Running out of milk. It has to be the greatest nuisance. Especially when trying to nourish a growing boy who drinks a quart a day. Not to mention the annoyance of having to go out for more, because you always discover the need at the most inopportune time. Yesterday was no different than any other day. Why should it be? I stopped by my local Walgreens to grab another gallon. As I hurried towards the refrigerators in the back I happened to glance down an aisle at another customer perusing candy. She looked normal enough. Nothing terribly impressive. Nothing terribly fiendish. I took a double take at her shirt before realizing it was a tank top. Almost 70 degrees in Colorado in March practically demands the otherwise questionable fashion choice. But it wasn't the tank top that caught my eye. It was the shimmer of her arms laced with white stripes. From shoulder to wrist, not a single gap visible. At another time in life I might have seen such a thing and wondered with perplexity at the atrocity. But not today. All I thought as I barely broke stride was, huh - that's a lot of pain.
I know pain. I know it well. Pain leaves scars etched across our minds, our hearts, our souls. At times the wounds are so ghastly, so caustic that the only thought that crosses our blurred perception is how can I distract myself from this feeling. I recall laboring with my daughter. They say you don't remember the pain, but I do. I had a focal point on the far side of the room. Every time a contraction hit I would focus on that spot with amazing resilience. During one particularly painful contraction a family member entered the room and addressed me. I broke concentration. The next thing anyone remembers is a moan in rapid escalation to blood curdling crescendo at who knows what or who - GET OUT!!! Needless to say, the place quickly vacated.
Pain causes us to cut. We cut. And we cut deep. We cut whatever we can get our hands on. I'm not much for cutting myself. Tried it once. Didn't like it. But I learned to cut in different ways. At first I learned to cut with actions. If you hurt me, I was going to take you out. But actions have consequences and I didn't always like those so I moved on.
I learned to cut with my tongue. I learned to cut down others. If amidst my pain I could find another target on which to focus someone was getting cut. I knew I cut and it took a lot of self-control not to do it. I lashed hard with words. And I was good at it. The better I knew a person, the worse the damage. I knew the soft spots, the vulnerabilities, sensitivities. Vital organs were going to be slashed. But words carry consequences too. And so I learned to restrain those as well.
I graduated to the mother of all cutting. I learned to completely cut people off. You didn't get my revenge. You didn't get biting words. You got nothing. And nothing in this case is worse than something. I've been a parent for ten years now and I've learned that the worse thing you can do to a child is not punishment, or loud words. The worse thing that could happen is neglect and abandonment. The complete withdrawal of all love. Because even amidst the beatings or verbal assaults, we still receive something. And while it may not seem like much it is all we know that is akin to love. But abandonment? There is no love in that. I learned to abandon. At one point I even abandoned food. I had no image complex. I did not think myself fat or ugly. I had no desire to lose weight. The emotional pain I felt was simply so great that the gnawing hunger pains in my stomach were a comfort and distraction.
We all have means of cutting. I run to dull the pain now. Functionally it's no different than cutting. I feel pain and I reach for my bag of endorphins masquerading as miles. As I briefly glanced at that young woman browsing for comfort food yesterday, I didn't think - oh how terrible. I thought - she's just like me. We're all more alike than we care to admit. We make faulty comparisons, placing degrees of severity on the outward manifestation when the internal struggle is just as damaging and ugly and often far more destructive. No one can see the internal struggle. No one can hear the cry for help.
I didn't write this as a cry for help. I'm not sure why I wrote it at all. I just couldn't seem to erase the image of those meticulously sketched arms from my mind. We all feel pain. It is the result of a fallen world. Consequentially, we all cut. One thing I have come to realize over the years is that no amount of cutting, whether physical, behavioral, verbal or any other sort can take away the pain. They are all mere substitutes until we encounter the One who bore it all. The One who was pierced for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities. The One who will eventually erase all pain and sorrow from this world. It is a hope in Him that makes all pain bearable. Hope in the resurrected Christ is why we celebrate Easter, so I suppose it is appropriate that it happened to be Easter Sunday. I just didn't expect to be moved by a run to Walgreens.
All that for a gallon of milk.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Space, Time, and Love
What is space-time? How is space-time? Why is space-time? The 'what' question is probably the simplest to answer. Space-time is the combination of the when and where of everything that happens. That happens... What happens? Everything happens. When 'when' and 'where' collide, space-time happens.
Time is a matter of relationship. We base our understanding of time on the relationship between sun, moon, and earth. The relationship of these three bodies within the space they were created are what constitute the passage of time. Days hinge on the orientation of the earth to the sun, and nights are dependent on the earth's orientation to the moon. We base time on this relationship. Outside of the relationship of bodies time cannot and does not exist. The beginning of all existence is founded on the relationship and interaction of bodies. As bodies cease to be, time ceases to be. We understand the idea of the end of time as the end of one or all of these heavenly bodies. Space factors into the equation because bodies require space to occupy and interact. So the nature of space-time is relational.
The 'how' of the matter gets a little more complex. How do space and time meet? What mathematical phenomenon brings these two seemingly independent factors into complement? My premise? Love. Love actualizes and contextualizes time and space.
What?! Love is not mathematical. Or is it? We are always attempting to quantify love. In temporal terms we love more or we love less.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"No, I love you more."
...continue ad nauseum...
We love some or not at all. In an infinite sense we speak of God's love as unfailing, eternal, perpetual. Love is quantifiable and so I argue that love is indeed mathematical. Love seems to function proportionally to the presence of time and space. We love and we devote time and space to individuals, increasing our availability in proportion to our love. We retract our love and time and space decrease. Or we simply redefine our love and the circumstances of our time and space must be redefined.
If this answers the 'how' of space-time then the question of 'why' exists. Why love? Why space-time? And if God is love, then is God also space-time? We speak of God in terms of His three persons as incomprehensible without each person. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are members of the Godhead and constitute who we understand to be God. As three persons in relationship, one God, there is a concept of time and space that is only His. If God is space and time what does His space and time have in common with ours? I think God is space and time just as He is love. But His space and time are a relational notion within His being. In other words God functions eternally in a space and time of His own existence that independently has nothing in common with ours.
So if God has nothing in common with our time and space then how can He possibly enter into it? Love. "For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." God's love is what generated creation from nothing. His love opened space and time to accommodate creation. His love for that creation created a common space and time in which to infiltrate that creation with His Incarnation. It is love that fills voids and gives purpose to space and time that would otherwise be meaningless.
Love contextualizes space and time. God and the world do not have time and space in common, they have love in common which allows for the intersection of common time and space. God so loved the world, that time and space opened up to His occupation in the temporal. When we believe in him we are reciprocating love and entering into His eternal life in time and space. The infinite occupies the finite and in turn the finite partake of the infinite.
We are creatures made in His image. We are designed to exist within time and space with one another, which means we are meant to love one another. The proportion of our love designates the time and space we allot to the receiver of that love. We devote our time and space to the things we love. The things we love fill our time and space. When our love is disproportionate to time and space, voids exist. These voids are empty, cold, lonely - formless.
Be cautious with your love. Once you have given love, created time and space, it cannot be uncreated. It can only be abandoned, left formless and void. We are imperfect creatures, fallen. We cannot love perfectly and therefore voids will always exist. The only protection we have is intentionality. Do not love capriciously, flippantly, but freely and intentionally.
God is love. God loves infinitely. Therefore, He exists within an infinite time and space. God loves those in finite time and space, therefore He can exist within finite time and space.
For God so loved...and then there was Incarnation - the occupation of the infinite into finite time and space. For God so loves, that His Word is never void. For God so loves.
Time is a matter of relationship. We base our understanding of time on the relationship between sun, moon, and earth. The relationship of these three bodies within the space they were created are what constitute the passage of time. Days hinge on the orientation of the earth to the sun, and nights are dependent on the earth's orientation to the moon. We base time on this relationship. Outside of the relationship of bodies time cannot and does not exist. The beginning of all existence is founded on the relationship and interaction of bodies. As bodies cease to be, time ceases to be. We understand the idea of the end of time as the end of one or all of these heavenly bodies. Space factors into the equation because bodies require space to occupy and interact. So the nature of space-time is relational.
The 'how' of the matter gets a little more complex. How do space and time meet? What mathematical phenomenon brings these two seemingly independent factors into complement? My premise? Love. Love actualizes and contextualizes time and space.
What?! Love is not mathematical. Or is it? We are always attempting to quantify love. In temporal terms we love more or we love less.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"No, I love you more."
...continue ad nauseum...
We love some or not at all. In an infinite sense we speak of God's love as unfailing, eternal, perpetual. Love is quantifiable and so I argue that love is indeed mathematical. Love seems to function proportionally to the presence of time and space. We love and we devote time and space to individuals, increasing our availability in proportion to our love. We retract our love and time and space decrease. Or we simply redefine our love and the circumstances of our time and space must be redefined.
If this answers the 'how' of space-time then the question of 'why' exists. Why love? Why space-time? And if God is love, then is God also space-time? We speak of God in terms of His three persons as incomprehensible without each person. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are members of the Godhead and constitute who we understand to be God. As three persons in relationship, one God, there is a concept of time and space that is only His. If God is space and time what does His space and time have in common with ours? I think God is space and time just as He is love. But His space and time are a relational notion within His being. In other words God functions eternally in a space and time of His own existence that independently has nothing in common with ours.
So if God has nothing in common with our time and space then how can He possibly enter into it? Love. "For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." God's love is what generated creation from nothing. His love opened space and time to accommodate creation. His love for that creation created a common space and time in which to infiltrate that creation with His Incarnation. It is love that fills voids and gives purpose to space and time that would otherwise be meaningless.
