“No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here”

Attaining diversity and inclusion is not a linear process. As soon as you think you’ve successfully tackled an aspect of prejudice or inequality, you have to go back and assess the situation. We see that in so many fights against inequality in this country. Are we living in a post-racist, post-sexist time? Definitely not, though we’ve made great strides as a nation. It should go without saying, though, that you cannot check off the “anti-racist” box in your search for equality quite yet, no matter who you are or what you believe. You have to keep checking the system.

In the UCC, we pride ourselves in being all-inclusive. When I told some friends about the diversity assessment presented at the Joint Boards meeting this last weekend, their reaction was “well aren’t you already an all-inclusive church? I thought that was kinda your thing.” And its true, our church history is pretty impressive when it comes to prophetic activism. In 1785, a historical strain of the UCC became the first Protestant denomination to ordain an African American pastor. In 1853, we ordained Antoinette Brown, the first woman since New Testament times elected to serve a Christian congregation as a pastor. The UCC’s Golden Gate Association ordained the first openly gay person, Rev. William R. Johnson, as a minister in an historic Protestant denomination in 1972, and in 2005 the General Synod became the first leadership body of a large U.S. church to support equal marriage rights for same-sex couples. That’s a pretty good list of firsts, and is just skims the surface of the UCC’s push for equality and inclusivity in its polity and activism. “No matter who you are, or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here,” is a tag line the UCC wrote and embraces.

So why are we still concerned with justice, equality, and inclusivity in the UCC? Well, I don’t think it can be denied that when one battle of this sort is won, another two present themselves. The UCC did not, and could not, abandon the issues of racism once it ordained an African American pastor. Just because a system no longer actively prevents groups of people becoming leaders, it still may unconsciously (or, unfortunately, consciously in some cases) prevent groups from being molded into leaders. And that’s just one aspect of universal inclusion. In every group, the majority of the people don’t want to necessarily be a traditional “church leader,” but still deserve a church that holds their presence as a thing of value.

This past meeting I think the Holy Spirit called the UCC out a little bit. The Collegium was about half way through their diversity report, when a woman stood up and asked for a point of personal privilege. The room went quiet as she, in obvious frustration, remarked the lack of acknowledgement of people with disabilities in the presentation. When she was speaking, two other women stood up in solidarity with her comment. It was a humbling moment for the whole body, and apologies were gracefully made. Geoffrey Black, the UCC’s General Minister and President, made a good point, though, when he said, “This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.” Inclusion and equal access is not a linear process. We can’t even hope to name every marginalized group at this point. As the world grows and changes, our dynamics as society change as well. We need to go back and check ourselves to really make a difference.

A difficult commitment

I'm heading towards a slew of serious commitments-in April I will commit to a seminary, a three to four-year commitment not to be sneezed at. Shortly thereafter, I will be committing to a life of service in ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church (assuming that the United Methodist Church commits to me!). In May, I will be making the biggest commitment of my life, by marrying my fiance of four months. It's strange, then, that the hardest commitment to make this semester, is the commitment to a day off!

Like many who work in a service career, I find it very hard to make myself unavailable to those who ask for help. My personality is over-sensitive, over-empathetic, to the point that I find it very hard to take time to care for myself. Unfortunately, this means that my life has become overworked and over-stressed. Lately, I've been finding that I am less and less able to care for those around me.

As my colleague Kate Rogers mentioned in her post this week, we spent last Saturday watching an ethics training video geared towards spiritual leaders. This video series was filled with memorable stories and advice from a wide variety of leaders, but the quote that stuck with me the most was a statement made by a Methodist pastor in the section dealing with self-care. He countered the spiritual leader's tendency to want to be perfect in love, saying "we are not called to be perfect care-givers; we are called to be healthy human beings, helping other human beings to be healthy."

Still, it took a relaxing and stress-free visit from my mom, along with several mother-daughter heart-to-hearts, to prepare me emotionally to a commitment to one day a week in which I will not touch school work, chapel work, or wedding preparations, and will instead focus on nourishing my own mind, body and spirit.

So, Saturday is my new day off for the rest of the semester. I will turn off my phone; I will tune into the health of my body; I will reconnect with my spirit. I will rest.

