature of God's love this week. It is Advent, and it was the topic of last week's service at MBCC. I am also reading eat, pray, love by Elizabeth Gilbert. Her writing provokes all kinds of questions for me about the nature of God (and I am on the section about love). I came across this passage in Matthew in my desperate efforts to find a sermon series topic for January. I have read this passage before, the baptism of Jesus is a pretty iconic story. I also focused on the Holy Spirit descending as a dove, but this time something else jumped out at me.

"This is my son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased." God's says this before Jesus' ministry. God says this before Jesus does all the stuff that we try to emulate--before the healings, the calling, the loving, the traveling, and the sharing. Jesus hasn't yet resisted temptation in the desert. He hasn't turned water into wine (or walked on it for that matter). And yet God loves him. Even more, God is pleased with him.

For a long time my life felt like a series of not yets. I will be serving God when I (fill in the blank here), but not yet. I will be someone when I (fill in the blank here), but not yet. I will change the world when I (fill in another blank), but not yet.

God tells me that the not yets do not matter. God loves me NOW and is pleased with me NOW... before, without and independent of all the not yets.

Power to the otters

Lately we have been DVR-ing the Planet Earth series on the Discovery Channel. I have heard that the American version is inferior to the British version, but you go with what yo got. We have seen four or five episodes and love it! The filming is incredible and the crew caught so many unbelievable sights in the natural world that bring the audience to places and sites that we would never see. In the Shallow Seas episode, they slow down a great white attack from a couple of seconds to forty seven, and you see the shark attack with such force that its entire, awkward (at least in the air) body emerge from the water and flip, just to get a seal. It was violent and alarm, but that is the way the world works right? We were still rooting for the seals.

My favorite Planet Earth moment is from the Fresh Water episode. Following otters, they showed us how they hunt underwater together. Then, out of nowhere, an alligator (ok, so I can't remember if it was a gator or a croc, but you get the point) starts stalking them! These otters aren't even the size of the gator's head. Immediately, I cringed. I don't like watching the killing parts--but I was pleasantly surprised! The otters united and scared the gator away. In fact, the next segment showed the otters actively HARASSING the gators and keeping them out of their space.

So, even in nature, the little guy can win. I felt encouraged and hopeful. If I some otters and stand up to crazy huge gators, I can stand up to the gators in my world. Even in nature, size isn't everything. Aggression isn't everything. Having the biggest sharpest teeth does not mean that you will always win. Teamwork. When we band together, we can face anything.

And I know that the picture is a sea otter, and not a fresh water otter, but I live in northern California. It is what I've got.

So you can learn something on the last day of class...

I have risen here, I who I am the voice of Christ in the desert of this island, and therefore no one of you agrees with what I have said; but yet with your heart, you hear it; this voice will be to you the newest, the harshest and the most lasting voice that you have ever heard, more dreadful than you ever thought to hear: all of you are in mortal sin and in sin you live, by the cruelty and tyranny by which you abuse these innocent people. Decide now: By what right and by what justice have you placed these Indians in such a cruel and horrible servitude? By what authority have you waged so hateful a war on these people who were living in their calm and peaceful lands, where you have consumed infinite numbers of them, with death and ruin? Are these not men? They do not have rational souls? Are you not obliged to love them as much as you love your very selves? Do you not understand this? Do you not feel this? ... Know for certain that, in the state in which you are now, you cannot be saved any more than the Moors or Turks who lack, and do not want, the faith of Jesus Christ.... Antonio de Montesinos, preached in 1511

Yesterday was my last day of History I. This means I should know what happened basically from the death of Jesus to 1700. Well, at least I definitely know more than I brought to the classroom on the first day.