Love contextualizes space and time. God and the world do not have time and space in common, they have love in common which allows for the intersection of common time and space. God so loved the world, that time and space opened up to His occupation in the temporal. When we believe in him we are reciprocating love and entering into His eternal life in time and space. The infinite occupies the finite and in turn the finite partake of the infinite.
We are creatures made in His image. We are designed to exist within time and space with one another, which means we are meant to love one another. The proportion of our love designates the time and space we allot to the receiver of that love. We devote our time and space to the things we love. The things we love fill our time and space. When our love is disproportionate to time and space, voids exist. These voids are empty, cold, lonely - formless.
Be cautious with your love. Once you have given love, created time and space, it cannot be uncreated. It can only be abandoned, left formless and void. We are imperfect creatures, fallen. We cannot love perfectly and therefore voids will always exist. The only protection we have is intentionality. Do not love capriciously, flippantly, but freely and intentionally.
God is love. God loves infinitely. Therefore, He exists within an infinite time and space. God loves those in finite time and space, therefore He can exist within finite time and space.
For God so loved...and then there was Incarnation - the occupation of the infinite into finite time and space. For God so loves, that His Word is never void. For God so loves.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Leave Me Alone
I stared at the ceiling. It somehow mirrored my emotion. Blank. Empty. Devoid of life. Occasionally my eyes would flit to a small chartreuse vase overflowing with bright yellow flowers, then back to the ceiling again. They mocked me. I wanted to hurl the blossoms across the room, to hear the shattering of glass against the wall, to watch the flora scatter about the room and discolored water paint the walls. But I didn't have the energy, or the strength.
Mom came into the room. She was visiting from out of town. She flew in amidst the chaos and bustle of emergency rooms, doctors, and panicked family.
"Debbie. It's time to change bandages again."
We began the long and arduous trek up the stairs. 14 stairs. It might as well have been Mt. Everest. I couldn't climb them alone. And so I leaned on my small petite mother and let her support me one step at a time. It seemed like forever. She helped me onto the bed, laid me down gently and proceeded to minister to the task at hand. As the bandages pulled away from my grotesquely stitched abdomen I could almost feel the wound leaking its foul and death decaying liquid. My mind oozed venomous thoughts as everything in me wanted to scream out, LEAVE ME ALONE! My stomach muscles reflected the sentiment as they contracted and resented each touch. But she would not leave. She continued to brush away the filth. How desperately I needed her to perform that menial task. To attempt it alone would have strained the muscles beyond their capacity, torn open stitches and I would pour out, unattended. I needed her.
I sat in the aftermath of that disaster and thought to myself, "God, where are you? How can anything good come from this?" And I grieved. I grieved loss. I grieved death. I grieved a world where something as small and seemingly insignificant as a ruptured cyst can wipe out every trace of life within. I mourned a world where doctors used terms like "it" to describe a human life and D&Cs are every day procedures. I mourned a world where life is so frail and dreams die easily. How can anything good exist in a world like this?
That was slightly over four years ago. This week my son, Declan, turns three. And I ask myself again, "How could anything good come from all that?" I believe in the uniqueness of each life; the preciousness of personhood. Had I not experienced that tragedy four years ago, I would certainly have avoided a significant amount of pain, but I would not know Declan. A different child would be in my arms today. Each smile he gives me, every hug and kiss, his little arms squeezing tight around my neck, his bright blue inquisitive eyes, and his laughter - oh how I love his laughter - I would have none of that. I would not know him.
I have experienced many other facets of pain, grief, and loss over the years. Some days the pain is so great that I cannot even move. It immobilizes, incapacitates. And my body oozes from the wounds within until there are no tears left to cry. I cringe at the touch of others, rejecting their love and compassion. Everything inside me wants to scream out once again, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" But they do not. I do not have the energy or strength to send them away, and I let them minister to my pain. I need them.
There are times when the pain is so blinding, I even want to reject God, crying out, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" But He does not. His Spirit, ever-present with me, caresses my wounds as my mother once did, not removing, but comforting and soothing me through the healing process. Each touch hurts, twisting and contracting my innards, yet each touch is necessary. I need Him.
As I struggle through seasons of pain I am reminded of the wounds of that season. Again I find myself asking the same question, "How could anything good come of this?" And then I see Declan and I remember. And I am comforted. I know that even though I cannot see in the moment, the fullness of life that comes out of our grief, someday it will be there. Someday the mourning will turn into dancing, the sorrow into joy. I look at my son and I think of all the joy he has brought me and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know, there will be good. There will be joy.
"...we were like those who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy... Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them." Psalm 126
Mom came into the room. She was visiting from out of town. She flew in amidst the chaos and bustle of emergency rooms, doctors, and panicked family.
"Debbie. It's time to change bandages again."
We began the long and arduous trek up the stairs. 14 stairs. It might as well have been Mt. Everest. I couldn't climb them alone. And so I leaned on my small petite mother and let her support me one step at a time. It seemed like forever. She helped me onto the bed, laid me down gently and proceeded to minister to the task at hand. As the bandages pulled away from my grotesquely stitched abdomen I could almost feel the wound leaking its foul and death decaying liquid. My mind oozed venomous thoughts as everything in me wanted to scream out, LEAVE ME ALONE! My stomach muscles reflected the sentiment as they contracted and resented each touch. But she would not leave. She continued to brush away the filth. How desperately I needed her to perform that menial task. To attempt it alone would have strained the muscles beyond their capacity, torn open stitches and I would pour out, unattended. I needed her.
I sat in the aftermath of that disaster and thought to myself, "God, where are you? How can anything good come from this?" And I grieved. I grieved loss. I grieved death. I grieved a world where something as small and seemingly insignificant as a ruptured cyst can wipe out every trace of life within. I mourned a world where doctors used terms like "it" to describe a human life and D&Cs are every day procedures. I mourned a world where life is so frail and dreams die easily. How can anything good exist in a world like this?
That was slightly over four years ago. This week my son, Declan, turns three. And I ask myself again, "How could anything good come from all that?" I believe in the uniqueness of each life; the preciousness of personhood. Had I not experienced that tragedy four years ago, I would certainly have avoided a significant amount of pain, but I would not know Declan. A different child would be in my arms today. Each smile he gives me, every hug and kiss, his little arms squeezing tight around my neck, his bright blue inquisitive eyes, and his laughter - oh how I love his laughter - I would have none of that. I would not know him.
I have experienced many other facets of pain, grief, and loss over the years. Some days the pain is so great that I cannot even move. It immobilizes, incapacitates. And my body oozes from the wounds within until there are no tears left to cry. I cringe at the touch of others, rejecting their love and compassion. Everything inside me wants to scream out once again, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" But they do not. I do not have the energy or strength to send them away, and I let them minister to my pain. I need them.
There are times when the pain is so blinding, I even want to reject God, crying out, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" But He does not. His Spirit, ever-present with me, caresses my wounds as my mother once did, not removing, but comforting and soothing me through the healing process. Each touch hurts, twisting and contracting my innards, yet each touch is necessary. I need Him.
As I struggle through seasons of pain I am reminded of the wounds of that season. Again I find myself asking the same question, "How could anything good come of this?" And then I see Declan and I remember. And I am comforted. I know that even though I cannot see in the moment, the fullness of life that comes out of our grief, someday it will be there. Someday the mourning will turn into dancing, the sorrow into joy. I look at my son and I think of all the joy he has brought me and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I know, there will be good. There will be joy.
"...we were like those who dreamed. Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy... Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them." Psalm 126
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Reflections of Summer
I cannot imagine a more perfect summer. I spent almost everyday at the pool with the kids. I got to spend several days with my entire family - the first time we've all been together in fourteen years! I felt the love of community, spent countless hours in deep conversations with friends, and most important of all - relaxed.
The summer kicked off with my brother's wedding. My new sister, Rene, did an absolutely fantastic job planning a most perfect day. The 50's theme portrayed exquisitely the class and beauty she embodies. And I might add, my brother's "bondesque" attire wasn't too shabby either. The setting in Palm Springs, CA contributed even more to the reminiscent theme of the past. I don't think I need to ever attend another wedding because it will just pale in comparison to that day. I have enjoyed watching the two of them interact with each other over the course of the last few months. One of my comments to my new sister was, "I love the way you love my brother." And I do.
It was a great way to begin the summer because I would say the overarching theme of my summer was 'love." By saying this I am not referring to the cheesy outdated, yes somewhat 'greasy' concept of summer loving, but an all new idea of love. For some this may not be a new idea, but for me it was. I have long struggled with the notion of Christ as lover. I have frequently scoffed at it in fact. Accepting God as Father was a journey for me that took several years. The Holy Spirit as Nurturer and Comforter took me many additional years to cultivate. Christ as Lover, I had never fully understood the importance of or embraced. But this summer, I began.
And it was a summer of love. He held me. He touched me. He spoke soft words of endearment to me. He showered me with gifts. He provided for me. He acknowledged me in name to the world. He called me His own. He praised me. He loved me. And it was sufficient. I cannot say I have ever felt that way about any lover. And I dare say, in this fallen world we are not meant to say such things about earthly lovers. They are simply a shadow of a greater and more perfect spiritual reality that is in Christ. We strive to be like Him, and that is good but we will always fall short. I think the most redemptive element of envisioning Christ as lover for me was the accompanying ability to forgive those who have fallen short of that ideal, who have not been what they ought to be, but have taken what they desired to take and left me unloved. I found that when my ideal resided in the earthly I could not see the misuse, but my heart would break just the same and I would never know or understand why.
