I've been thinking a lot about Elon today, and what I've left and what I've started.
With those thoughts on my mind, I stumbled across this column I wrote during my freshman year of college. It's a little long, but now that the time which I wrote about has passed, and is passing, it seemed appropriate to visit it again.
The Last Farewell
“Fare thee well/ My own true love/ Farewell for a while/ I’m going away But I’ll be back/ Though I go 10,000 miles”
-Mary Chapin Carpenter, 10,000 Miles
I hate goodbyes. Leaving home this past August and moving to college signaled a great change in my life. I went from a total semi-parasitic dependent to a somewhat independent young adult. And in the process of gaining this great title of young adult, I lost the certainty of my past. I no longer have the safety net of home, at least not how it used to be.
When I went home for fall break I was shocked. My Waffle House, the one I had spent countless hours sitting and chatting in, the one I read in, the one I would eat pecan pie in at 1 in the morning, was nothing but a pile of old crumbled ruble. That place was like my comfort zone.
Upon arriving at college, many of my new friends had never heard of Waffle house. If they had, they hadn’t eaten there. They would ask me “don’t they only serve breakfast there” or “isn’t it closed” when I would ask if they would accompany me at 1:30 am to the nearest yellow and brown house. “Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever.” The immortal words of my father echoed in my head. All they needed was to be introduced to the Waffle House experience.
In my high school days, Waffle House, or Wa Ho as we called it was just another part of growing up—like nightly homework or daily practice. There were three waffle houses within a mile of my school—all three on the same road, Virginia Avenue
I suppose that some of my readers don’t understand my connection with this place; I guess that can have the best guess at how I feel about this restaurant are my fellow Atlantans. This is where I came upon the “great teenage revelations.” It was here that one of my best friends brought her fiancé the night before the wedding to hang out. It was here that I said many goodbyes.
And where did all those memories go? Sure I have a menu from the eatery that a waitress gave me once, and I can order my hash browns the same way at any Waffle House, but will it be the same? No, it never will.
That’s what makes me the saddest about leaving home. It’s not so much missing my family and friends as it is missing me. Missing the way I and life used to be. I may be able to fly back to Atlanta, but I won’t get to light the Jack-o-lanterns each night or help to decorate the house for Valentine’s Day or even do something as simple as feed the dogs.
This past May, I gave a speech to my church. One of my goals was to figure out exactly how to bid the congregation and this place I had grown up in goodbye. I tried. I couldn’t.
Instead I thought of an old family friend, whom, when one left a visit, would not allow you to say goodbye. You would have to say “I love you.” That’s what I told my church. But I can’t do that with my past. I can go back to that church. I can’t live in my past. I feel almost like I have lost a home.
And that is why I am dreading my last farewell in May of 2007. I don’t want to loose this home too. I’ll say it. I’m scared. And any person who claims they aren’t just a tiny bit worried is lying—even those graduating in may this year.
I’m sure it’s completely natural to have these fears. But it’s more than just fear. It’s disappointment as well. There is so much hype that leads up to a graduation. You wait excitedly for the appointed day. Finally, it arrives, and you walk up that stage, grab your paper that makes you king of the world for 2.3 seconds, then its over. You just spent so much of your life working towards that sheet of paper and in under three seconds, it is finished. All the reading, writing, studying, worrying, and sleepless nights were for one sheet of paper and three seconds.
Granted this piece of paper hold the key to success further down the road, there is some sort of let down that is involved.
When I received my high school diploma, it was the end of an era for me. I had attended this particular school for fourteen out of my eighteen years. As I reached my hand out for that single certificate I shut a door on the life I had known for over a decade. I put the final stamp on my career as a highschooler and it was the beginning of having to move on with my life.
My Scoutmaster, with whom I worked closely during past summers at a summer camp and who graduated from the same school, probably put it the best. He said that “when you leave, its like having a door slam shut behind you. You can’t go back.” That is so hard to hear sometimes. What if I want to go back? I can’t just hit the back button on my internet web browser or retype the address into the address bar.
I do miss high school. I miss having friends that I saw daily, but could easily get away from by retreating home. I miss my mother’s hugs and my dad’s jokes.
But now I am at college and meeting fantastic, loving, fascinating people. The bottom line is that I am having the time of my life. But deep within me, I know its all going to end…again. I will have a new family and then I will be forced to say goodbye one more time.
Friends remind me that I have four years (well, a little over three now). That is just it, I have four years. I only have four years to make friends, to live college, to have fun before I have to grow up for good.
It’s a harsh reality. One that is not fun in the making. You might say that life is full of goodbyes, that there never really is a last farewell. Fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to look forward to them.
To all those who are counting down the days until you bid Elon farewell, just remember my old friend--the one who wouldn’t let you say good bye, only “I love you.”
28 August 2007
Goodbye Elon, Hello Emory
Classes started today at Elon. It's the first time in 4 years that I'm not there for that. I didn't move to a new place. I didn't go and buy books, or print off my schedule or visit my favorite people on campus.
Instead I got my hair cut.
I know that moving on is necessary. And, I was quite ready to be done with the work and some of the drama that invade my last two months there.
But, I know I'm gonna miss it. It was home. And, I definitely left a piece of me there.
Yesterday, I ventured onto Emory's campus to run some errands. I bought books, visited some fun folks, filled out more forms, and got my ID made.
I bummed around with two friends (one new, one old). Later that evening, a group of us first-years made our way to Decatur and Virginia-Highlands. Good company. Good moments.
And it really began to sink in that I was starting the next chapter.
And I'm glad for that.
And that is a good place to be.
Instead I got my hair cut.
I know that moving on is necessary. And, I was quite ready to be done with the work and some of the drama that invade my last two months there.
But, I know I'm gonna miss it. It was home. And, I definitely left a piece of me there.
Yesterday, I ventured onto Emory's campus to run some errands. I bought books, visited some fun folks, filled out more forms, and got my ID made.
I bummed around with two friends (one new, one old). Later that evening, a group of us first-years made our way to Decatur and Virginia-Highlands. Good company. Good moments.
And it really began to sink in that I was starting the next chapter.
And I'm glad for that.
And that is a good place to be.
27 August 2007
water.raining.grace
Yesterday, the church I was visiting welcomed new members.
Most of the time, these little ceremonettes are rather dry. A few questions, a few answers, blah blah blah, and wham bam, another member of a church.
But this time around, I was reminded of why I love the church I am part of, and why I’m going into what I am going into.
One of the new members hadn’t been baptized before. He came up first and knelt before the pastor. She dipped her fingers in the blessed water, and laid them on his head.
“I baptize you in the name of God, who has created and is creating.”
She wet her fingers again.
“I baptize you in the name of Christ, you has redeemed you.”
A third time, she dipped in the font.
“I baptize you in the name of the Holy Spirit, who is alive and at work in your life, and who will continue to be with you always.”
I sighed a sigh of relief. Maybe because it reminded me that I had those promises too. That God is still speaking, hardly dormant. That Christ has taken care of that which had to have been paid. That even in the loneliest hour, we aren’t alone.
And I had to wonder, what are we afraid of? What do we think we have to protect God from? Why are we scared?
It’s been raining a lot in Atlanta recently. After a month of record-breaking temperatures, its nice to find relief in the waters from the sky. The rain often comes with afternoon thunderstorms.
I believe in God. Thunderstorms remind me why.
Majesty. Power. And grace like rain that brings relief when we need it most.
blessings, be well.
jon.
Most of the time, these little ceremonettes are rather dry. A few questions, a few answers, blah blah blah, and wham bam, another member of a church.
But this time around, I was reminded of why I love the church I am part of, and why I’m going into what I am going into.
One of the new members hadn’t been baptized before. He came up first and knelt before the pastor. She dipped her fingers in the blessed water, and laid them on his head.