Our last day wrapped up with a look at the beginnings of colonialism and its relationship to the church. My professor went out on a very big limb for a Protestant and said that the biggest shift in the history of Christianity in the world was not the Reformation (gasp!) but colonialism. I think I tend to agree. The other salient point on this topic he wanted to make sure that we left the room with was that even at the very beginnings of colonialism, conquest and all the atrocities, both in and out the church, that went along with these movements--there was theological debate. There were people (mostly men because of course that was who was allowed to debated theology at the time) who from day one of the whole debacle argued against the mistreatment, dehumanization, enslavement , and genocide of native peoples. There were religious people preaching that God created everyone endowed with the same rights as people, regardless of whether or not a person acknowledged God. The legitimization that the church provided for colonialism was that if a community was not Christian, they did not have the same rights to dominion (over themselves and their land) as the Christians did (so the Christians could forcibly remove them, forcibly convert them, or whatever). But, not everyone bought into this--some even used their place in the pulpit to fight against these ideas. And in this I find hope in our bloody history.

I am new at this whole preaching thing and am still not sure what I think about it. I still wonder if I can be a pastor. But, when I see the courage, the strength and the Spirit in the voices of the prophets throughout history who have fought for the most vulnerable in the name of God, I hope that if and when my time comes, I can do the same. I wonder if my time is already here and I am missing it....

peace and hope...

These are the results of my snuggling up to the Bible for advent. Someone at MBCC mentioned that they were concerned when they heard there would be Advent banners... they pictured felt abominations, and were pleasantly surprised when what they saw was not made out of felt. I knew that "banners" might be too traditional for this crowd. We have renamed them advent panels.

Anyway, the one on the top is peace. The one on the bottom is hope.


Bruce has been challenging me to understand the proclamation of the gospel as an activity that happens all week... mostly outside of the "pulpit." I am beginning to understand that as I explore proclaiming the gospel visually.

Let me know what you think... Do these speak of peace and hope? What do they say to you about peace and hope? Do these images proclaim the gospel? Can images proclaim the gospel?

snuggling up to the Bible this Christmas...

It has been a few months now. We have been on some dates. I took my Bible to Gaylord's in Piedmont and we chatted over a mocha. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon, in the sun at a cozy coffee shop, watching the people on the street and wrestling with matters of scripture. We have had many an evening ride on BART, and I am increasingly comfortable together in public.

I have even noticed other people out with their Bibles. I was passing through my local suburban Starbucks on my way to work one evening, and sat next to a group of middle aged men having a very animated discussion, each with their very own Bible. What distinguished this experience for me (as I am from the Midwest) is that I could not understand the conversation--it was in Spanish. I was beginning to understand the relationship these men had with the books in their lap even without understanding their words, simply from my own experience.

So our newest activity together has been drawing. I often say I do not draw enough. It brings me great joy, and soothes my stress, so why can't I make time for it? Anyway, my spiritual director has been encouraging me to draw with my Bible. Lo and behold, my internship provided me the opportunity to (I often need a push). I am making a series of Advent banners for MBCC. Yes, banners seem a little traditional for MBCC... but back to the point.

Each week of Advent has a theme, and of course, lectionary scripture that goes with it. I have curled up with the lectionary passages, digging for images that relate to the themes. For peace, I was struck by the active nature of peace. Peace is movement. Peace is walking. Peace is going out. Peace is spreading. I combined images of peace with images of movement. This week will be hope--my hope comes through the branch of the tree of Jesse, grown from a stump. This branch came to baptize with fire and the holy spirit... images I am currently struggling to weave together.

When I finally bring my whole self to my relationship with the Bible, instead of my awkward first date self, the relationship is transformed. When I understand the words through the work of my hands, their meaning cuts deeply into my soul and grows.

So next time, instead of just taking my Bible to a coffee shop, I will take my Bible and my sketchbook.

oh the irony

The biggest joy of preaching at MBCC and the part I find the most fun is learning from the congregation. For those of you who don't know, @ MBCC sermons aren't just a homily or a message from the preacher. Sermons involve discussion, exchange and dialogue. It can be a joyfully mutual process.

When I "preached" on Christ the King Sunday, I was amazed at the way the the congregation interpreted the same texts and concepts that I looked at, yet came up with new and exciting insights. The old adage that two heads is always better than one is true. I guess that is how a saying becomes an adage.

In the last week, I have been stuck on one particular insight that was lifted up. Given the challenge of introducing Jesus in a few words, one woman offered that she would be speechless.