The hardest part of the entire process was the very beginning. When God asked to redeem my ideal of lover I would not allow it. Plainly and simply, I did not trust the role and could not even trust God in that role. For me it meant nothing but taking and abandoning. I admit, He does take. His demands are sometimes so great and the pain of them almost intolerable and yet He gives and enables me to meet them. He never takes without giving. He never abandons.
The process is far from over. I imagine it will be several more years of wading through the intricacies of this role. I'm going to make a lot of mistakes along the way. I will at times lose my trust. I will be unfaithful. I will seek earthly ideals above the divine. But I take comfort that He will always come after me. He will pursue. He will bring me back into His arms and show me a love I do not deserve.
"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. And there I will give her her vineyards and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt."And in that day, declares the LORD, you will call me 'My Husband,' and no longer will you call me 'My Baal.' For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth, and they shall be remembered by name no more...And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD." Hosea 2:14-20.
How's that for some summer lovin'?
The summer kicked off with my brother's wedding. My new sister, Rene, did an absolutely fantastic job planning a most perfect day. The 50's theme portrayed exquisitely the class and beauty she embodies. And I might add, my brother's "bondesque" attire wasn't too shabby either. The setting in Palm Springs, CA contributed even more to the reminiscent theme of the past. I don't think I need to ever attend another wedding because it will just pale in comparison to that day. I have enjoyed watching the two of them interact with each other over the course of the last few months. One of my comments to my new sister was, "I love the way you love my brother." And I do.
It was a great way to begin the summer because I would say the overarching theme of my summer was 'love." By saying this I am not referring to the cheesy outdated, yes somewhat 'greasy' concept of summer loving, but an all new idea of love. For some this may not be a new idea, but for me it was. I have long struggled with the notion of Christ as lover. I have frequently scoffed at it in fact. Accepting God as Father was a journey for me that took several years. The Holy Spirit as Nurturer and Comforter took me many additional years to cultivate. Christ as Lover, I had never fully understood the importance of or embraced. But this summer, I began.
And it was a summer of love. He held me. He touched me. He spoke soft words of endearment to me. He showered me with gifts. He provided for me. He acknowledged me in name to the world. He called me His own. He praised me. He loved me. And it was sufficient. I cannot say I have ever felt that way about any lover. And I dare say, in this fallen world we are not meant to say such things about earthly lovers. They are simply a shadow of a greater and more perfect spiritual reality that is in Christ. We strive to be like Him, and that is good but we will always fall short. I think the most redemptive element of envisioning Christ as lover for me was the accompanying ability to forgive those who have fallen short of that ideal, who have not been what they ought to be, but have taken what they desired to take and left me unloved. I found that when my ideal resided in the earthly I could not see the misuse, but my heart would break just the same and I would never know or understand why.
The hardest part of the entire process was the very beginning. When God asked to redeem my ideal of lover I would not allow it. Plainly and simply, I did not trust the role and could not even trust God in that role. For me it meant nothing but taking and abandoning. I admit, He does take. His demands are sometimes so great and the pain of them almost intolerable and yet He gives and enables me to meet them. He never takes without giving. He never abandons.
The process is far from over. I imagine it will be several more years of wading through the intricacies of this role. I'm going to make a lot of mistakes along the way. I will at times lose my trust. I will be unfaithful. I will seek earthly ideals above the divine. But I take comfort that He will always come after me. He will pursue. He will bring me back into His arms and show me a love I do not deserve.
"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. And there I will give her her vineyards and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt."And in that day, declares the LORD, you will call me 'My Husband,' and no longer will you call me 'My Baal.' For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth, and they shall be remembered by name no more...And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the LORD." Hosea 2:14-20.
How's that for some summer lovin'?
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Pacifist or Machine Gun Preacher
I'm not one who usually recommends movies, let alone one that has an R rating and especially not one with a cheesy title like "Machine Gun Preacher." This movie, however, was an extremely eye opening piece of work based on the true story of Sam Childers and his passion for orphaned children in Uganda.
Recently a friend of mine has been working on a paper in defense of pacifism. The issue of just war has been on my mind a lot as I analyze his thoughts. The movie, Machine Gun Preacher depicted well the darkness that can infest a man's heart as he takes life even in an attempt to preserve life.
I am not a pacifist in practice, but I am a pacifist in theory. In other words I believe that the taking of life should always be a last resort and can only be justified as a means for the preservation of life and a greater good. But it comes at a cost. The cost is what must be weighed ultimately. In a perfect world there should be no violence. The human heart as created in Imago Dei should abhor violence and any manifestation thereof. Violence and war are a result of a fallen world. We hold great hope in God's plan for complete restoration to the beauty of His creation. We hope for a time when there will be no war and violence. At heart one's eschatological views should make all men pacifists.
There is great power that accompanies a person's calling to defend the defenseless, the innocent, the orphan or widow. When this defense calls for violence, a debatable demand, we risk becoming drunk with this power. We risk crossing a line where the hatred of those harming the ones we love overwhelms us to the point where we can no longer see them as Imago Dei and the taking of their lives no longer pricks our conscience. It is at this point where we have lost sight of the greater good.
As a former military member I have seen the repercussions of PTSD on many of my loved ones that comes as a result of seeing death and suffering and to an ever greater extent, in response to the taking of life. PTSD is a very real disorder that comes in direct proportion to the sensitivity of human conscience. There is an element of comfort that should accompany the presence of PTSD in that the conscience is not dead and is in fact reflecting a very real violation of life. Violence ought to disturb us and disturb us greatly.
There is much debate over the concept of a violent God in Scripture. A violent God there is nonetheless. But why? He exists because there is a desire for the preservation of life and more fully in the manifestation of His redemption through Christ for the extension of a fuller eternal life. One might credibly argue that the greatest act of violence in the history of mankind was at the foot of the cross, and yet without that violence there would be no eternal life. Evil is still present in our world thereby making violence and war sometimes a necessary means for the preservation and defense of life. But when we lose sight of God's ultimate accomplishment in Christ's work on the cross, we abandon the hope of a future where there will be no more suffering, no more violence, no more war. Pacifism should be at the heart and hope of every human.
Recently a friend of mine has been working on a paper in defense of pacifism. The issue of just war has been on my mind a lot as I analyze his thoughts. The movie, Machine Gun Preacher depicted well the darkness that can infest a man's heart as he takes life even in an attempt to preserve life.
I am not a pacifist in practice, but I am a pacifist in theory. In other words I believe that the taking of life should always be a last resort and can only be justified as a means for the preservation of life and a greater good. But it comes at a cost. The cost is what must be weighed ultimately. In a perfect world there should be no violence. The human heart as created in Imago Dei should abhor violence and any manifestation thereof. Violence and war are a result of a fallen world. We hold great hope in God's plan for complete restoration to the beauty of His creation. We hope for a time when there will be no war and violence. At heart one's eschatological views should make all men pacifists.
There is great power that accompanies a person's calling to defend the defenseless, the innocent, the orphan or widow. When this defense calls for violence, a debatable demand, we risk becoming drunk with this power. We risk crossing a line where the hatred of those harming the ones we love overwhelms us to the point where we can no longer see them as Imago Dei and the taking of their lives no longer pricks our conscience. It is at this point where we have lost sight of the greater good.
As a former military member I have seen the repercussions of PTSD on many of my loved ones that comes as a result of seeing death and suffering and to an ever greater extent, in response to the taking of life. PTSD is a very real disorder that comes in direct proportion to the sensitivity of human conscience. There is an element of comfort that should accompany the presence of PTSD in that the conscience is not dead and is in fact reflecting a very real violation of life. Violence ought to disturb us and disturb us greatly.
There is much debate over the concept of a violent God in Scripture. A violent God there is nonetheless. But why? He exists because there is a desire for the preservation of life and more fully in the manifestation of His redemption through Christ for the extension of a fuller eternal life. One might credibly argue that the greatest act of violence in the history of mankind was at the foot of the cross, and yet without that violence there would be no eternal life. Evil is still present in our world thereby making violence and war sometimes a necessary means for the preservation and defense of life. But when we lose sight of God's ultimate accomplishment in Christ's work on the cross, we abandon the hope of a future where there will be no more suffering, no more violence, no more war. Pacifism should be at the heart and hope of every human.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Hospitality
My initial response to the word "hospitality" is, Dear God, please no. I have a lot of gifts, some more prominent than others. I would say that my most motivating gift is teaching; I absolutely love it. The research, the compiling of information, the organizing, and the writing - love it! In fact my love for it is so compelling that it causes me to fear any identity in other gifts. I want to converse with people, to engage with their intellect, to coax out ideas, to match minds. I don't want to be stuck in the kitchen! I think one of my greatest fears in ministry has been that I will walk into a place, they will see I am a woman and immediately stick me in the kitchen or in the nursery and my longing for cerebral intimacy will dissipate into loneliness and the monotony of screaming infants and clanging pots. Oh God, please no!
And so, I hide. I hide the gift. But it's not really possible to hide. Really. I find myself leaping inwardly at the opportunity to host events or feed people. And even then I feel shame for wanting that. I recall one evening a friend asked me why I made food for a gathering and I was afraid to say, "Because I love doing it." I found myself conjuring a list of excuses to spout off, detracting and derailing any attempt to trap me in that box. It's silly, I know.
I have discovered that my affinity for hospitality is not so distinct from my teaching gift; both involve feeding people. I am simply driven to give people what they need for sustenance and growth. Teaching spiritually feeds the body of Christ, giving us nurture and goodness. The healthier we are as a body, the more united we are. We eat from the same plate and we drink from the same cup and we are one.