Boundaries Ethics Training

Last Saturday, Bethany and I, lead by Jen and Soren, watched a three hour video series called, “A Sacred Trust: Boundary Issues for Clergy and Spiritual Teachers.” The series seamlessly hears from clergy throughout the range of religious practice, from a Catholic Priest to a Buddhist monk, on the variety of issues that inevitably arise when interacting with congregants. The videos impress the idea that, no matter the religious tradition, the role of a clergy person innately carries power and influence that must be monitored. The videos skimmed the obvious no-no’s (No manipulating people, no inappropriate physical relationships with congregants, etc), and spent the majority of the time discussing the more subtle responsibilities of the clergy. In this internship at Marsh, I spend a good deal of time thinking about how to listen to people, respond to their remarks, read between the lines, and initiate helpful conversation and meditation. A lot of the Vocation Care exercises and other education revolve around how to interact with the other person from the view of the other person. These videos, however, turned the discussion on “you,” the leader, rather than “they,” the congregant. They addressed challenges like duel-relationships, the power of the pulpit, and transference by using the narrative of the leader, not the follower. They prompted soul-searching questions like: “Do I get too much fulfillment and excitement by being someone’s confidant?” “Am I pushing my own agenda at the pulpit for a desired result?” “Do I contact congregants because I need the contact?” “Do I need my congregations help and support?” “Who are my friends, and how should I be in friendship with my congregation?”

The different leaders highlighted in the tapes had many different approaches to the questions posed. When it comes to friends, some said one can absolutely not be friends with a congregant, some said they recommended being friendly without spending time with one another, and others made a distinction between social friends, or friends you go bowling with, and personal friends, friends in which you confide your feelings and troubles. Rather than leaning on their congregations, some recommended finding emotional support in therapy, others through spiritual advisors, and a few through clergy contacts. All recommended a variety of self-care models, whether it be strictly observing family time or eating right and staying healthy. There seemed to be a general consensus, though, among all those interviewed, that to be the most effective spiritual leader, one must strive to be a whole and supported individual.

Generally speaking, the videos offered educational, but foreseeable, insight and ideas. For example, while I previously may not have considered the possibility of a congregant botching my eye surgery (or some other less-dramatic duel-relationship), the scenario reveals rather obvious complications. There was one idea, though, which surprised me. The videos encouraged clergy to be very aware of how invested, and the level of enjoyment, they receive through pastoral contacts. They warned against getting too much of a thrill from hearing people’s secrets and offering advise, and suggested making sure congregants can function without pastoral contact meetings. After I thought about it, this definitely makes sense, but I’m very glad it was called to my attention. I think, in the ministry profession, hubris and dependence are very slippery slopes. Loving the job is great, but getting too excited about giving someone the BEST advice, or falling in love with the demand of your presence, are easy ways to neglect the best interest of the congregant. A large part of ministry involves leading people to healthy, safe, relationships, and to do that, an awareness of your relationship to them is pivotal.

Family

Today is a very special day! As I write, my mom is en route to Boston. She's coming to visit me, a visit I've been looking forward to for a long time. Our original plan was to run a half marathon together. We made those plans last semester, before I went to Niger, before I was engaged, and, unfortunately, before my mom injured her ankle. Needless to say, plans have changed!

I can't wait to see my mom. I also can't wait for her to meet my fiance's parents for the first time. Our two families are coming together, a major step in our path to joining lives. This stage of my life is a joyful one as well as an apprehensive one. Both my fiancee and I are shifting roles not only in our relationship with each other, but also in our relationship with our families.

My family is so important to me, and having my parents feel comfortable with my mother and father-in-law is something I want very much. There's little chance that such a wonderful and loving group of people won't get along with each other; even so, I would appreciate prayers for this exciting time.

A Sunday run...er...walk

I am going to forgo the predictable intro in which I describe my state of stress and anxiety. Everyone knows the story. Which is why, as an "assignment" for the Marsh Associates this week, Jennifer Quigley and Soren Hessler encouraged us to incorporate the practice of keeping Sabbath into our schedule. This is something that has given me no end of trouble in the past. Keeping the Sabbath is a wonderful practice, necessary to reconnect with God, community, and the self; and, unfortunately, something I have not been successful at enacting.

The solution to this problem was apparently being commanded to keep the Sabbath as a part of my internship (believe me readers, I am fully aware of the irony here). And so, last Sunday I set out on my long run for the week. As I was huffing and puffing my way up and down Newton's "gently rolling hills," I realized that even my stress-busting exercise routine was becoming just another appointment to keep. I stopped, caught my breath, and started walking. Then, when walking started to seem too ordinary, I began to stroll.

For the first time in the week, I took time to do absolutely nothing. I took in the scene unfolding around me, the sounds of other joggers, the cars passing on the street, and let it all dissipate into background noise. A half hour later I called my dad and reconnected with my community back home, asking about his life, the well-being of my grandparents, of my siblings. After fifteen minutes of chatting, I settled into a walking meditation. I thanked God for the problems and challenges that keep me sharp, for the lives of others that put my own life into perspective, for the day. Rising on the crest of my prayer, I shook my legs out, and ran home.