Even though I am just a preacher and pastor in training, I recognize the difficulty and depth in this insight. To be focused enough on Jesus, to be touched by the reality of Jesus' incredible presence, would likely leave us with nothing to say. Yet, as people, particularly as preachers, we try to put words to what there may be no words to describe. oh the irony.

christ the king part deux

So pretend you are taking Jesus to a cocktail party (this is what I tried to have the congregation do on Sunday) and you have to introduce Jesus to your friends, colleagues, whoever, with one thoughtful detail from all of the birth life, death and resurrection of Jesus that will reflect your relationship to him AND who he is.

What a task.

So, on Christ the King Sunday, traditionally the thoughtful detail we would add is that Christ is the King of Kings. This may not ring true for all of us. I found in my own study of the lectionary texts for the week, that there were many many metaphors, names and details about Jesus, many of which ring truer for me than king (oh the irony, seeing how I am a king of one sort). This drawing reflects the names I found for him in those texts, and they way I see them weaving together.

So what about this king deal? Here is the bottom line for me... rather than let the earthly metaphor of king (which is LOADED with the cultural and social baggage we bring to it) limit Jesus, let Jesus expand out notion of king, of leadership.

I think Jesus subverts monarchy, by making peace through his blood shed on the cross (Colossians 1:20) rather than by shedding the blood of others. He subverts hierarchy by hanging out with the lowest of the low rather than ruling from on high. He held no political office yet changed history (I know some of y'all might argue with that). So for me, the power in thinking of Jesus as a king lies in the way its challenges my notions of how leaders should lead.

One more thing... what we call Jesus is about whether or not it facilitates our relationship with Jesus. We should critically reflect on the names we use and whether or not they are appropriate for us. If king does not let me grow in my understanding of Jesus, maybe I can find another name that does. If king does not challenge me, maybe I can find another name that does. If the title of king does not draw me closer to Jesus, then I NEED to find another name that does. I will give credit to Bruce RC for this... Language should expand our faith, not restrict it.

So if you were wondering what I was gonna do with the whole Christ the King dilemma, that was the shortish version.

little bit of hope

Riding the BART is a great way to experience the world... the good, the bad and the ugly. Sometimes those discoveries are about myself, sometimes they are about the world. The other day, I saw Jesus in a moment, I saw God in a moment, that gave me hope.

There was a man wandering in and out and up and down the cars. He passed my seat a couple of times. He clothes were bordering on rags. They were tattered to shreds, and it wasn't very warm. He had to use one hand to hold his pants together. On his second pass, I watched as he disappeared into the car in front of me. He lost the grip on his pants, and more layers of clothes were revealed, none looking warm or comforting though. As he walked past, a young man reached into a shopping bag he was carrying and pulled out a pair of jeans and handed them the to man with a smile. I was too far away to hear any conversation that was exchanged, but the body language was loving and the man responded with gratitude.

My heart was full. It was an unbelievable example of being able to serve the world's needs as they appear to you with what you have to give. In that moment, that young man was exactly who God made him to be. I saw Jesus on the BART, humbly giving a pair of pants and humbly receiving a pair of pants.

i should get an award for this.

Don't you just love a good nap? There is little in life that gives me as much joy as laying down in the middle of the day, on my lovely red, corduroy couch, with my dog, for a good long snooze. I love drifting in and out of consciousness. I love feeling all cuddly. I love waking without an alarm, just when my body is ready.

I am a champion sleeper too. My husband makes fun of me... my naps are full sleep cycles. Sometimes up to three hours. I can nap in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening. I will confess, sometimes I even nap in my car, and I certainly nap on BART... in between the world's craziness.

Right now I am debating this healthfulness of napping as a hobby. On the one hand, I listen to my body better than I used to. I am genuinely refreshed when I close my eyes for twenty minutes in the afternoon on the way to work (not while I am driving mind you, only when i BART it). So I think, like much of the rest of life, napping in moderation is fabulous.

But, today, I napped to avoid doing the dishes. So, now I go to conquer my kitchen with the ferocity and the seriousness that I bring to napping. Pray for me.

Totally depraved?!?!!?