Food has a way of drawing people together into community and cohesion. One evening I made food for an event. I recall walking into the room carrying my plate of treats and what was a scattered room suddenly became a cluster of chatter and excitement circulating around food. The excitement wasn't over the food, but food was the venue for drawing together and uplifting those present. It is the same with our spiritual food and our expressions of that. Whether through the Eucharist or through the preaching of the Word, it is all food that draws us together and unites us in the body of Christ. And so I am convicted to more boldly use this gift to foster greater unity around me.
Several years ago a friend of mine identified compassion as his driving motivation in the expression of gifts. And he was saddened. Not because of anything internal but because of others' perceptions of his gift. He was told that his gift of compassion greatly incapacitated him in any kind of pastoral or leadership role. Translation: "You poor sap, what a girly gift to have." It was most unfortunate and greatly misguided. I would choose that man to sit through any pain, sorrow, or distress with me in life. Fortunately he disregarded that misconception and now serves as a hospital chaplain, walking friends and families through the pains and losses in life.
Stereotypes, whether of gender, culture, or race in the body can hamper us from the expression of our gifts and it is a key tool of the enemy to prevent us from serving and strengthening one another. Are there gifts you hide because you are afraid of how others will view your contribution? Are there cultural conventions that drive you into hiding the gifts God has blessed you with for the lifting up and edification of His body? Don't squander them. God gives them because they are needed. Use them boldly.
And so, I hide. I hide the gift. But it's not really possible to hide. Really. I find myself leaping inwardly at the opportunity to host events or feed people. And even then I feel shame for wanting that. I recall one evening a friend asked me why I made food for a gathering and I was afraid to say, "Because I love doing it." I found myself conjuring a list of excuses to spout off, detracting and derailing any attempt to trap me in that box. It's silly, I know.
I have discovered that my affinity for hospitality is not so distinct from my teaching gift; both involve feeding people. I am simply driven to give people what they need for sustenance and growth. Teaching spiritually feeds the body of Christ, giving us nurture and goodness. The healthier we are as a body, the more united we are. We eat from the same plate and we drink from the same cup and we are one.
Food has a way of drawing people together into community and cohesion. One evening I made food for an event. I recall walking into the room carrying my plate of treats and what was a scattered room suddenly became a cluster of chatter and excitement circulating around food. The excitement wasn't over the food, but food was the venue for drawing together and uplifting those present. It is the same with our spiritual food and our expressions of that. Whether through the Eucharist or through the preaching of the Word, it is all food that draws us together and unites us in the body of Christ. And so I am convicted to more boldly use this gift to foster greater unity around me.
Several years ago a friend of mine identified compassion as his driving motivation in the expression of gifts. And he was saddened. Not because of anything internal but because of others' perceptions of his gift. He was told that his gift of compassion greatly incapacitated him in any kind of pastoral or leadership role. Translation: "You poor sap, what a girly gift to have." It was most unfortunate and greatly misguided. I would choose that man to sit through any pain, sorrow, or distress with me in life. Fortunately he disregarded that misconception and now serves as a hospital chaplain, walking friends and families through the pains and losses in life.
Stereotypes, whether of gender, culture, or race in the body can hamper us from the expression of our gifts and it is a key tool of the enemy to prevent us from serving and strengthening one another. Are there gifts you hide because you are afraid of how others will view your contribution? Are there cultural conventions that drive you into hiding the gifts God has blessed you with for the lifting up and edification of His body? Don't squander them. God gives them because they are needed. Use them boldly.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Dr. Who's Modern House of Bones Touch Alcatraz
I was upset when they killed off Neil Perry in Dead Poets Society and I am even more dismayed that producers feel the need to kill off Wilson in FOX's House. If I were Robert Leonard I'd wonder if people didn't enjoy killing off my characters. Talk about typecast. You can't kill off Wilson people! He's the only character that grounds the show. House is getting sent back to prison. Who cares?! The guy's an insane abuser, who makes a mockery of his oath to "preserve the purity of my life and my arts" and it's pathetic how endeared we are to him, myself included. Is that Hippocratic or hypocratic? I'm just a tad bit upset about this.
Evidently Bones is going to prison too. It must be the "in" thing right now to send your lead character to prison. Anyone else on FOX getting sent to prison this season? I'm proud of her for becoming a fugitive though. It's completely irrational and shows character growth. Hurray for character growth! I strive day in and day out to gain an inch of ground in character growth and here she pulls it off in one episode. I guess I just need to go to prison.

Kiefer's gone metro, which is kind of hot. I like a man who can dress. His acting is the annoying part in the new show, Touch. You would think after 9 years of raising an autistic child you would stop yelling his name every time the kid wanders off. He's not going to respond! Why are you yelling?! Nevertheless, yell he does - over and over and over again. Half the show is good ol' Kief running, out of breath, yelling after his son, who never responds. It's like 24 only not. I am mentally exhausted at the end of every episode. So, why do I watch it? Cryptology. Yeah, I know. Nerdy. But I love it. I overlook the poor directing in favor of puzzles and numbers. Who knows, maybe the plot will grow on me like Lost did. By the end of the show I was enamored with all the characters, poor acting and all. AND I got my number fix: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42! So here's to hoping.
Speaking of Lost, Jorge Garcia has moved on to the new show, Alcatraz. It's pretty good. A bunch of prisoners from Alcatraz disappear in the 60's and time jump to the present. They were all reported dead at the time so there's no record of any of them in the system and they're running amok wreaking havoc in San Fransisco. Jorge is a subject matter expert on all things Alcatraz and gets drafted as part of the team to track down all the criminals. It's kind of like a Fringe meets CSI show. There's a little romance woven in. One of the "jumpers" was a doctor from the 60's dating a guard who did not make the jump. He waited all these years trying to find her and now they have been reunited. Only the decades of separation have resulted in a torturous tension as he is older and she has not aged a day. It kind of wrenches your heart, like Dr. Who and River Song. So far I like it and am looking forward to seeing how the plot will unfold.
I started watching Modern Family. Don't judge me. A friend got me hooked. It's hilarious. And it makes me feel like my family is completely normal. So however delusional that may be, it is a comfort. I learn useful tidbits for child rearing as well. Take that Focus on the Family! In a recent episode, Mitchell and Cameron find out that Lily is a "runner." Oh how this resonates with me. Declan is a "runner." And there's no beating it out of them. On a family trip to Disneyland, they decide to put Lily on a kid leash (yes, I've done the same with Declan.) Apparently there is something socially unacceptable about tethering your child. I never knew... but I guess there is. Anyway, Grandpa Jay gets an idea and buys Lily a pair of princess heels to walk around in. He got the idea from his glamorous hobbling wife who was attempting to maneuver the amusement park in her 5 inch heels. So now Lily is perfectly content prancing around in her little heels and completely oblivious to the fact that she can't run. It's a great lesson. I plan on buying Declan his first pair of heels this week. I'll let you know how that works out for us.
Hello Sweetie. Dr. Who? Uhm, yes. I must confess. Matt Smith was my first. I will never love another like I love him. I have spent time with Eccleston, and even came close to falling for Tenant, but no one can captivate me quite like Smith. The latest season ended with "The Wedding of River Song." Spoilers! No, not really. I'll leave the end a mystery for those who haven't seen it. If you have not dabbled in the Who, you need to. That is all there is to it.
Well, that's pretty much all I have time to watch these days between school and full time mom. I've been flirting with the idea of watching Battlestar Galactica but the jury's still out. I dip my toe in the water with random episodes, but am still abstaining from a full on leap into the water. I'll catch up on other stuff when I get my Netflix back after graduation... in a year.
Evidently Bones is going to prison too. It must be the "in" thing right now to send your lead character to prison. Anyone else on FOX getting sent to prison this season? I'm proud of her for becoming a fugitive though. It's completely irrational and shows character growth. Hurray for character growth! I strive day in and day out to gain an inch of ground in character growth and here she pulls it off in one episode. I guess I just need to go to prison.

Kiefer's gone metro, which is kind of hot. I like a man who can dress. His acting is the annoying part in the new show, Touch. You would think after 9 years of raising an autistic child you would stop yelling his name every time the kid wanders off. He's not going to respond! Why are you yelling?! Nevertheless, yell he does - over and over and over again. Half the show is good ol' Kief running, out of breath, yelling after his son, who never responds. It's like 24 only not. I am mentally exhausted at the end of every episode. So, why do I watch it? Cryptology. Yeah, I know. Nerdy. But I love it. I overlook the poor directing in favor of puzzles and numbers. Who knows, maybe the plot will grow on me like Lost did. By the end of the show I was enamored with all the characters, poor acting and all. AND I got my number fix: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42! So here's to hoping.
Speaking of Lost, Jorge Garcia has moved on to the new show, Alcatraz. It's pretty good. A bunch of prisoners from Alcatraz disappear in the 60's and time jump to the present. They were all reported dead at the time so there's no record of any of them in the system and they're running amok wreaking havoc in San Fransisco. Jorge is a subject matter expert on all things Alcatraz and gets drafted as part of the team to track down all the criminals. It's kind of like a Fringe meets CSI show. There's a little romance woven in. One of the "jumpers" was a doctor from the 60's dating a guard who did not make the jump. He waited all these years trying to find her and now they have been reunited. Only the decades of separation have resulted in a torturous tension as he is older and she has not aged a day. It kind of wrenches your heart, like Dr. Who and River Song. So far I like it and am looking forward to seeing how the plot will unfold.