“I baptize you in the name of God, who has created and is creating.”
She wet her fingers again.
“I baptize you in the name of Christ, you has redeemed you.”
A third time, she dipped in the font.
“I baptize you in the name of the Holy Spirit, who is alive and at work in your life, and who will continue to be with you always.”
I sighed a sigh of relief. Maybe because it reminded me that I had those promises too. That God is still speaking, hardly dormant. That Christ has taken care of that which had to have been paid. That even in the loneliest hour, we aren’t alone.
And I had to wonder, what are we afraid of? What do we think we have to protect God from? Why are we scared?
It’s been raining a lot in Atlanta recently. After a month of record-breaking temperatures, its nice to find relief in the waters from the sky. The rain often comes with afternoon thunderstorms.
I believe in God. Thunderstorms remind me why.
Majesty. Power. And grace like rain that brings relief when we need it most.
blessings, be well.
jon.
meeting Gretchen again
I am officially excited for seminary. It happened today. When I was able to see my friend, Gretchen, again.
I have two friends named Gretchen. The first I met in Denmark. She and I were kindred spirits--both searching for something more than a semester abroad, both afraid of what we could find, both glad that we found each other. She lives on the West Coast, I on the East. But somehow, our spirits seems to commune despite the distance.
My second Gretchen is from Wisconsin. So, she lives way too far North, and too far away. We met at the Fund for Theological Education’s summer conference, and hit it off. Not only are we both going to Candler, BUT (and that but should be capitalized, because this is BIG) BUT, we are both UCC. Which is fantastic, as far as I’m concerned, because I love my UCCers particularly in a place that isn’t terribly UCC.
Anyway, yesterday, I took a hankering to give her a call, and see what she was up to, and lo, she was in Atlanta. She had just arrived. Being exhausted from a two day trek across the States, she opted for sleep (loser). But today, we got to have lunch (with her mom, who is soooooooooooo much fun and paid for lunch--who could ask for more?). And shop. At Ikea.
I know all of that seems pointless to write or think about. But really, it isn’t. These are the people that crossed my path and remind me why I am doing what I am doing. These are the people that make me excited and lift me up and push me onward and pray and love and celebrate.
And I’m glad I’m getting to share it with them.
Sometimes, its good to remember that.
blessings.
jon.
I have two friends named Gretchen. The first I met in Denmark. She and I were kindred spirits--both searching for something more than a semester abroad, both afraid of what we could find, both glad that we found each other. She lives on the West Coast, I on the East. But somehow, our spirits seems to commune despite the distance.
My second Gretchen is from Wisconsin. So, she lives way too far North, and too far away. We met at the Fund for Theological Education’s summer conference, and hit it off. Not only are we both going to Candler, BUT (and that but should be capitalized, because this is BIG) BUT, we are both UCC. Which is fantastic, as far as I’m concerned, because I love my UCCers particularly in a place that isn’t terribly UCC.
Anyway, yesterday, I took a hankering to give her a call, and see what she was up to, and lo, she was in Atlanta. She had just arrived. Being exhausted from a two day trek across the States, she opted for sleep (loser). But today, we got to have lunch (with her mom, who is soooooooooooo much fun and paid for lunch--who could ask for more?). And shop. At Ikea.
I know all of that seems pointless to write or think about. But really, it isn’t. These are the people that crossed my path and remind me why I am doing what I am doing. These are the people that make me excited and lift me up and push me onward and pray and love and celebrate.
And I’m glad I’m getting to share it with them.
Sometimes, its good to remember that.
blessings.
jon.
the united church of christ
More and more, it seems that I am getting the question “What is the United Church of Christ?” Most of the time, I simply respond, “Probably the most progressive mainline protestant denomination out there.” But that really doesn’t say much. And often, people associate progressive with liberal, and make a whole lot of assumptions which really lead to no where productive.
Recently, the UCC released their recently redesigned website. As part of it, they created a wonderful page which asks congregations to examine how they fit into what matters to the UCC.
Here is the site, but I’ll give you the quick and dirty if you’re reading on the run.
(1) We Are People of God’s Extravagant Welcome
In recent marketing campaigns, the UCC
adopted the slogan, “Jesus didn’t turn people
away. Neither do we.” God’s arms are open
to us all, and the UCC strives to be direct
about such a revolutionary welcome and grace.
(2) We Belong to Christ
From the site (b/c I couldn’t think of a way to say it better):
"We belong to Christ" is a loaded phrase. It's loaded
because it means different things to different people.
It packs within it comfort for some; challenge for
others; and for many both comfort and challenge. For
some, the words unite; for others the words divide. In
the United Church of Christ, we pray the words comfort, challenge, and unite.
(3) We Are a People of Covenant, a United and Uniting Church
The church historically is steeped in the idea of
Covenant, promises that are defined on levels
beyond human loyalty. In that covenant is the promise
of God’s love and grace, which has brought us together
and continues to do so.
(4) We Are One at Baptism and at the Table
Again, from the site: Just some water, just a simple meal of
bread and juice, but for us in the United Church Christ, what
is simple means much more. We celebrate two sacraments.
One is Baptism. The other is Holy Communion which is also
often called the Lord's Supper or Eucharist. Sacraments are
our ritual acts in worship life when the Holy Spirit uses water, bread, and wine to make visible the grace, forgiveness, and presence of God in Christ.
(5) We Thank God by Working for a Just and Loving World
We are called by God to do whatever we can
to be stewards of God’s Creation. Certainly this includes
environmental concerns, but it goes far beyond that.
It means working for justice for the disenfranchised,
loving the unloved, and realized that anything we
interact with is part of God’s creation.
(6) We Listen for the Still-speaking God
God isn’t dormant. The Bible isn’t the end of
God’s voice speaking to us. Part of an active
spiritual life is action and silence, finding the
space for God to speak, and the will to listen.
Recently, the UCC released their recently redesigned website. As part of it, they created a wonderful page which asks congregations to examine how they fit into what matters to the UCC.
Here is the site, but I’ll give you the quick and dirty if you’re reading on the run.
(1) We Are People of God’s Extravagant Welcome
In recent marketing campaigns, the UCC
adopted the slogan, “Jesus didn’t turn people
away. Neither do we.” God’s arms are open
to us all, and the UCC strives to be direct
about such a revolutionary welcome and grace.
(2) We Belong to Christ
From the site (b/c I couldn’t think of a way to say it better):
"We belong to Christ" is a loaded phrase. It's loaded
because it means different things to different people.
It packs within it comfort for some; challenge for
others; and for many both comfort and challenge. For
some, the words unite; for others the words divide. In
the United Church of Christ, we pray the words comfort, challenge, and unite.
(3) We Are a People of Covenant, a United and Uniting Church
The church historically is steeped in the idea of
Covenant, promises that are defined on levels
beyond human loyalty. In that covenant is the promise
of God’s love and grace, which has brought us together
and continues to do so.
(4) We Are One at Baptism and at the Table
Again, from the site: Just some water, just a simple meal of
bread and juice, but for us in the United Church Christ, what
is simple means much more. We celebrate two sacraments.
One is Baptism. The other is Holy Communion which is also
often called the Lord's Supper or Eucharist. Sacraments are
our ritual acts in worship life when the Holy Spirit uses water, bread, and wine to make visible the grace, forgiveness, and presence of God in Christ.
(5) We Thank God by Working for a Just and Loving World
We are called by God to do whatever we can
to be stewards of God’s Creation. Certainly this includes
environmental concerns, but it goes far beyond that.
It means working for justice for the disenfranchised,
loving the unloved, and realized that anything we
interact with is part of God’s creation.
