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?