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.