(6) We Listen for the Still-speaking God
God isn’t dormant. The Bible isn’t the end of
God’s voice speaking to us. Part of an active
spiritual life is action and silence, finding the
space for God to speak, and the will to listen.
friends
The past days have been filled with friends, old ones and new ones.
It’s really been a comfort. After two weeks of focusing on the condo, I was drained and pretty lonely. Being a pretty extraverted person, I thrive on the energies that others bring into my space. Not having that regularly was at first resting. But now, and I bet my parents would never believe this (wait, maybe they could), I’m just plain bored.
I did meet up with some old friends and my mom came by a few times, but those sporadic moments of interaction weren’t quite enough to
Thursday changed that. Two of FTE friends came over for dinner. It was my first dinner gig at my new place, and was easily one of the highlights of my summer. We joked, laughed, ate freshly baked cookies, and drank. (Relax, Milk with the cookies, duh. right.).
The next night I met more new folks (that went sort of well), but Saturday took the cake. Mom and Dad came over to help be do a few bigger-than-I-could-handle fix-it chores, then I had dinner with my a close and dear friend (at Waffle House, which, as always, really hit the spot). Then I headed over to Decatur.
After getting lost to the point that I had to talk to two people to find my way there (Who knew decatur could be so confusing?) I found just where I was supposed to be. I joined some Columbia kids (the PCUSA seminary in ATL) at a bar which had a great folksy/blues band playing. And we sat and talked and laughed. And it was great.
So here’s to the weekend of old friends and to new ones.
The more I sit with my decision to move to ATL instead of NYC, the more it feels right.
blessings.
jon.
It’s really been a comfort. After two weeks of focusing on the condo, I was drained and pretty lonely. Being a pretty extraverted person, I thrive on the energies that others bring into my space. Not having that regularly was at first resting. But now, and I bet my parents would never believe this (wait, maybe they could), I’m just plain bored.
I did meet up with some old friends and my mom came by a few times, but those sporadic moments of interaction weren’t quite enough to
Thursday changed that. Two of FTE friends came over for dinner. It was my first dinner gig at my new place, and was easily one of the highlights of my summer. We joked, laughed, ate freshly baked cookies, and drank. (Relax, Milk with the cookies, duh. right.).
The next night I met more new folks (that went sort of well), but Saturday took the cake. Mom and Dad came over to help be do a few bigger-than-I-could-handle fix-it chores, then I had dinner with my a close and dear friend (at Waffle House, which, as always, really hit the spot). Then I headed over to Decatur.
After getting lost to the point that I had to talk to two people to find my way there (Who knew decatur could be so confusing?) I found just where I was supposed to be. I joined some Columbia kids (the PCUSA seminary in ATL) at a bar which had a great folksy/blues band playing. And we sat and talked and laughed. And it was great.
So here’s to the weekend of old friends and to new ones.
The more I sit with my decision to move to ATL instead of NYC, the more it feels right.
blessings.
jon.
watching paint dry
Mom came over today and helped me to finish the last bit of painting. A week ago yesterday, we were painting away in the master bedroom, but after a long day of cleaning and painting we didn’t quite get the closet finished.
[Insert bad gay jokes here.]
So today, we spend the morning in the closet, painting the walls, avoiding painting the floors (again), and waiting for the paint to dry.
And it’s thrilling.
I guess I’m just ready to be done moving. I’m ready to be still enough to let these roots sink into the ground. At least for a while.
But with every change comes having to watch the paint dry. Those moments of unsure transition when you’re not sure what to do except the obvious.
Better get back to it.
blessings.
jon.
[Insert bad gay jokes here.]
So today, we spend the morning in the closet, painting the walls, avoiding painting the floors (again), and waiting for the paint to dry.
And it’s thrilling.
I guess I’m just ready to be done moving. I’m ready to be still enough to let these roots sink into the ground. At least for a while.
But with every change comes having to watch the paint dry. Those moments of unsure transition when you’re not sure what to do except the obvious.
Better get back to it.
blessings.
jon.
Welcome Home
Well, it’s official. I am a homeowner.
I also am in way more debt than I ever wanted to be.
But, c’est la vie.
We closed on Monday, painted and cleaned Tuesday, and moved wednesday. And I have to say, I am totally exhausted.
Yesterday, after my folks had left, my friend Mariah came over and helped me unpack. It was good to have a new good friend help create a new good home.
As I left the house I grew up in, I have to admit that my eyes got a little teary.
It hit me, as I pulled out the driveway, that I was leaving for the last time. Sure, I’ll go back, but it won’t ever be the same. My home, now, is in Atlanta. And my parent’s home is in Fairburn.
And I’m sad for that. And I’m glad for that.
And I’m excited and scared and joyful and grateful and hopeful. Above all I’m hopeful.
And that is a good place to be.
Welcome home.
blessings.
jon.
I also am in way more debt than I ever wanted to be.
But, c’est la vie.
We closed on Monday, painted and cleaned Tuesday, and moved wednesday. And I have to say, I am totally exhausted.
Yesterday, after my folks had left, my friend Mariah came over and helped me unpack. It was good to have a new good friend help create a new good home.
As I left the house I grew up in, I have to admit that my eyes got a little teary.
It hit me, as I pulled out the driveway, that I was leaving for the last time. Sure, I’ll go back, but it won’t ever be the same. My home, now, is in Atlanta. And my parent’s home is in Fairburn.
And I’m sad for that. And I’m glad for that.
And I’m excited and scared and joyful and grateful and hopeful. Above all I’m hopeful.
And that is a good place to be.
Welcome home.
blessings.
jon.
I Know Where I Been
I saw Hairspray the other day. I have to admit it was fun. Really fun. Fun to the point that I went and bought the soundtrack for my good friend Katie. Of course, she did the same for me (we saw the film together), so we have been singing our brains out for the past week. And we have had so much fun doing it.
From the first Oh-oh-ohs to the final dance moves, it is a thrilling ride through ever 1962 cliche.
Almost all of the songs are fantastically entertaining and downright show-song bliss. One song, however, is tremendous in another way.
The movie, which has a major theme of integration woven throughout comes to a halt as Queen Latifah begins to sing the beautiful “I know where I’ve been..” To read the lyrics, click here (and trust me, you should---IN FACT, buy the song on itunes).
In the song, she talks about the progress the civil rights movement is just beginning to make, but reminds the listener not to forget to where we’ve been.
This song makes me cry. Every time. The movements that I am involved with parallel the sentiments which are sung about in the song to the point that I can’t help but feel that I could just as easily be singing those words.
The thing is, it’s not the lyrics about the struggle that get me. I have seen that, lived it in some way.
Instead, it is the very end in which they exclaim “to sit still will be a sin.” I couldn’t agree more. When do we stop sitting still, and start creating change? When do we say enough? And when do we stop accepting the “I didn’t realize” as an excuse?
And finally, the song ends in a joyful praise:
Oh! When we win,
I'll give thanks to my God
'Cause i know where I've been
How could you say it better? When it’s over and we have changed for the better, we give thanks to God--not just for bringing us to this point, but for helping us know where we’ve been.
blessings.
jon.
From the first Oh-oh-ohs to the final dance moves, it is a thrilling ride through ever 1962 cliche.
Almost all of the songs are fantastically entertaining and downright show-song bliss. One song, however, is tremendous in another way.
The movie, which has a major theme of integration woven throughout comes to a halt as Queen Latifah begins to sing the beautiful “I know where I’ve been..” To read the lyrics, click here (and trust me, you should---IN FACT, buy the song on itunes).
In the song, she talks about the progress the civil rights movement is just beginning to make, but reminds the listener not to forget to where we’ve been.
This song makes me cry. Every time. The movements that I am involved with parallel the sentiments which are sung about in the song to the point that I can’t help but feel that I could just as easily be singing those words.