I started watching Modern Family. Don't judge me. A friend got me hooked. It's hilarious. And it makes me feel like my family is completely normal. So however delusional that may be, it is a comfort. I learn useful tidbits for child rearing as well. Take that Focus on the Family! In a recent episode, Mitchell and Cameron find out that Lily is a "runner." Oh how this resonates with me. Declan is a "runner." And there's no beating it out of them. On a family trip to Disneyland, they decide to put Lily on a kid leash (yes, I've done the same with Declan.) Apparently there is something socially unacceptable about tethering your child. I never knew... but I guess there is. Anyway, Grandpa Jay gets an idea and buys Lily a pair of princess heels to walk around in. He got the idea from his glamorous hobbling wife who was attempting to maneuver the amusement park in her 5 inch heels. So now Lily is perfectly content prancing around in her little heels and completely oblivious to the fact that she can't run. It's a great lesson. I plan on buying Declan his first pair of heels this week. I'll let you know how that works out for us.
Hello Sweetie. Dr. Who? Uhm, yes. I must confess. Matt Smith was my first. I will never love another like I love him. I have spent time with Eccleston, and even came close to falling for Tenant, but no one can captivate me quite like Smith. The latest season ended with "The Wedding of River Song." Spoilers! No, not really. I'll leave the end a mystery for those who haven't seen it. If you have not dabbled in the Who, you need to. That is all there is to it.
Well, that's pretty much all I have time to watch these days between school and full time mom. I've been flirting with the idea of watching Battlestar Galactica but the jury's still out. I dip my toe in the water with random episodes, but am still abstaining from a full on leap into the water. I'll catch up on other stuff when I get my Netflix back after graduation... in a year.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Oddity of Discernment
This last semester I spent a great deal of time in the Hebrew text of Genesis 1-3. Such a beautiful and masterful story ending in such devastation and tragedy. Sometimes the extremes are more than one can bear. Quite literally in fact, we could not bear it and it is only through Christ and His work that we have any semblance of meaning. I spent a lot of time wondering what was meant by the phrase, "and they knew that they were naked." So they didn't have clothes, big deal.
The Fall was something far greater than just a physical reality. We understand today that spiritual repercussions accompanied the physical pronouncements. "You will surely die" meant physically and spiritually. But what about the nakedness?
The work of the Cross negated the consequences of sin pertaining to spiritual death and it is our hope that one day we will overcome the consequence of physical death through the power of the resurrection. The physical reality is yet to be fully realized but the spiritual reality is here now. We have eternal life now because of the cross. But again, what of the nakedness?
The gift of discernment is an oddity in the nine-fold list of Holy Spirit empowered gifts. Words of wisdom, words of knowledge, faithfulness, healing, miracles, prophecy, discernment, speaking, and interpretation of tongues. My sister, as well as several friends of mine, exercise discernment frequently, but it is different from the others in that it is not such an overt manifestation as are the other gifts. It is subtle and quite unnerving. How is it unnerving? We go through life learning to survive and mask our vulnerabilities from others who may take advantage of our exposure and suddenly someone comes along who quite effortlessly strips away the facade and sees us for what we truly are. We are suddenly naked.
I have talked to many men and women who function similarly when life overwhelms us. We strive even harder to cover up our despair in life by focusing on disarming others through our appearance. I have found I receive some of the greatest compliments when I am feeling my worst. Then along comes a friend with discernment and I find myself thinking, "Oh great! Why did I even bother wearing make-up today, let alone dressing myself?" What is the purpose of this obtrusive stripping?
Nakedness without shame. That is the purpose. It is the spiritual redemption of the cross continued in the work of the Holy Spirit allowing us to be exposed and naked without shame, or at least bringing the shame to the forefront so that we may be convicted to alter the source of shame. Discernment propagates authenticity. Authenticity is necessary for relationships both with God and with others. We cannot truly enter into community, intimacy, and relationships without nakedness. That is true both in its physical reality and spiritually in the body of Christ. It is awkward to feel the probing opened eyes of discernment. It is invasive and uncomfortable. But it is necessary in restoring us to Eden.
I never before associated the gift of discernment with a restoration to Eden until a recent conversation with a friend of mine and it was all a matter of timing. Since I had been so intently immersed in Genesis for weeks our conversation on the vulnerability created by discernment immediately thrust me into the creation and fall imagery. And I knew I wanted that. I wanted to return to Eden. I wanted to be naked and vulnerable without shame. I wanted to be authentic in community, intimacy, and relationship. I suddenly wanted to be discerned, for the layers to be peeled away and to be exposed because it is only through that exposure that we can truly enter into the fullness of relationship.
The Fall was something far greater than just a physical reality. We understand today that spiritual repercussions accompanied the physical pronouncements. "You will surely die" meant physically and spiritually. But what about the nakedness?
The work of the Cross negated the consequences of sin pertaining to spiritual death and it is our hope that one day we will overcome the consequence of physical death through the power of the resurrection. The physical reality is yet to be fully realized but the spiritual reality is here now. We have eternal life now because of the cross. But again, what of the nakedness?
The gift of discernment is an oddity in the nine-fold list of Holy Spirit empowered gifts. Words of wisdom, words of knowledge, faithfulness, healing, miracles, prophecy, discernment, speaking, and interpretation of tongues. My sister, as well as several friends of mine, exercise discernment frequently, but it is different from the others in that it is not such an overt manifestation as are the other gifts. It is subtle and quite unnerving. How is it unnerving? We go through life learning to survive and mask our vulnerabilities from others who may take advantage of our exposure and suddenly someone comes along who quite effortlessly strips away the facade and sees us for what we truly are. We are suddenly naked.
I have talked to many men and women who function similarly when life overwhelms us. We strive even harder to cover up our despair in life by focusing on disarming others through our appearance. I have found I receive some of the greatest compliments when I am feeling my worst. Then along comes a friend with discernment and I find myself thinking, "Oh great! Why did I even bother wearing make-up today, let alone dressing myself?" What is the purpose of this obtrusive stripping?
Nakedness without shame. That is the purpose. It is the spiritual redemption of the cross continued in the work of the Holy Spirit allowing us to be exposed and naked without shame, or at least bringing the shame to the forefront so that we may be convicted to alter the source of shame. Discernment propagates authenticity. Authenticity is necessary for relationships both with God and with others. We cannot truly enter into community, intimacy, and relationships without nakedness. That is true both in its physical reality and spiritually in the body of Christ. It is awkward to feel the probing opened eyes of discernment. It is invasive and uncomfortable. But it is necessary in restoring us to Eden.
I never before associated the gift of discernment with a restoration to Eden until a recent conversation with a friend of mine and it was all a matter of timing. Since I had been so intently immersed in Genesis for weeks our conversation on the vulnerability created by discernment immediately thrust me into the creation and fall imagery. And I knew I wanted that. I wanted to return to Eden. I wanted to be naked and vulnerable without shame. I wanted to be authentic in community, intimacy, and relationship. I suddenly wanted to be discerned, for the layers to be peeled away and to be exposed because it is only through that exposure that we can truly enter into the fullness of relationship.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
Winter has faded. Spring is but a shade. Summer is rushing headlong towards us. Summer is by far my favorite season. I love them all, but not equally. I love the sweltering heat, breezy mornings, relaxing evenings on the patio, and most of all, play. I love to play. And summer is the time to play.
Play gets a little tricky this summer. I'm taking 3 classes at seminary: Evangelism and Discipleship, Growing in Ministry Leadership, and Globalization in Theological Education Chinese Worldview Today. Fortunately they are not all at the same time and staggered throughout May, June, and July. I'm really looking forward to the course in Globalization as it involves a trip to study in China for 2 weeks.
I took a long break from blogging this semester; more out of necessity than desire. Blogging is therapy for my mind. It gets a little crowded in there if I do not have a venue for spewing excess thoughts. This last semester I had so much paper writing, I was not at a loss for information dumps. My exegetical paper in James was the most time intensive assignment. Trying to keep up in Hebrew at the same time was rather challenging. I do not recommend taking two languages simultaneously and if I had to repeat it, I would definitely opt for the summer Hebrew class as many of my peers have done. Unfortunately I missed that memo and hardheadedly stuck to the degree program worksheet. Drat my inflexibility! I am learning. I am very thankful for my two tutors, Deirdre Brouer and Matt Hollomon, who got me through the year in one piece. I need to throw a shout out to Denise Morris as well for being an encouragement in Hebrew. For some reason just hearing her say, "You'll be fine" was reassuring enough to calm my panic-driven test anxiety.
I loved my theology and homiletics course this semester. We had some pretty fun banter going in the theology class. The more diverse the backgrounds in the class the funner, yes I said it, the funner the discourse. Homiletics - OMG! Who knew? I love preaching! Learn something new every day. I'm just glad to find that out. I had overruled my pastoral gifts because of a slight fear of preaching. Most of that had to do with just not knowing proper structure and format. Having those tools made all the difference.
I totally dropped the ball on Training and Mentoring this semester. It happens. Well, not to most people, but to me, it did. The geographical relocation combined with James semester stress and just life in general meant something had to give. Shifting my entire network to a new city and trying to maintain mentoring relationships in the former is not really an optimal equation for success. One of my summer projects will be to finish transition and move my mentoring network to Littleton. So beware! I'm on the prowl for loved and respected leaders in ministry to aid in the remainder of my seminary journey.