I am in a Jesuit ethics class with, well obviously a bunch of Catholics, but also with a group of Presbyterians who seem to know Calvin quite well. Calvin and I, on the other hand, couldn't be called more than mere acquaintances. Course, I am finding out that this mere acquaintance has had a surprising amount of influence on who I am and how I think about my self.

Often the total depravity debate comes up in class. The Catholics think we are fundamentally good in our nature (a place we agree) and the Calvinists this we are fundamentally sinful and corrupt--totally depraved.

What? How can I be made in the image of God but be so fundamentally wrong that I am totally depraved? I don't get it. I like to err on the side of love and compassion, and to me that means seeing the fundamental good in people, not the sin. And I don't think this devalues the seriousness I approach sin with, nor my understanding of grace.

But, I have always had trouble seeing myself as fundamentally good and created in the image of God. It is an identity that I believe in the abstract but have not internalized. Apparently, I have internalized Calvin. Maybe I know him better than I thought.

Don't get me wrong. There is a lot about being Presbyterian that I love. The power resides within the congregation, the sense of community, etc. But I just don't think that a totally depraved view of human nature can jive with my faith. I just don't think that constantly telling people they are bad, constantly conceiving of people as bad, or constantly conceiving of myself as bad can grow my relationship to my self, my neighbor or my
God.....

hmmm.

her imperial highness the intern

Naming matters. Names are symbols that describe, that represent, that inform. I am a King. I am a Kaiser. I am neither a man... the first prerequisite for actually holding the positions that my names indicate... nor a monarch. I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister a cousin, a niece and, hopefully, someday... an aunt. I am a King (thought aesthetically I prefer king). It is a joy to be a king, it is a joy to be identify myself this way. I could not give that label up.

So I didn't. But, for two years I have been a Kaiser, too. Wife is still something I am getting used to, partner I like better. I can be a partner. I am connected to a family that is not my own, but that I can make my own. I am working on all these new relationships that are represented by this new label. I am a work in progress as a Kaiser.

Which is why I am a king kaiser. My name is the topic of conversation everywhere that I go. My friends joke about the different royal labels that we can name our children so that they can have the most royal names ever. Strangers, mostly who see my credit cards, driver's license or name tags, comment on it all the time. Before I even started working at MBCC... they were making fun of my name. Labels matter. Names matter.

In the same way, what we call Jesus, how we refer to God matters. I am supposed to preach the Sunday after Thanksgiving. It is Christ the King Sunday, according to the liturgical calendar.

Not a name I am comfortable with. Oh the irony.

I can be a king... this is about family and not about royalty. But can I conceive of a Savior who is a king? who IS royal?

Born and bred in a democracy that rejected monarchy, the practical concept of king is incredibly foreign to me. Born and bred in a feminism that rejects patriarchs, the ideology of a king is foreign (and little repulsive) to me. So what do I do? What do I preach? Can I reconcile my images of Jesus, my symbols of Jesus and my labels for Jesus with Christ the King?

It remains to be seen. Check in after Thanksgiving to find out (and I am taking suggestions...).

novice...

How do you do something you know you are going to not be very good at? This seems to be the perpetual condition of my life. I am learning everything. How to be an adult. How to pay the bills. How to get along with my husband and get the dishes done. How to negotiate two families during the holidays. How to be family with three thousand miles in between. How to be an intern at a church. How to work at a church. How to love worship again.

I find myself dumbfounded, lost and a little confused as worship wraps up at MBCC. It is a very friendly place, filled with fabulous Bay Area types, open and welcoming. The air is even alive with energy as everyone finds someone to chat with after worship. There is a flurry of activity in and around the kitchen as people refill coffee, return their mugs, eat treats, and catch up. Everyone is busy, and there I stand, alone and awkward. Reminds me of middle school.

So what is the deal? It is certainly a friendly place. I certainly really enjoy the company of the people in the community that I have met. But, it is like being "in church" sucks the social skills out of me. Why?

Growing up, I was a part of church life. There was always something to do or somewhere to go after church. We never mingled because we had to go to youth group, or Sunday school or a soccer game, or a fundraiser or whatever. If we didn't have somewhere to go, we didn't really do coffee hour. I don't remember it.