The thing is, it’s not the lyrics about the struggle that get me. I have seen that, lived it in some way.
Instead, it is the very end in which they exclaim “to sit still will be a sin.” I couldn’t agree more. When do we stop sitting still, and start creating change? When do we say enough? And when do we stop accepting the “I didn’t realize” as an excuse?
And finally, the song ends in a joyful praise:
Oh! When we win,
I'll give thanks to my God
'Cause i know where I've been
How could you say it better? When it’s over and we have changed for the better, we give thanks to God--not just for bringing us to this point, but for helping us know where we’ve been.
blessings.
jon.
remembering grace at the waffle house
Yesterday evening I went to Waffle House. I used to go pretty regularly as it’s a way of life down here. I remember moving to Elon, and trying to get my new friends into the Waffle House experience.
“But I’m not hungry,” they would whine.
“We’re not going to eat,” I’d nearly shout back
Eating isn’t the point (however, it is a nice added bonus).
The point is going, and being. There were three Waffle Houses within a mile of my high school--each with its own group of kids that went there often. I went to the one closest to my church so much during my high school days, that they gave me a menu when I left for college.
When it was all said and done, Waffle House was always there--open, with good food and usually good friends.
Last night, I was meeting my friend, Kellie, at the Waffle House up by the highway. Assuming I would be the first one there (we went to the one far closer to me than to her), I brought a book with me.
The book was Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. The book, which I read once before for a class during my junior year of college, is about Dr. Paul Farmer’s quest to solve the health problems of Haiti. The title comes from a Haitian proverb: “Beyond mountains there are mountains.”
You can imagine how the book goes. I was somewhere in the third chapter where Kidder writes about the policies of Farmer’s rural healthcare center. The one rule that was distinctly Farmer’s and the one which couldn’t be broken, was that no one was turned away. They would help every last patient.
And I realized that is our call--to not turn people away. And in that is the Grace we are given, that we won’t be turned away.
As as Charlie Daniels sawed on that fiddle, playing it hot over the jukebox, I knew that I was glad to be at Waffle House--at a place where the door was open, and smiles waited inside. And I was glad to be reminded of God’s grace--where the arms are open, and love awaits us all.
blessings.
jon.
“But I’m not hungry,” they would whine.
“We’re not going to eat,” I’d nearly shout back
Eating isn’t the point (however, it is a nice added bonus).
The point is going, and being. There were three Waffle Houses within a mile of my high school--each with its own group of kids that went there often. I went to the one closest to my church so much during my high school days, that they gave me a menu when I left for college.
When it was all said and done, Waffle House was always there--open, with good food and usually good friends.
Last night, I was meeting my friend, Kellie, at the Waffle House up by the highway. Assuming I would be the first one there (we went to the one far closer to me than to her), I brought a book with me.
The book was Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. The book, which I read once before for a class during my junior year of college, is about Dr. Paul Farmer’s quest to solve the health problems of Haiti. The title comes from a Haitian proverb: “Beyond mountains there are mountains.”
You can imagine how the book goes. I was somewhere in the third chapter where Kidder writes about the policies of Farmer’s rural healthcare center. The one rule that was distinctly Farmer’s and the one which couldn’t be broken, was that no one was turned away. They would help every last patient.
And I realized that is our call--to not turn people away. And in that is the Grace we are given, that we won’t be turned away.
As as Charlie Daniels sawed on that fiddle, playing it hot over the jukebox, I knew that I was glad to be at Waffle House--at a place where the door was open, and smiles waited inside. And I was glad to be reminded of God’s grace--where the arms are open, and love awaits us all.
blessings.
jon.
a prayer
My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will follow you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
written by Thomas Merton
"Thoughts in Solitude"
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will follow you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
written by Thomas Merton
"Thoughts in Solitude"
Jon, The Viking
I had a viking day. And by viking day, I mean bad day.
One of those days when you just don’t know what to write.
So, I turn to Mary Oliver. Somehow, she always has something good and right and true to say.
blessings.
jon.
One of those days when you just don’t know what to write.
So, I turn to Mary Oliver. Somehow, she always has something good and right and true to say.
Wild Geese
From Dream Work
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
blessings.
jon.
Jon, The Viking
I had a viking day. And by viking day, I mean bad day.
One of those days when you just don’t know what to write.
So, I turn to Mary Oliver. Somehow, she always has something good and right and true to say.
blessings.
jon.
One of those days when you just don’t know what to write.
So, I turn to Mary Oliver. Somehow, she always has something good and right and true to say.
Wild Geese
From Dream Work
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
blessings.
jon.
looking back, looking forward
The other night, just before I went to sleep, I thought about Paris. I’ve only been to Paris twice, both during the same trip. After leaving Copenhagen, I headed to Paris and crashed on a friend of a friend’s apartment floor. After touring around the south of France for a month or so, I ended up back in Paris.
On the night before my great adventure ended (I had been living abroad for upwards of six months by that point), I sat on the steps of Sacre Coeur or the Church of the Sacred Heart to watch the sunset. I gazed across the city, and thought about what the past six month had been. I remembered meeting my first friends, learning to travel by myself, changing the way I saw the world.
I looked out on all I had been and what I had become.
This past June I had a similar experience.
At the FTE conference on ministry, the last nighttime worship was Taize’ inspired. Through prayers, songs, and silence we all came to a common space. There were different stations set up all around the chapel. Toward the back, chairs were set up in a curve facing a stair case up to the balcony. Entering the space, I walked by the Holy Water. Crossing myself with it, I made my way to the first banner. It was Isaiah six: Then I heard the voice of the LORD saying “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here I am; send me!”
I went to the next banner at the bottom of the steps. There a fishnet was loosely hanging over six or seven versions of Christ’s call for us to be fishers of men.
I ascended the steps and at the landing, there were a set of minister’s robes. I turned around, and laid out beneath me was the whole chapel--candles, people suspended in song and prayer, and hope.
And I realized I was looking out on my future--on what my life might be, and I was happy and stunned and excited and terrified. All at once.
Then I realized, its what I need to do. And I’m glad to do it.
The Lord asked “Whom shall I send?”
Send me.
On the night before my great adventure ended (I had been living abroad for upwards of six months by that point), I sat on the steps of Sacre Coeur or the Church of the Sacred Heart to watch the sunset. I gazed across the city, and thought about what the past six month had been. I remembered meeting my first friends, learning to travel by myself, changing the way I saw the world.
I looked out on all I had been and what I had become.
This past June I had a similar experience.
At the FTE conference on ministry, the last nighttime worship was Taize’ inspired. Through prayers, songs, and silence we all came to a common space. There were different stations set up all around the chapel. Toward the back, chairs were set up in a curve facing a stair case up to the balcony. Entering the space, I walked by the Holy Water. Crossing myself with it, I made my way to the first banner. It was Isaiah six: Then I heard the voice of the LORD saying “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here I am; send me!”
I went to the next banner at the bottom of the steps. There a fishnet was loosely hanging over six or seven versions of Christ’s call for us to be fishers of men.
I ascended the steps and at the landing, there were a set of minister’s robes. I turned around, and laid out beneath me was the whole chapel--candles, people suspended in song and prayer, and hope.
And I realized I was looking out on my future--on what my life might be, and I was happy and stunned and excited and terrified. All at once.
Then I realized, its what I need to do. And I’m glad to do it.
The Lord asked “Whom shall I send?”
Send me.
home.
For the past month and a half, I have been living at home. with my parents. You might think “oh, that’s not so bad.” And I’d have to agree with you. No rent. No buying food. No paying for utilities. It’s nice.