Declan has decided he likes coffee now and manages to find and sneak my brew.. I am glad I have mornings free for the summer. They are becoming quite the craze around here. I foresee a few trips to Monkey Business to let him burn off steam... and caffeine. I finally have time to peruse the neighborhood. There is a bowling alley around the corner and a skate city close by. Rainy day dilemmas solved! Declan loves hiking! Naturally. He doesn't really hike; he just rides along in the pack. I can't complain. It's great exercise. Naomi's getting better at distance; it just depends on the day. Some days she can hang for 5 or 6 miles, and other days she poops out at 2.
I have some camping trips in the works for the kids this summer. I'm really looking forward to it. We didn't get to camp at all when I was growing up. Probably had something to do with living in a steel jungle with the third largest population in the world; not too many opportunities to wander off in nature. I took Naomi when she was younger, but it's been a few years. Declan is coming up on 3 and the perfect age to start enjoying it and Naomi is still young enough not to get annoyed at family trips. That won't last much longer. 14ers. Yep. Going to do a few of them.
I started dancing again. I forgot how much I loved it. It's been a long time. I used to dance a lot. Part of my summer fun will be dancing. Other than writing I don't choose too many creative outlets; dancing will be one. I plan to paint a little too. I'm a horrible painter, but I like to do it anyway. It gives Naomi a chance to poke fun at me. She's my little artist. Every now and then I go to one of those 'Sipping and Painting' places and pretend to paint. I'll be doing that a few times this summer. I'm picking up piano again. At least that's the plan. It's been a long time but I always feel a tremendous amount of regret and sadness over letting the skill go when I hear others play. So that's enough of that. I'm just going to start playing again.I played scales this morning, boring but necessary. I'll get there. There will be lots of volleyball. I thought it would be a little harder to get back into it than it has been. It's been a few years since I've been able to play competitively. Something about being pregnant and having children sort of gets in the way of that. Although I did play volleyball while I was pregnant with Declan. That was fun... and awkward. But it explains why he's such a little adrenaline junky. I may have taken him on a few rollercoasters in utero as well. Rollercoasters! Yes. I need to do that this summer as well. And lots of water play. The kids love water.
What to watch ? I'm all caught up on Dr. Who for the new season starting in September. I'm rather limited in what I can watch since I swore off Netflix until I graduate from seminary, so whatever can be DVR'd pretty much. It just wouldn't be summer without a few Clint Eastwood flicks. Arid deserts, dirty unbathed men, sultry women and guns. I know, gross... but to each their own. I'd rather read than watch anyway, so I will probably focus most of my free time on reading what I want to read. A friend sent me a list of Kierkegaard to tackle and I have a few books on the Trinity piling up that I need to wade through.I will probably sneak in a Clive Cussler novel or two, you know, just to be gluttonous.
And that's my summer! More to come soon...
Play gets a little tricky this summer. I'm taking 3 classes at seminary: Evangelism and Discipleship, Growing in Ministry Leadership, and Globalization in Theological Education Chinese Worldview Today. Fortunately they are not all at the same time and staggered throughout May, June, and July. I'm really looking forward to the course in Globalization as it involves a trip to study in China for 2 weeks.
I took a long break from blogging this semester; more out of necessity than desire. Blogging is therapy for my mind. It gets a little crowded in there if I do not have a venue for spewing excess thoughts. This last semester I had so much paper writing, I was not at a loss for information dumps. My exegetical paper in James was the most time intensive assignment. Trying to keep up in Hebrew at the same time was rather challenging. I do not recommend taking two languages simultaneously and if I had to repeat it, I would definitely opt for the summer Hebrew class as many of my peers have done. Unfortunately I missed that memo and hardheadedly stuck to the degree program worksheet. Drat my inflexibility! I am learning. I am very thankful for my two tutors, Deirdre Brouer and Matt Hollomon, who got me through the year in one piece. I need to throw a shout out to Denise Morris as well for being an encouragement in Hebrew. For some reason just hearing her say, "You'll be fine" was reassuring enough to calm my panic-driven test anxiety.
I loved my theology and homiletics course this semester. We had some pretty fun banter going in the theology class. The more diverse the backgrounds in the class the funner, yes I said it, the funner the discourse. Homiletics - OMG! Who knew? I love preaching! Learn something new every day. I'm just glad to find that out. I had overruled my pastoral gifts because of a slight fear of preaching. Most of that had to do with just not knowing proper structure and format. Having those tools made all the difference.
I totally dropped the ball on Training and Mentoring this semester. It happens. Well, not to most people, but to me, it did. The geographical relocation combined with James semester stress and just life in general meant something had to give. Shifting my entire network to a new city and trying to maintain mentoring relationships in the former is not really an optimal equation for success. One of my summer projects will be to finish transition and move my mentoring network to Littleton. So beware! I'm on the prowl for loved and respected leaders in ministry to aid in the remainder of my seminary journey.
Declan has decided he likes coffee now and manages to find and sneak my brew.. I am glad I have mornings free for the summer. They are becoming quite the craze around here. I foresee a few trips to Monkey Business to let him burn off steam... and caffeine. I finally have time to peruse the neighborhood. There is a bowling alley around the corner and a skate city close by. Rainy day dilemmas solved! Declan loves hiking! Naturally. He doesn't really hike; he just rides along in the pack. I can't complain. It's great exercise. Naomi's getting better at distance; it just depends on the day. Some days she can hang for 5 or 6 miles, and other days she poops out at 2.
I have some camping trips in the works for the kids this summer. I'm really looking forward to it. We didn't get to camp at all when I was growing up. Probably had something to do with living in a steel jungle with the third largest population in the world; not too many opportunities to wander off in nature. I took Naomi when she was younger, but it's been a few years. Declan is coming up on 3 and the perfect age to start enjoying it and Naomi is still young enough not to get annoyed at family trips. That won't last much longer. 14ers. Yep. Going to do a few of them.
I started dancing again. I forgot how much I loved it. It's been a long time. I used to dance a lot. Part of my summer fun will be dancing. Other than writing I don't choose too many creative outlets; dancing will be one. I plan to paint a little too. I'm a horrible painter, but I like to do it anyway. It gives Naomi a chance to poke fun at me. She's my little artist. Every now and then I go to one of those 'Sipping and Painting' places and pretend to paint. I'll be doing that a few times this summer. I'm picking up piano again. At least that's the plan. It's been a long time but I always feel a tremendous amount of regret and sadness over letting the skill go when I hear others play. So that's enough of that. I'm just going to start playing again.I played scales this morning, boring but necessary. I'll get there. There will be lots of volleyball. I thought it would be a little harder to get back into it than it has been. It's been a few years since I've been able to play competitively. Something about being pregnant and having children sort of gets in the way of that. Although I did play volleyball while I was pregnant with Declan. That was fun... and awkward. But it explains why he's such a little adrenaline junky. I may have taken him on a few rollercoasters in utero as well. Rollercoasters! Yes. I need to do that this summer as well. And lots of water play. The kids love water.
What to watch ? I'm all caught up on Dr. Who for the new season starting in September. I'm rather limited in what I can watch since I swore off Netflix until I graduate from seminary, so whatever can be DVR'd pretty much. It just wouldn't be summer without a few Clint Eastwood flicks. Arid deserts, dirty unbathed men, sultry women and guns. I know, gross... but to each their own. I'd rather read than watch anyway, so I will probably focus most of my free time on reading what I want to read. A friend sent me a list of Kierkegaard to tackle and I have a few books on the Trinity piling up that I need to wade through.I will probably sneak in a Clive Cussler novel or two, you know, just to be gluttonous.
And that's my summer! More to come soon...
Sunday, May 13, 2012
The Mother Church
A woman lies curled in her bed,
seeking comfort and
solace in light of another onset of menstruation. Seven years of
fertility
drugs and 3 miscarriages have left her empty and devoid of life.
2 years later
this young woman again lay in bed, only this time delivering a
little girl 15
weeks early. Motherhood for her is riddled with pain in
conception, striving in
delivery, and years of laborious efforts to keep her young
daughter on par with
growth scales.
A 21 yr old woman discovers she
is pregnant. In a
brief assessment of her life, direction and future, she realizes
she is
incapable of providing a stable home for her son. The only
recourse she
can see is to find a loving and promising home for him.
Three days after he
is born she feeds and changes him, buckles him into his car
seat, prays over
him, and kisses him goodbye as he is whisked away into the
receiving arms of
his new mother and father leaving the young woman’s arms empty
and her body
yearning to sustain an absent infant. Motherhood for her
signifies emptiness,
heartache, and questioning.
A young man stares out the
driver’s seat window at
the front doors of an abortion clinic. His girlfriend, inside
for the last
hour, walks intentionally to the car and slides into the
passenger seat. They
sit and talk over the implications of an ultrasound image
portraying twin life
within her. Fearful of what the world
would think of them they follow through with their initial plan
to terminate
the pregnancy. 10 years later this man still grieves every
anniversary of that
day, crying over the loss of life that was part of him. To this
seasoned,
war-hardened marine, motherhood symbolizes loss,
untrustworthiness, and death.
An abandoned and divorced mother struggles to put back together some semblance
of normality for her family. She scrambles to recover a career laid aside for family
planning, and
provide for her children. For this woman
motherhood means loneliness, undesirability, and unrealized
dreams.
A middle-aged woman battles with
the changes of her
body as she nears the end of her reproductive cycles. While
having a sense of
fulfillment over the children she has, she watches them struggle
in asserting
their independence in the world and wonders if she should not
and could not have
done more. As she gazes upon her legacy in the world she is
plagued by regret.
Her body grieves the end of a season. Motherhood
to her encapsulates purpose gone,
mistakes made, and relationships underdeveloped.