And it in some ways I think it is like middle school. Everyone is friendly, but I don't feel cool enough. All my inadequacies and awkwardness are magnified in my head as I stand alone... making everything I say sound dumb to my ears, making it harder to say anything at all. A vicious cycle. Middle school memories have a way of sticking with you.

This is the point of growth I want to work on--knowing what to do after worship. Learning how to work the coffee hour with people I know and people I don't know. Learning how to mix and mingle with the rest of them. Learning how to work the room. Not just cause it will make me feel cooler, but because I see the after worship time at MBCC as an integral place where this community happens. I see the divine in worship at MBCC, but I encounter God more just by watching the what happens after the benediction. How much more would I encounter God if I felt confident and capable of engaging fully?

That being said, I still think I have one of the coolest internships ever. I get to...
- carve pumpkins
- make mosaics
- knit, drink wine, and giggle all at the same time
- drink lots of coffee
- see all kinds of new parts of San Francisco
- learn all the city's best coffee shops
- join facebook and call it work
- play scrabulous
- throw sheep at Bruce
- eat ice cream with Tiffany

It is a list in progress. I will continue to update it, but let it be said that though I feel challenged, I feel that the learning at MBCC is still life giving... and fun.

God is not a rat...

I find this a fascinating theology. God is not a rat. My ethics professor uses it to determine the plausibility of moral theology. If in the system of moral theology, God would be a rat, then it can't work because God is not a rat.

Why can't God be a rat? According to South Park, God is some kind of furry creature with a tail and a weird head. Sorta rat like. According to Dogma, God is Alanis Morisette in a pink get up. Can't God be anything? Isn't that part of omniscience?

The deal behind "God is not a rat" is there are certain things God cannot be by virtue of being. Such as wrong. By definition anything God does is right. God can't be mean, by definition everything God does is loving. This of course represents a particular theology. God can't be a rat, not because God can't actually take the form of a rat, but because of by definition, God can't be a rat.

So, I wonder how I picture God and how that helps me be closer to God. Do I blame things on God, making Gad a rat when God can't be a rat? Do I conceive of a God that is as un-cuddly and distant as the rats that live in the dumpster behind my building? Or is my God a guinea pig, strange, something I do not entirely understand, but recognizes my footsteps, is excited when I come in the room, and likes to cuddle.

God is not a rat.
God is a guinea pig.
What is God for you?

In an age when our single-issue mentalities threaten to destroy any possibility of broad community, ambiguity is a gift that the arts offer toward formation of healthy, inclusive communities. The ambiguity in fine arts helps us see flaws in our heroes and redeeming qualities in our enemies—and so allows us to love our enemies and include them while we see also the need for ourselves and our favorite leaders to confess sins.

—Professor Doug Adams

Remembering Rev. Dr. Doug Adams 1945-2007

Sitting in a church, full of hundreds of people... overflowing into rooms off of the sanctuary... I joined in song and dance this evening in joyous celebration of a beautiful life well lived by Doug Adams.

He was the reason that many of us came to PSR. The only class I visited as a prospective student was his seminar on the crucifixion. He lectured on a Chagall retrospective that was showing at SFMOMA. His overwhelming enthusiasm for encountering God through art, learning about his Saviour from a 20th century Jewish artist, and passionating engaging his students drew me to this community. He lived a life that showed me that I can, and I must, draw on all my gifts, combine my passions and not sacrifice my "art" for my "ministry" or vice versa.

I wish I had known him better. This feels like one of the most cliche things to say about some great who has died, but it is true. I am sad and disappointed that I missed the first twenty nine years of his thirty year career at PSR. His life and death are still teaching me about my calling regardless.

But, I also powerfully experienced community this evening. Doug brought us together tonight, an academic community often fraught with stress, exhaustion, over extension and sometimes just plain whining. We laughed, cried and danced through our grief. We loved each other through the service, and again Doug helped the community grow and heal.