But two months (the amount of time I will have been here by the time I move out) is proving to be longer than I thought.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy being at home. I love my folks. I get to sleep late (at least right now), take naps and do what I please. And of course, there is nothing more comfortable (at least for me) than home. Driving down our road, which has a Baptist church sign at its end with a different message every week (this week’s was “Exercise! Walk with God!”--no lie) is the epitome of the “home stretch.” I remember coming home from Elon, and seeing that sign, and thinking “whew...i finally made it.” Then I would turn down our drive way and see our house, and I knew I was there--and in that knowledge was a safety and hope that somehow is always found at home.
So what’s the problem? The problem lies in the fact that I haven’t lived at home for four years. When I did come home, the longest stay I had was three weeks. Three weeks to two months is a pretty big jump.
The problem isn’t in my parents or the house or the pets or my old room. The problem lies in the fact that this is a period of huge transition for me. I’m leaving behind what I’ve known, and stepping off on a journey which hasn’t all come to light yet. I’m not sure where the path might lead, but I’m going to tread it faithfully and hopeful.
Since moving home, I’ve known that this adventure is just beyond my doorstep. And I am excited to begin it. So now, home feels like it is doing the one thing home shouldn’t do--hold you back. It’s not intentional or malicious, just reality. Since the fall of 2005, my life has been on a train going full speed ahead. Experience after experience has shaped me and molded me in such phenomenal and miniscule ways. That train has finally paused on the tracks, refilling on water, changing passengers and upgrading engineers.
Maybe I just wasn’t ready to pull into a station. But, as I think about it, I’m glad for the rest.
At Elon’s most recent graduation, University Chaplain Richard McBride presented us with part of a prayer from Michel Quoist’s book Prayers. This particular prayer was based on the book of Ephesians, and begins like this:
That is my prayer--Let me see this time with God’s eyes.
blessings.
jon.
But two months (the amount of time I will have been here by the time I move out) is proving to be longer than I thought.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy being at home. I love my folks. I get to sleep late (at least right now), take naps and do what I please. And of course, there is nothing more comfortable (at least for me) than home. Driving down our road, which has a Baptist church sign at its end with a different message every week (this week’s was “Exercise! Walk with God!”--no lie) is the epitome of the “home stretch.” I remember coming home from Elon, and seeing that sign, and thinking “whew...i finally made it.” Then I would turn down our drive way and see our house, and I knew I was there--and in that knowledge was a safety and hope that somehow is always found at home.
So what’s the problem? The problem lies in the fact that I haven’t lived at home for four years. When I did come home, the longest stay I had was three weeks. Three weeks to two months is a pretty big jump.
The problem isn’t in my parents or the house or the pets or my old room. The problem lies in the fact that this is a period of huge transition for me. I’m leaving behind what I’ve known, and stepping off on a journey which hasn’t all come to light yet. I’m not sure where the path might lead, but I’m going to tread it faithfully and hopeful.
Since moving home, I’ve known that this adventure is just beyond my doorstep. And I am excited to begin it. So now, home feels like it is doing the one thing home shouldn’t do--hold you back. It’s not intentional or malicious, just reality. Since the fall of 2005, my life has been on a train going full speed ahead. Experience after experience has shaped me and molded me in such phenomenal and miniscule ways. That train has finally paused on the tracks, refilling on water, changing passengers and upgrading engineers.
Maybe I just wasn’t ready to pull into a station. But, as I think about it, I’m glad for the rest.
At Elon’s most recent graduation, University Chaplain Richard McBride presented us with part of a prayer from Michel Quoist’s book Prayers. This particular prayer was based on the book of Ephesians, and begins like this:
I would like to rise very high, Lord;
Above my city,
Above my world,
Above time.
I would like to purify my glance and borrow your eyes.
That is my prayer--Let me see this time with God’s eyes.
blessings.
jon.
love > fear
God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. Love has been perfected among us in this: that we may have boldness on the day of judgment, because as he is, so are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.
nice.
blessings.
jon.
Walking the Line...
Recently, a friend of mine was telling me about a Christian Financial Advisor who had a radio show. This took me by surprise. Not because he could get a show (I mean, really--radio seems to always be looking for the next big thing), but because he considered himself a Christian Financial adviser.
Not knowing much about the host (and not wanting to assume too much) I asked my friend what was the gist of how this person advised. My initial thought was “WWJA?”--what would Jesus advise?
The first thing I thought of Jesus’ answer to rich man who asked “How do I get to Heaven?” Jesus said, without missing a beat, “Give it all away.” Then my mind jumped to the turning over of tables in the temple--one of the few times when we really see Jesus get mad.
Here is the scripture, for those who want a refresher (God knows I always need one!):
In true Christ fashion, there is always a lesson from such interactions:
Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’
Matthew 19. 23-26
hmmm.
So from these two instances alone we begin to get a sense of how Jesus felt about money. And even a surface level reading leaves us uncomfortable with a “well, shit” feeling somewhere deep inside us.
So, I wonder what our advisor’s policy is? Is he attempting to make money for people and nothing else? Is he advising folks on how to be investment savvy while reminding them to use the money for good causes or for others? Or is he telling them to give it all way?
Where is the line between literally following what Christ said and interpretation? What are we supposed to make of it?
Of course what is ironic about the second part of Matthew that is presented above is that it seems that this is a statement by Christ that is so often demanded to be understood in a non-literal way by folks who insist that the Bible is literal. Gay people are immoral, but it’s OK for me to keep all the money I make preaching that message.
Oftentimes, when the topic turns to money, I tell my conservative friends that Jesus said to give it all away. They scoff, often feeling victimized, the explain that they are trying to live a good life. Then, they tell me to stop telling them what Jesus said.
And here’s the thing..I understand where they are coming from. I have certainly enjoyed driving my Jetta, receiving a college education, eating what I want when I want it. I am in the same boat. I like to think I could give it all away, but would I? Maybe, maybe not.
And should I have to give it all up? Is it OK to have savings or is that the ultimate sign of atheism--not trusting that God will provide when God explicitly says God will (remember the birds and the lilies)? Or am I simply saving what God already provided?
Should we stop reminding each of what Jesus said? I don’t mean in a judging way, just in a don’t forget sort of way...I mean, if we are going to Christians, we should claim it...right? So what does it mean to claim it?
These are strong words that make hard questions.
And the questions don’t end with these. I have so many more (not the least of which is how far should Christianity infiltrate your life?) But perhaps we’ll tackle those another day.
Just to keep you from thinking I’m too heavy, here is a fun story from just this morning. My dad has a penchant for Toostie Rolls. Coming home from lunch today (where he had purchased five rolls or so), he stuck one half-way in his mouth (keep in mind he has a beard) and asks my mom what he is...she didn’t know (neither did I), and he excitedly told us he was Lassie taking a crap.
no lie.
welcome to the family.
blessings.
jon.
Not knowing much about the host (and not wanting to assume too much) I asked my friend what was the gist of how this person advised. My initial thought was “WWJA?”--what would Jesus advise?
The first thing I thought of Jesus’ answer to rich man who asked “How do I get to Heaven?” Jesus said, without missing a beat, “Give it all away.” Then my mind jumped to the turning over of tables in the temple--one of the few times when we really see Jesus get mad.
Here is the scripture, for those who want a refresher (God knows I always need one!):
Then someone came to him and said, ‘Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?’ And he said to him, ‘Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.’ He said to him, ‘Which ones?’ And Jesus said, ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; Honor your father and mother; also, You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ The young man said to him, ‘I have kept all these;* what do I still lack?’ Jesus said to him, ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money* to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ When the young man heard this word, he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.
Matthew 19.16-22
In true Christ fashion, there is always a lesson from such interactions:
Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’
Matthew 19. 23-26
hmmm.
So from these two instances alone we begin to get a sense of how Jesus felt about money. And even a surface level reading leaves us uncomfortable with a “well, shit” feeling somewhere deep inside us.