One of many traits these
seemingly unconnected
individuals possess is that they have all come to the Church
seeking wholeness
and healing. The problem we encounter with identifying the
Church as Mother is
that it often adopts the form of our preconceived notions of
motherhood as opposed
to defining a concept that we are to then imitate. We define the
Church by what
we know instead of allowing the Church to define what we know. St.
Augustine is credited with saying, “The Church is a whore, but
she is my
Mother.” Is she a whore because it is ingrained in her nature? Or is she instead a whore because we bring our fallen and broken images of mother and impose them upon her?
The Church is to stay true to
the purpose of her
existence in morality, maintenance, and mission. The Virtuous
Bride of Christ
brings healing and restoration to a broken world. The
Church, as the body and bride of Christ is to reflect His name,
desirability
and character to the world. Throughout
history
and into the present the church frequently ignores matters of
social
concern and her role to meet those concerns. She sacrifices
morality, and
mission for the sake of her own exaltation and maintenance.
Proverbs 31 is written as a
literal explanation of
what is desired in a good wife. As women work through the
implications of this
passage, the impossibility of this character and her
characteristics becomes
apparent and overwhelming. In the context of the book of
Proverbs these many
characteristics are repeated throughout the book as qualities
belonging to the
personification of wisdom. True wisdom belongs to God.
In the NT men are exhorted in their roles
as husbands to be Christ-like. We understand the exemplification
of these
characteristics to be good because Christ, as God, possessed the
divine nature
of God. Husbands strive to be more like God in character through
their roles as
husbands. Rarely do we look at the qualities praised in women as
also being
characteristic of the divine nature; and yet they are. The
characteristics
depicted in the personification of wisdom and culminating in
Prov. 31 are
exemplary of the role of wife and mother. In the NT, wives are
exhorted in
their roles as wives in comparison to the Church as Christ’s
bride. Since
Scripture is not intended to be contradictory then the roles
described in Prov.
31 not only apply to the physical femininity of women in the
role of wife but
also apply to the spiritual femininity of the Church in her role
as the bride
of Christ.
Proverbs 31:10-31 An excellent
wife, who can find?
For her worth is far above jewels. The heart of her husband
trusts in her, and
he will have no lack of gain. She does him good and not evil all
the days of
her life. She looks for wool and flax and works with her hands
in delight. She
is like merchant ships; she brings her food from afar. She rises
also while it
is still night and gives food to her household and portions to
her maidens. She
rises also while it is still night and gives food to her
household and portions
to her maidens. She girds herself with strength and makes her
arms strong. She
senses that her gain is good; her lamp does not go out at night.
She stretches
out her hands to the distaff, and her hands grasp the spindle.
She extends her
hand to the poor, And she stretches out her hands to the needy.
She is not
afraid of the snow for her household, for all her household are
clothed with
scarlet. She makes coverings for herself; her clothing is fine
linen and
purple. Her husband is known in the gates, when he sits among
the elders of the
land. She makes linen garments and sells them, and
supplies belts to
the tradesmen. Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she
smiles at the
future. She opens her mouth in wisdom, and the teaching of
kindness is on her
tongue. She looks well to the ways of her household, and does
not eat the bread
of idleness. Her children rise up and bless her; her husband also,
and
he praises her, saying: "Many daughters have done
nobly, But you
excel them all." Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but
a
woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised. Give her the
product of her
hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.
The
original audience for this passage was the
nation of Israel. When we extrapolate meaning and application
from a passage
for the purpose of applying it to a modern audience, we must be
true to the
process. While these attributes were indeed desirable for a
spouse at that
time, we must question why these traits are admirable. Each and
every trait is
desirable because they are attributes of God’s character. In all
the history of mankind have you ever seen or known God to exalt
or honor characteristics that are not first and foremost His
own? The answer is
– no! So we must conclude that these are characteristics
of God. Each
attribute
described in Proverbs 31 aligns with a parallel use in reference
to
the personification of Wisdom throughout wisdom literature in
the OT. If these attributes are desirable in a bride because
they reflect the divine nature of God, then it stands to reason
that as the
Bride of Christ these are attributes Christ desires in us and
characteristics
that please Him.
So the question remains who are we attempting
to please? Do we
desire to please the world or is our desire to serve our Groom. Are we, the Church, prudent with
our finances, spending wisely on land, buildings, and
modifications? (Prov. 31:13-16) Are we reaching out to embrace,
feed, and clothe the poor and needy? (Prov. 31:20) Are we
vigilant? (Prov. 31:18) Do we focus on pleasing the masses, and
appealing to their senses or are we faithful to a genuine
respect and fear of the LORD? (Prov. 31:30) Do we make our
Groom's name known and respected to the world? (Prov. 31:23)
“Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks
nothing of value. She brings him good,
not harm all the days of her life.” Ideally this is a very
difficult role to
embrace. God trusts us? Why would He do such a thing? Is it even
theologically
sound to suggest that God would place His trust in something
outside of
Himself? This may be where we are permeated with skepticism and
doubt. Are we
outside of God, or are we truly grafted into His body and part
of Him extending
to the world? Now THAT is an overwhelming concept to ponder. God has pulled us into Himself, into His
family, and trusts us fully with His mission to the world. That
can certainly
hold water. But what of our handling of this task? Have we, as
Prov 31: 12
suggests, brought Him good, not harm, all the days of our life?
Conceptually,
yes; specifically, no. Because we exist today, we are an
attestation to the
life-giving power and endurance of God in the world; 2000 years
is nothing to
sneeze at. We have failed in some aspects because we are an
organism compiled
of imperfect and broken people. In a Kingdom economy a good wife and mother is the
Church. I am not suggesting some hidden
secrecy or foretelling prophecy, it is
an eternal principle of the intimate relationship between bride
and groom and
thereby a subsequent tool for defining the role of the Church in
her
relationship to Christ.We, the Church, are Christ's Bride and
True Mother to the lost and hurt in the world and grace emanates
from our very existence.
The scenarios I shared at the beginning of this piece were not mere hyperbole. They were not construed to evoke emotion or manipulate your feelings. These are real scenarios that I have observed and participated in. This was my family and our experiences in and with motherhood. The woman struggling torridly through the barren wasteland of infertility, the young woman who found herself wrestling through the implications of unplanned pregnancy, the young man fearful of cultural and societal impressions and expectations, the woman picking up the pieces of a broken marriage, and the aging woman’s realization of a season ending - these are our stories. These stories are common within the Church and often overlooked and the Church does not fulfill her role as mother to this very real pain and sorrow in her midst. This Mother's Day I challenge you to question what "mother" means to you and ask the question, "Are we emulating brokenness in our expression of this role in the Church or are we adapting the divine image of Mother lain out for us in Scripture?" This Mother's Day, whether you are a physical mother or not, remember that we are all a part of the body of Christ and therefore Bride and Mother with implications much greater and longer lasting than any role we will have in this life. We are Mother.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Moving Forward
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| The View |
Naomi started at her new school this week and is loving it. Declan will spend some time next week at his new daycare to get adjusted before my semester starts the following week. We thrive with routine so the next few weeks will just be about getting into the groove of things again. For someone who is typically resistant to change, I have surprised myself over the last several months. What I have discovered is that often change is necessary for growth and forward movement. Having weathered the brunt of the change I am now excited about the direction this path is taking us. That's all for now. Enjoy the pics!
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| Kitchen |
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| Kitchen |
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| Living room |
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| Living room |
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| The loft from above |
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| The loft from below |
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| Dining Room |
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Great Divorce
Yes, I borrowed the title from C. S. Lewis, and no this does not have anything to do with his book. Shortly after reading my last blog on Holy Tradition, I “skyped” with my parents about some of my observations. Mom was a little perturbed that we did not have many family traditions (perhaps more so that I had confessed this publically) and so we began to discuss why this lack of tradition existed. After about twenty minutes of conversation, mom blurted out, “It’s because we all came from broken homes, split by divorce.” That gave me pause and I thought long about it and its application to my analogy to Church tradition.
It is true. Divorce breaks tradition. It was true in the Great Schism at the turn of the last millennium when the East split fellowship with the West. It was true of the Reformation when the Protestants broke fellowship with the Catholics. It is true of family tradition and the home. It seems the more the Church splinters and fractures, the more tradition is lost over time. Having suffered through a divorce last year myself (yes, it’s taken me this long to actually admit and talk about it), I am more than familiar with the dynamics of this fragmentation.
I strived to maintain what semblance of family I could despite the change. Family counseling emphasized the importance of offering security to the children with comments such as, “We are still a family; we just look different now.” I think that was sound advice which helped me to overcome some of the humiliation and disappointment I felt. The natural tendency in a divorce is to eliminate all symbols of prior unity as they can invoke painful memories or to complicate matters by blaming each other for poor decision making. The blame game tears away at the security of the children and forces them to choose sides and allegiances.
The Church has been guilty of the same predilections. Certain traditions remind us of abuse, conflict or infidelity and we push against the tradition instead of the infraction. It is understandable. But is it productive or healthy? Traditions provide purpose and continuity which in turn offers a sense of belonging and security to those who take part.
In my last blog, I identified a particular Thanksgiving that made me feel security and belonging more than any other. In thinking more about that day I recalled several – shall we say unorthodox – details. We were with my father’s family. Both his mother and father had been divorced since my dad’s early childhood. I knew my grandmother and her husband well. I had met my grandfather and his wife on several occasions. I had never seen them in the same place. But what made this Thanksgiving so memorable was the fact that for some odd reason we were all together. I knew there was tension. I could feel it even at the young impressionable age of eight. The tension was a result of old wounds long buried. What made it bearable was the fact that we were there for a common purpose. We all contributed in some manner to the identity that was our family.