His will be huge shoes to fill. He always brought bottles upon bottles of wine to class... and chocolate and cheese.

learning to live with me

As I am new to my congregation, I am new to blogging and I am always exploring these things, I thought I would write a little about my identity. My preaching professors remind us all the time that we can only authentically preach from who we are, and therefore we have to know who we are. There are days I am still a mystery to myself, but every time you turn around in seminary, you are being asked to reflect on yourself. It can breed narcissism, but it is intended to breed a healthy self-awareness. For my application to become enrolled as an inquirer in my presbytery (the first step toward ordination in the Presbyterian Church USA), I had to describe myself. My answer was as follows:

I am white. I am middle class. I am Christian. I am from the Midwest and am an American citizen. I speak "standard" English. I am from a two-parent family. I come from a line of women with higher educations for the last four generations. I graduated from college without debt. I have never encountered physical abuse. I am privileged.

These identities used to cause me guilt and shame. I did not like being white, tried to hide my middle-class status and shied away from calling myself a Christian. I carry a lot of guilt about my privileges. I am in the midst of transformation. I must own my identities and my experiences, because they are me. I am beautifully and wonderfully made. I cannot recognize and affirm the humanity of others if I do not accept my own humanity. I am neurotic, absent-minded, flawed and feeble. I am closed. I am lonely, tired and sad. I disengage. I am paralyzed with anxiety. I am petty and judgmental. But, I am also loving, faithful and compassionate. I am loved. I care deeply about and for others. I withhold judgment and let go of fear. I am creative and fabulous. I am open. I am an artist. I am a teacher. I am a mass of contradictions, but at the center of these actions and feelings, I am me—a child of God here to serve.

In the midst of all this ambiguity, how can I act in the world as "authentic" when I am unclear about who I am? Am I unclear? Can I honor the mystery within me, around me, and in God? To whom am I accountable for who I am?

creation

Beautifully and wonderfully made. It is easy for me to believe this when I am experiencing God's creation to the fullest... diving into a cold lake with the texture of the water on my skin, the light in my eyes and the instant silence when I break the surface. But what about when my body doesn't work? As I lay on the couch with a migraine, my head throbbing, my eyes trying to shut out the light, and my stomach rolling with nausea, I have trouble remembering all of the ways that God made my body work well. When my body betrays me like that I have to look hard to find find God. I have to remind myself that God made a body that can heal, ridding itself of pain and poisons. How can something made in God's image so quickly turn against itself? Creation is complex, as are my feelings about it. The faith I bring to it must be equally complex.

For the most part, I am lucky. My body is wonderfully made. It works well for me most of the time, and when it doesn't modern medicine, or time, can usually fix the problem without much trouble. Right now I find myself faced with needing to put my faith in God's creation in a new way. My dad is recovering from a major surgery. He had a blockage in a vascular artery, most likely caused by a lifetime of smoking. He has quit smoking and is fighting hard to heal. I am far away, and cannot be there to support him. All I can do is pray, and put my faith in the strength of God's creation--that God created his body to heal. To make it past this. That the perfection of God's creation of the human body will triumph over the damage we can do to ourselves. It is beyond my understanding, and beyond anything I can do. All I can have is faith.

dating the Bible

Okay, so I haven't dated in years... I don't really know how to do it. There is this whole process of invitation, flirting, and getting intimate that I no longer understand. I mean, I did it once, but it seems so long ago in some ways that I don't remember the how. I remember the dating, but I don't remember the how. Right about now, it would be helpful. Why?...well, I want to date the Bible. It is sad for a seminarian, I know, but I am not comfortable with it. We have not reached the point in our relationship where we are all snugly and cozy. I discovered this in the library with a friend, as I was procrastinating. I was avoiding writing my sermon by avoiding reading the text and commentaries and such.... simply because the Bible and I are still in the awkward stage. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't always been that way. It has been an on again off again relationship for years. We have been really close by choice and by circumstance, but there have been times that I have put distance between, and I am to blame. My friend pointed out that we were not snugly. I crave that kind of relationship with the Bible where we are cuddle and be fulfilled... a level of intimacy where I can recognize all the baggage I bring to the relationship, but yet leave it out of the equation. How do I get there? I am working on it but I am open to suggestions...