So, I wonder what our advisor’s policy is? Is he attempting to make money for people and nothing else? Is he advising folks on how to be investment savvy while reminding them to use the money for good causes or for others? Or is he telling them to give it all way?
Where is the line between literally following what Christ said and interpretation? What are we supposed to make of it?
Of course what is ironic about the second part of Matthew that is presented above is that it seems that this is a statement by Christ that is so often demanded to be understood in a non-literal way by folks who insist that the Bible is literal. Gay people are immoral, but it’s OK for me to keep all the money I make preaching that message.
Oftentimes, when the topic turns to money, I tell my conservative friends that Jesus said to give it all away. They scoff, often feeling victimized, the explain that they are trying to live a good life. Then, they tell me to stop telling them what Jesus said.
And here’s the thing..I understand where they are coming from. I have certainly enjoyed driving my Jetta, receiving a college education, eating what I want when I want it. I am in the same boat. I like to think I could give it all away, but would I? Maybe, maybe not.
And should I have to give it all up? Is it OK to have savings or is that the ultimate sign of atheism--not trusting that God will provide when God explicitly says God will (remember the birds and the lilies)? Or am I simply saving what God already provided?
Should we stop reminding each of what Jesus said? I don’t mean in a judging way, just in a don’t forget sort of way...I mean, if we are going to Christians, we should claim it...right? So what does it mean to claim it?
These are strong words that make hard questions.
And the questions don’t end with these. I have so many more (not the least of which is how far should Christianity infiltrate your life?) But perhaps we’ll tackle those another day.
Just to keep you from thinking I’m too heavy, here is a fun story from just this morning. My dad has a penchant for Toostie Rolls. Coming home from lunch today (where he had purchased five rolls or so), he stuck one half-way in his mouth (keep in mind he has a beard) and asks my mom what he is...she didn’t know (neither did I), and he excitedly told us he was Lassie taking a crap.
no lie.
welcome to the family.
blessings.
jon.
Rainstorms and Windchimes
We had bad storms yesterday evening. I mean bad. Just as my family was heading out for dinner, a lightning storm descended upon us. And by descended, I really mean blew in from the west, over beyond the river.
We were all three sitting outside on our back porch listening to the rain, when the rain brought distant thunder and lightning to our front door. We all scurried inside, thinking it would soon pass.
But we were wrong. Soon we were directly under the storm. Directly under as in hearing three sounds: the rain, the thunder, and the lightning popping fifty feet away.
I’ll be honest. I even found myself getting antsy and telling my mom that I wasn’t too fond of this storm.
We were each doing our own things. Mom had the paper, dad was doing God knows what, and I was finishing up Anne Lamott’s latest book Grace (Eventually) which is pretty good, fyi. Basically, we were trying our best to avoid the tempest just outside our door.
Then, through the midst of the rain and wind and popping and crashing, I heard our wind chimes ringing. They were peaceful and calm, a ringing voice that reminded us that even in the presence of the most turbulent of storms there are moments in which, if we listen carefully and closely enough, we can hear God’s own voice of comfort.
A couple of weeks ago, I rediscovered a favorite writing of mine. I’d like to share it with you now.
Blessings.
jon.
We were all three sitting outside on our back porch listening to the rain, when the rain brought distant thunder and lightning to our front door. We all scurried inside, thinking it would soon pass.
But we were wrong. Soon we were directly under the storm. Directly under as in hearing three sounds: the rain, the thunder, and the lightning popping fifty feet away.
I’ll be honest. I even found myself getting antsy and telling my mom that I wasn’t too fond of this storm.
We were each doing our own things. Mom had the paper, dad was doing God knows what, and I was finishing up Anne Lamott’s latest book Grace (Eventually) which is pretty good, fyi. Basically, we were trying our best to avoid the tempest just outside our door.
Then, through the midst of the rain and wind and popping and crashing, I heard our wind chimes ringing. They were peaceful and calm, a ringing voice that reminded us that even in the presence of the most turbulent of storms there are moments in which, if we listen carefully and closely enough, we can hear God’s own voice of comfort.
A couple of weeks ago, I rediscovered a favorite writing of mine. I’d like to share it with you now.
It is not you who shape God:
it is God who shapes you.
If then you are the work of God,
await the hand of the Artist
who does all things in due season.
Offer the Potter your heart,
soft and tractable,
and keep the form in which
the Artist has fashioned you.
Let your clay be moist,
lest you grow hard and lose
the imprint of the Potter’s fingers.
-Irenaeus, 2nd Century Theologian
Blessings.
jon.
The Problem with Open Arms
This past weekend, I was at the Fund for Theological Education’s annual conference on ministry. This conference, which as I mentioned earlier I attended last year, is amazing because it brings all of these fantastic young people together. Folks from every denomination you can think of (at least most of them) were there, and through it all, there was a common understanding that there were places we disagreed, but that when it came down to it, there was a foundational place where we all could agree. In the end, beyond the details and places we differed was the assurance of the story and the love.
During my time at this year’s conference, I found myself in the position to have to explain exactly what the United Church of Christ is. After some surface level history lessons, and an attempt at sharing what the UCC holds as important social justice issues (which for the record, is all of them), I realized that maybe the best way to describe the UCC is by explaining its arms.
Here’s what I mean. When approached by a question or an issue, the UCC debates and discusses and converses about how to respond. As many of our critics have duly noted, we are pretty open toward a whole myriad of possible responses, but the one great litmus test that is consistently applied to these topics is this single question: Is the action we are about to take going to open our arms wider or close them tighter?
If the answer isn’t that it will open our arms wider, then the answer/response simply isn’t good enough. Period. And that is what I love about the UCC, and about Christ (more importantly about Christ). Arms are extended wider, reaching out, pulling in, and saying “we’re gonna love you where you are, not where someone thinks you should be.”
Last year, at this same conference, a minister sitting on a panel for undergraduates recalled one of the most important things that she had learned in Seminary was this: “Two things,” she said. “Believe the story. Love the people.”
“How Simple!” I thought. Right. Not so much.
Why is it, then, that some people are so damn hard to love?
For many its believing the story that is the problem. And, to some extent, I have my doubts about literal interpretations, etc. But its the love part that’s the real kicker. Christ certainly said that loving each other is the greatest thing we can do second to loving God with our whole beings. And somewhere along the way, I’m sure he mentioned that it wouldn’t be easy. But damn.
So how do you love people who (1) are abusive in theology or self (2) refuse to love you or (3) seem to try every trick in the book to separate themselves from you and from God?
I have to believe that God can offer that love. If I don’t, then I’m not sure where the starting place for life is. But is it fair for us to claim to be able to do the same thing? I began to answer that question sometime ago:
So the problem with open arms, is that as much as we want to hold them wide open--shouting for people to come in to our fold, we can’t. And the really scary part is that our arms are the first to go. Soon, our minds get tired, and then our hearts.
And then, grace like rain reminds us that we are cleansed, refreshed, and made well. And that maybe holding our arms open is worth the weariness and hurt. That people will come around. That is was by God’s love that we came to God, and in the same way, our love that others can come to us.
For some time, I’ve looked to 1st John for my favorite lifting words. So, I leave you with this and a thought.
So what, then are we afraid of?
blessings.
jon.
During my time at this year’s conference, I found myself in the position to have to explain exactly what the United Church of Christ is. After some surface level history lessons, and an attempt at sharing what the UCC holds as important social justice issues (which for the record, is all of them), I realized that maybe the best way to describe the UCC is by explaining its arms.
Here’s what I mean. When approached by a question or an issue, the UCC debates and discusses and converses about how to respond. As many of our critics have duly noted, we are pretty open toward a whole myriad of possible responses, but the one great litmus test that is consistently applied to these topics is this single question: Is the action we are about to take going to open our arms wider or close them tighter?