I am halfway through my degree program at Denver Seminary. I have never seen such diversity in beliefs and practices as I do in this place. Yet, in spite of our differences we learn to love one another, often forced to reconcile and work out our differences in an attitude of tolerance. But the one thing that surpasses all our differences is the fact that we are all present in One Name, being like-minded, and desiring to serve the Church and God’s people. The common purpose of this spiritual family to foster identity to our fellow believers in the body of Christ forces us to set aside our differences and celebrate traditions together.
There may be “irreconcilable differences” and relationships may be “irretrievably broken,” but the commonality of purpose to serve our God and His children bonds us together in a manner that can never be severed. Certain traditions may create tension or be uncomfortable, yet the attempt at unity serves the members in a way we may not be able to understand. As much as we hate to admit it, the disjunction of our brokenness is a cause of grief to the Holy Spirit who strives to bring us together in unity.
I observed my grandmother and grandfather as they tolerated one another that Thanksgiving twenty something years ago and I have cherished that day because they both sacrificed their pride and pain for a greater good. As I move forward with my life and attempt to provide stability and love to my children, I am convicted to sacrifice elements of my own pride and pain in order to meet their emotional needs and foster their identity in this family – no matter how broken it may be. I exhort the Church to do the same. There is much pain we have caused one another through our errors and fallen natures, but we are admonished in Scripture to strive for unity in light of diversity.
“I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, One God and Father of all, who [is] above all, and through all, and in you all.” Ephesians 4:1-6
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Holy Tradition
Wherefore I write boldly to your love, which is worthy of God, and exhort you to have but one faith, and one preaching, and one Eucharist. For there is one flesh of the Lord Jesus Christ; and His blood which was shed for us is one; one loaf also is broken to all, and one cup is distributed among them all; there is but one altar for the whole Church, and one bishop, with the presbytery and deacons, my fellow-servants. Since, also, there is but one unbegotten Being, God, even the Father; and one only-begotten Son, God, the Word and man; and one Comforter, the Spirit of truth; and also one preaching, and one faith, and one baptism; and one Church which the holy apostles established from one end of the earth to the other by the blood of Christ, and by their own sweat and toil; it behooves you also, therefore, as “a peculiar people, and a holy nation,” to perform all things with harmony in Christ.
St Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Philadelphians, 4.1
I saw Ignatius today. That is what I considered titling this blog when I wrote my first draft. Another option that occurred to me was, “How a Pentecostal girl turns Anglican.” Under the circumstances I figured that would draw more negative attention than convey the true essence of which I intended to write.
Thanksgiving approaches, and with it an entire season of celebration and the implementation of tradition. The concept of tradition carries a variety of connotations and emotions for people. I realized several years ago that I had few traditions with which to mark events in my life. This Thanksgiving I am reminded once more of the reality of this tendency. It is certainly not for lack of want. It is simply the byproduct of a mobile lifestyle. Growing up in a foreign culture on the mission field was not conducive to the installation of tradition. In fact, I recall rarely making a big deal of Thanksgiving since it was not a Brazilian holiday. We commemorated the occasion amongst our small community of fellow missionaries, but the season was not surrounded by the corporal atmosphere of nationalistic pride which characterizes its celebration in the United States.
Each year I listen to friends describe their plans and hopes for the holiday season, always including some form of tradition. “We all get together and play football” or “We eat this food” and “We meet at this place.” I recall at one point having family traditions. One year we came home to California on furlough and spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. I loved every minute of it. We gorged on a magnificent spread of food, ate more pumpkin pie than I care to admit, watched football, and my favorite – cribbage tournaments. I can still hear the rhythm of the count, 15-2, 15-4, a pair for 6 and nobs is 7! Everyone was involved; card tables abounded. The echoes of many of those voices have faded away. Grandparents have passed on, aunts and uncles drifted apart; cousins and siblings carry on their own lives and travel different paths. I long for the connection of tradition and the foundation and stability it profers, the esoteric link to the past and the lineage of generations. Certainly I do not loathe the familial solitude of my upbringing, but now as an adult, I recognize the validity and importance of tradition.
I believe the same can be said of the Holy Traditions of the Church. Tradition offers to us a unique understanding of our heritage in the Church and an inseverable link to centuries of existence. I grew up Pentecostal, Foursquare to be exact. We did not profess much tradition in the form of liturgy or prayer. We were a young denomination, comparatively speaking. Founded in the 1920’s by Aimee Semple McPherson, we were considered new and fresh – a Holy Spirit breathed movement of the 20th century. We were one of many such denominations emerging during that era. We, along with many of our sister movements, brought a refreshing breeze to Christendom and to the Church. We were instruments of infusing power to a developing core. But as is the nature of many new traditions, we did not receive the acceptance of our family, nor did we strive to maintain ties to the established traditions that would foster the longevity of a 2000 year old influence in the world. Over time, we drifted apart.
This last year I have been exploring the Anglican Church. At first I kept my distance, observing her movements and patterns from afar. As time progressed and I slowly grew enamored with her mind and mannerisms, I felt comfortable getting closer. Many stereotypes dissolved in the wake of my exploration. Such notions as, liturgy is dead, the Spirit cannot move in this format, there is no sincerity in prayer, and the like plagued my uninformed perception of this tradition. What I witnessed left me truly astounded. There is charisma, and not just the docile, pleasant sort. There are prophecies. There are tongues and interpretations. There are words of wisdom and knowledge. There is faithfulness of the brethren, the miraculous, and healing – so much healing; and not just the physical kind. There is healing of minds and souls alike. I am amazed at the connection between my formative expressions of faith and those of this much older tradition, and I am fulfilled.
Sometimes I feel that my affinity for holistic thought is a curse. Some may not think it quite a curse, but it is indeed a curse when you posses an inclination to step back and see the interconnectivity in the body of Christ and the deep, profound impact the various expressions and tasks of the members perform for one another, all the while hostile and ignorant of each other’s similarity and unity. I see the Anglican tradition and her connectivity to the past, through liturgy, prayer, and longevity as the heart of Christendom. Yet what is the heart, without the lungs that give it renewed life? I see the Holiness and Pentecostal movements of the last two centuries as being the lungs of the body. We are so interdependent, yet strive for independence as we neglect the function we serve for one another.
As I gaze at the development of the Church over the centuries I cannot help but see a correlation derived from the development of human life. We begin so small, so seemingly insignificant, fighting for life, and cleaving to the womb for sustenance. The explosive nature of the early Church which defied all logic closely parallels the rapid cell division following conception. After this the brain and nervous system begin the journey to maturation. We see this process in the early and middle ages as philosophers and theologians flexed their intellectual capabilities in support of the life of the Church. The last phase in the development of fetal growth is that of the lungs as they prepare for aspiration. And aspire, we did. But as with all first aspirations of life, there was fear and initial outcry as we fought to explore this renewed air we did not understand. As we have moved through the course of the last century, we have adapted well to that air which we breathe – the very Holy Spirit and the gifts He imparts to us.
In writing this, I do not mean to discount other sects of the Christian faith. I only focus on these two as a means to depict their interworking effects on one another in the body. I am excited for the implications of this new phase of life in the Church. However, we must be cautious not to forget the road we have traveled and the men and women who have contributed to our development in the installation of these Holy Traditions we still possess today. Just as our holiday traditions give us stability and connectivity to past generations, so also does Holy Tradition provide the same in our family of believers. Often we do not even realize the absence of this connection until we are exposed to it or see it in the lives of others. I have experienced the artistry of tradition and relish its presence in my spiritual walk and the unity it forges with generations passed. The Eastern Orthodox Church has a beautiful articulation of the dimensions of time through which we transcend in tradition.
“It is an act that appears to be within time (and surely is so in the normal sense of the word) but is more truly an experience that has moved the believers outside time, into the continuous present, that dominion over time which the Lord’s presidency over his church’s worship effects and constitutes within history; thereby transcending it. To this extent, the generation of present believers is one with the generation of first believers. As we celebrate [Holy Traditions] in the 21st century of the world’s history, a door opens, in an upper room in an inn within a village called Emmaus…When the faithful receive the mysteries, they have entered beyond time and space into a communion with the Lord of history, one which is the prelude and prefigurement of their future union in Paradise.” [1]
As we enter this season that abounds with tradition – the type of tradition that sets us apart, instills deep roots and foundational truths concerning our identity – may we also cherish deeply the Holy Traditions of the Church that unite us throughout the ages into one body. Through the expression of tradition may we transcend time to stand alongside our fathers in the faith, forever linked in the Spirit at the foot of the cross. Today I saw Ignatius, Theresa, Augustine, Gregory and a multitude of others who stood in God’s presence uttering similar sentiments in prayer:
Almighty Father, whose blessed Son before his passion prayed for his disciples that they might be one, even as thou and he are one; Grant that thy Church, being bound together in love and obedience to thee, may be united in one body by the one Spirit, that the world may believe in him whom thou didst send, the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the same Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.[2]
O Almighty God, who by the Holy Spirit hast made us one with thy saints in heaven and on earth: Grant that in our earthly pilgrimage we may ever be supported by this fellowship of love and prayer, and may know ourselves to be surrounded by their witness to thy power and mercy. We ask this for the sake of Jesus Christ, in whom all our intercessions are acceptable through the Spirit, and who liveth and reigneth for ever and ever. Amen.[3]
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