If the answer isn’t that it will open our arms wider, then the answer/response simply isn’t good enough. Period. And that is what I love about the UCC, and about Christ (more importantly about Christ). Arms are extended wider, reaching out, pulling in, and saying “we’re gonna love you where you are, not where someone thinks you should be.”
Last year, at this same conference, a minister sitting on a panel for undergraduates recalled one of the most important things that she had learned in Seminary was this: “Two things,” she said. “Believe the story. Love the people.”
“How Simple!” I thought. Right. Not so much.
Why is it, then, that some people are so damn hard to love?
For many its believing the story that is the problem. And, to some extent, I have my doubts about literal interpretations, etc. But its the love part that’s the real kicker. Christ certainly said that loving each other is the greatest thing we can do second to loving God with our whole beings. And somewhere along the way, I’m sure he mentioned that it wouldn’t be easy. But damn.
So how do you love people who (1) are abusive in theology or self (2) refuse to love you or (3) seem to try every trick in the book to separate themselves from you and from God?
I have to believe that God can offer that love. If I don’t, then I’m not sure where the starting place for life is. But is it fair for us to claim to be able to do the same thing? I began to answer that question sometime ago:
We claim unconditional love, but to not recognize our incapability of attaining it would be folly. While humans can muster magnificent and tremendous amounts of love and compassion, we are unable to mimic such devotion. We love, but only to a point. We open our arms with compassion, but find our arms growing tired. God does not falter like humans. God keeps loving; God keeps his compassion flowing. Where humans insert a “but,” God insists on “regardless.” We have God’s love, regardless; we have God’s grace, regardless.
So the problem with open arms, is that as much as we want to hold them wide open--shouting for people to come in to our fold, we can’t. And the really scary part is that our arms are the first to go. Soon, our minds get tired, and then our hearts.
And then, grace like rain reminds us that we are cleansed, refreshed, and made well. And that maybe holding our arms open is worth the weariness and hurt. That people will come around. That is was by God’s love that we came to God, and in the same way, our love that others can come to us.
For some time, I’ve looked to 1st John for my favorite lifting words. So, I leave you with this and a thought.
There is no fear in love,
but perfect love casts out fear...
1 John 4. 18
So what, then are we afraid of?
blessings.
jon.
The Problem with Open Arms
This past weekend, I was at the Fund for Theological Education’s annual conference on ministry. This conference, which as I mentioned earlier I attended last year, is amazing because it brings all of these fantastic young people together. Folks from every denomination you can think of (at least most of them) were there, and through it all, there was a common understanding that there were places we disagreed, but that when it came down to it, there was a foundational place where we all could agree. In the end, beyond the details and places we differed was the assurance of the story and the love.
During my time at this year’s conference, I found myself in the position to have to explain exactly what the United Church of Christ is. After some surface level history lessons, and an attempt at sharing what the UCC holds as important social justice issues (which for the record, is all of them), I realized that maybe the best way to describe the UCC is by explaining its arms.
Here’s what I mean. When approached by a question or an issue, the UCC debates and discusses and converses about how to respond. As many of our critics have duly noted, we are pretty open toward a whole myriad of possible responses, but the one great litmus test that is consistently applied to these topics is this single question: Is the action we are about to take going to open our arms wider or close them tighter?
If the answer isn’t that it will open our arms wider, then the answer/response simply isn’t good enough. Period. And that is what I love about the UCC, and about Christ (more importantly about Christ). Arms are extended wider, reaching out, pulling in, and saying “we’re gonna love you where you are, not where someone thinks you should be.”
Last year, at this same conference, a minister sitting on a panel for undergraduates recalled one of the most important things that she had learned in Seminary was this: “Two things,” she said. “Believe the story. Love the people.”
“How Simple!” I thought. Right. Not so much.
Why is it, then, that some people are so damn hard to love?
For many its believing the story that is the problem. And, to some extent, I have my doubts about literal interpretations, etc. But its the love part that’s the real kicker. Christ certainly said that loving each other is the greatest thing we can do second to loving God with our whole beings. And somewhere along the way, I’m sure he mentioned that it wouldn’t be easy. But damn.
So how do you love people who (1) are abusive in theology or self (2) refuse to love you or (3) seem to try every trick in the book to separate themselves from you and from God?
I have to believe that God can offer that love. If I don’t, then I’m not sure where the starting place for life is. But is it fair for us to claim to be able to do the same thing? I began to answer that question sometime ago:
So the problem with open arms, is that as much as we want to hold them wide open--shouting for people to come in to our fold, we can’t. And the really scary part is that our arms are the first to go. Soon, our minds get tired, and then our hearts.
And then, grace like rain reminds us that we are cleansed, refreshed, and made well. And that maybe holding our arms open is worth the weariness and hurt. That people will come around. That is was by God’s love that we came to God, and in the same way, our love that others can come to us.
For some time, I’ve looked to 1st John for my favorite lifting words. So, I leave you with this and a thought.
So what, then are we afraid of?
blessings.
jon.
During my time at this year’s conference, I found myself in the position to have to explain exactly what the United Church of Christ is. After some surface level history lessons, and an attempt at sharing what the UCC holds as important social justice issues (which for the record, is all of them), I realized that maybe the best way to describe the UCC is by explaining its arms.
Here’s what I mean. When approached by a question or an issue, the UCC debates and discusses and converses about how to respond. As many of our critics have duly noted, we are pretty open toward a whole myriad of possible responses, but the one great litmus test that is consistently applied to these topics is this single question: Is the action we are about to take going to open our arms wider or close them tighter?
If the answer isn’t that it will open our arms wider, then the answer/response simply isn’t good enough. Period. And that is what I love about the UCC, and about Christ (more importantly about Christ). Arms are extended wider, reaching out, pulling in, and saying “we’re gonna love you where you are, not where someone thinks you should be.”
Last year, at this same conference, a minister sitting on a panel for undergraduates recalled one of the most important things that she had learned in Seminary was this: “Two things,” she said. “Believe the story. Love the people.”
“How Simple!” I thought. Right. Not so much.
Why is it, then, that some people are so damn hard to love?
For many its believing the story that is the problem. And, to some extent, I have my doubts about literal interpretations, etc. But its the love part that’s the real kicker. Christ certainly said that loving each other is the greatest thing we can do second to loving God with our whole beings. And somewhere along the way, I’m sure he mentioned that it wouldn’t be easy. But damn.
So how do you love people who (1) are abusive in theology or self (2) refuse to love you or (3) seem to try every trick in the book to separate themselves from you and from God?
I have to believe that God can offer that love. If I don’t, then I’m not sure where the starting place for life is. But is it fair for us to claim to be able to do the same thing? I began to answer that question sometime ago:
We claim unconditional love, but to not recognize our incapability of attaining it would be folly. While humans can muster magnificent and tremendous amounts of love and compassion, we are unable to mimic such devotion. We love, but only to a point. We open our arms with compassion, but find our arms growing tired. God does not falter like humans. God keeps loving; God keeps his compassion flowing. Where humans insert a “but,” God insists on “regardless.” We have God’s love, regardless; we have God’s grace, regardless.
So the problem with open arms, is that as much as we want to hold them wide open--shouting for people to come in to our fold, we can’t. And the really scary part is that our arms are the first to go. Soon, our minds get tired, and then our hearts.
And then, grace like rain reminds us that we are cleansed, refreshed, and made well. And that maybe holding our arms open is worth the weariness and hurt. That people will come around. That is was by God’s love that we came to God, and in the same way, our love that others can come to us.
For some time, I’ve looked to 1st John for my favorite lifting words. So, I leave you with this and a thought.
There is no fear in love,
but perfect love casts out fear...
1 John 4. 18
So what, then are we afraid of?
blessings.
jon.
The Mountains and the Road
Today, my mother and I drove up to my old summertime stomping grounds, the north Georgia Mountains. For three summers, I worked in the mountains at a Boy Scout Summer Camps. Those summers are some of my most cherished and missed memories. Even just visiting the area was a bit of a homecoming.
One of the really great things about the state of Georgia is that you get a little bit of everything. There are the lowlands and wetlands, thick with the muddy waters, alligators, and at the moment, smoke. This of course fades into the coastal plain which leads visitors to Georgia’s frozen-in-time islands and cities that ooze Southern Charm (Savannah, anyone?). Further north you’ll find the piedmont. These rolling hills are generally green (excepted the drought-parched terrain that seems to be all you can see at the moment). This area boasts Atlanta, and a myriad of charming towns that remind you of what life used to be like, and make you wonder if it could ever be that way again.
And then you come to my favorite place--the mountains. I’m not exactly sure what fascinates me the most about the mountains. I think my love comes first and foremost from my mother. From my earliest years, we would drive up to the North Carolina mountains on a crisp, fall Friday night. We always had to leave after daddy got off work, so we wouldn’t see the actual mountains. We would only catch glimpses of the mountain shadows against a harvest moon.
The next morning though, was fantastic--vibrant colors, warm sun that made you feel comfortable in your own skin. On the twisted road to the cabin we normally stay at is a private drive called “Hallelujah Acres.” I’d seen it in past years, always leading up to some old homestead. But this year, the meaning was different. The beauty surrounding it finally explained the simple label. The trees, bursting into color shouted “Hallelujah.” But greater still was the meaning that even through the deaths of the leaves will come the buds of spring. Hallelujah.
Isn’t that how we go through life? Driving down the interstate with everyone else, finally finding the exit ramp we had been looking for all along (after many bathroom stops, wrong stops, and u-turns) only to stumble upon moments of grace and illumination--those are the hallelujah acres of our lives.
So we are all on the road, driving toward the beach or the mountains or the lake or relief--God help us find where we are going.
blessings.
jon.
For Such a Time As This
Today saw me return from The Fund for Theological Education’s annual conference on Excellence in Ministry. I was lucky enough to receive a Congregational Fellowship (which matches dollar for dollar the funding that congregations give for first year seminarians). As part of that fellowship, we are able to attend a conference with nearly two hundred other young people who are either thinking about or are going into seminary and on into Ministry.
What was really amazing about this conference (which I attended last June as well) is that it brings together so many different people and beliefs and reminds us that as the base of who we are, at the core of what we do, it Christ and the church (little c, not big).
The theme is from the book of Esther. Esther has become
queen of Persia, and has the opportunity to save her
people (the Jewish race, in case we were confused), but is
hesitant to do so. Her Uncle, Mordecai, reminds her that
perhaps this was the moment that will define her, the
moment that has been weaving its way to her. The time for
which she was made queen.
The conference suggested to us the same thing--that
perhaps we are all called for such a time as this. In the
midst of a church which is falling apart, in a time in which
hatred about and peace is a all too distant reality. We are
each in Esther’s position. We have inherited wealth and
potential beyond what we need and far beyond what we
deserve. We have able hands. Now we must open our
hearts and make the changes that simply must happen.
The conference also offered multitudes of opportunities to connect with people in the same place--people who have felt a call, who see a need in the world and intend to fill it. Some are finishing college, some are in the midst of Seminary, but have an intense love God, justice and service.
The real blessings of the conference were not only the people, but also the worship. Worship was twice a day. The first act of our day was to center ourselves of God, and our last moments of the evening were spent focusing not on ourselves, but on the reason we were there.
A word about the image above is by a Chinese Christian artist named He Qi. The image is of Jesus calming the storm. Its good to remember that Jesus can calm our storms. See all of the galleries at www.heqigallery.com
So all this sounds pretty serious. I promise I’m not, so here’s a joke.
A really bad one.
Jesus and Satan were having an ongoing argument about who managed to get the most out of his computer. This had been going on for days and God, was tired of hearing all of the bickering.
God said, "Cool it. I am going to set up a test that will run two hours and I will judge who does the better job."
So down they sat at the keyboards and typed away. They moused away. They did spreadsheets, they wrote reports, they sent faxes, they sent out e-mail, they sent out e-mail with attachments, they downloaded, they did some genealogy reports, they made cards, they did every known job. But just a few minutes before the two hours were up, a lightening flashed across the sky. The thunder rolled and the rains came down hard. And of course the electricity went off.
Satan was upset. He fumed and fussed and he ranted and raved, all to no avail. The electricity stayed off. But after a bit, the rains stopped and the electricity came back on. Satan screamed, "I lost it all when the power went off. What am I going to do? What happened to Jesus' work?"
Jesus just sat and smiled.
Again Satan asked about the work that Jesus had done. As Jesus turned his computer back on the screen glowed and when he pushed "print it", it was all there. "How did he do it." Satan asked? God smiled and said, "Jesus Saves."
Until the next time, blessings.
What was really amazing about this conference (which I attended last June as well) is that it brings together so many different people and beliefs and reminds us that as the base of who we are, at the core of what we do, it Christ and the church (little c, not big).
The theme is from the book of Esther. Esther has become
queen of Persia, and has the opportunity to save her
people (the Jewish race, in case we were confused), but is
hesitant to do so. Her Uncle, Mordecai, reminds her that
perhaps this was the moment that will define her, the
moment that has been weaving its way to her. The time for
which she was made queen.
The conference suggested to us the same thing--that
perhaps we are all called for such a time as this. In the
midst of a church which is falling apart, in a time in which
hatred about and peace is a all too distant reality. We are
each in Esther’s position. We have inherited wealth and
potential beyond what we need and far beyond what we
deserve. We have able hands. Now we must open our
hearts and make the changes that simply must happen.
The conference also offered multitudes of opportunities to connect with people in the same place--people who have felt a call, who see a need in the world and intend to fill it. Some are finishing college, some are in the midst of Seminary, but have an intense love God, justice and service.
The real blessings of the conference were not only the people, but also the worship. Worship was twice a day. The first act of our day was to center ourselves of God, and our last moments of the evening were spent focusing not on ourselves, but on the reason we were there.
A word about the image above is by a Chinese Christian artist named He Qi. The image is of Jesus calming the storm. Its good to remember that Jesus can calm our storms. See all of the galleries at www.heqigallery.com
So all this sounds pretty serious. I promise I’m not, so here’s a joke.
A really bad one.
Jesus and Satan were having an ongoing argument about who managed to get the most out of his computer. This had been going on for days and God, was tired of hearing all of the bickering.
God said, "Cool it. I am going to set up a test that will run two hours and I will judge who does the better job."
So down they sat at the keyboards and typed away. They moused away. They did spreadsheets, they wrote reports, they sent faxes, they sent out e-mail, they sent out e-mail with attachments, they downloaded, they did some genealogy reports, they made cards, they did every known job. But just a few minutes before the two hours were up, a lightening flashed across the sky. The thunder rolled and the rains came down hard. And of course the electricity went off.
Satan was upset. He fumed and fussed and he ranted and raved, all to no avail. The electricity stayed off. But after a bit, the rains stopped and the electricity came back on. Satan screamed, "I lost it all when the power went off. What am I going to do? What happened to Jesus' work?"
Jesus just sat and smiled.
Again Satan asked about the work that Jesus had done. As Jesus turned his computer back on the screen glowed and when he pushed "print it", it was all there. "How did he do it." Satan asked? God smiled and said, "Jesus Saves."
Until the next time, blessings.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