This why I'm Methodist

I was asked yesterday why I chose the United Methodist Church as the denomination in which to become ordained. I gave my tried and true stock answers: I believe in many of Wesley's teachings on service; I am inspired by the work I see the Methodist Church doing in the world; I am excited by the opportunities of service in my conference, etc.

Then I went home, and cracked open The Christian as Minister, one of the required reading materials in the process of becoming Ordained in the United Methodist Church. I was immediately struck by just how much my personal opinions and beliefs mirror the doctrine of United Methodism. I was a little overwhelmed; how often does the intimate murmurs of a single person's heart match up so well to a set of practices and principles set up by an institution? Truly this is where I'm meant to be.

A particular section of the book especially called to me. Entitled "The Meaning of Servant Leadership," it defined the term servant-leader as used by Robert K. Greenleaf, director of Management Research at AT&T. Greenleaf, inspired by a character in Herman Hesse's novel Journey to the East, declared that "a great leader is seen as a servant first." The primary goal of this servant-leader is to "make sure that other people's highest priority needs are being served." He goes on to say that the best test as to whether one is a servant first or a leader first is to determine if "those served grow as persons; do they while being served, become healthier, wiser, freer, more autonomous."

What a wonderful philosophy to apply directly to our lives, not only our career choices. Service to all, mirroring God's infinite love onto our fellow human beings. This is why I'm Methodist.

Missing a friend

Probably ninety nine percent of the readers of this blog know Tyler Sit personally, and I would wager that ninety nine point nine percent of that ninety nine percent have had their lives changed for the positive just by knowing him. The familiar sights of Tyler hurrying from one destination to another, a joyful smile on his face as he sang out a greeting to a friend he met on the way (which happened at least once every five minutes), or frantically working on some worthwhile project for one of his myriad commitments, or chowing down on a bowl of tofu and vegetables almost as big as he is, always brightened my day.

I count myself even more blessed to have shared so many unique and life-changing experiences with Tyler. Studying abroad together in Ecuador, we were able to explore what it meant to be North Americans abroad, face the challenges of culture shock and confusion, and have tons of fun. Nearly dying together in a pitch-black tunnel on a windy mountain road definitely brought us closer.

Back in the States, both our lives revolved around Marsh Chapel, and I increasingly turned to Tyler for fun, fellowship, and a sounding point on the challenges of missions, the ordination process in the United Methodist Church, and just being a whole person.

This summer I was able to see Tyler at the Fund for Theological Education's Leaders in Ministry Conference held in New Orleans. What an amazing experience! Along with the fabulous Kate Rogers, we met intelligent, compassionate young Christians with the same drive towards ministry.

Tyler is now in Atlanta, continuing to love others and grow in Christ at Candler School of Theology. I'm sure he has already become dear to his friends there. Here, he is sorely missed. More than anything in the world, I would love to hear his loving voice ask me: "Bethany, how is your soul?"

Wanderings

As we rapidly progress from summer to winter in New England, we are granted several weeks of exquisite weather called, "Fall."  It is in these days, when the leaves slowly blush from green to orange to red, that nature seems to invite us into its crisp air for quiet meditation.  I often find myself slowly meandering down well-foliaged streets and paths, no destination in mind, in subtle homage to this time of year.

Alternatively, I did some semi spur-of-the-moment exploring in a new town this weekend.  I hopped on whichever bus arrived at the stop I had wandered to, rang the bell when I saw what looked like an interesting area, and ended up across town.  I stepped out of the bus, looked around, wandered a bit.  Realizing I was a lone female in what looked to be a questionable and unfamiliar part of town, I thought it might be advantageous to find a coffee shop and camp out.  I made my way to a delicious little restaurant called "Soul Bistro."  I befriended the wrinkled old chef named Alfredo, discussing the nature of southern food- as he proudly offered up some pan-fried trout almandine.  I settled down in the near empty dining room with my trout and peach tea, pulled out my copy of Durkheim's "The Elementary Forms of Religious Life" and my yet unopened edition of "Christian As Minister."

A bit intimidated by the reading I had before me, I took a moment to  reflect on the vocational discernment meetings I had participated in earlier in the week.  I stumbled upon the realization that I want to do urban ministry, although that's not really a surprise.  I have been wrestling with the idea of finding a place within the church especially.  Feeling like only misery would ensue if I, hippie liberal, began pastoral ministry in the deep south, I wonder where I belong, where I will wander.  And what about my denominational affiliation- I love the United Methodist Church, but there are some major qualms with the current doctrine.  Do I stick around to fight for that change, or do I seek another denomination that seems to be more like-minded? Can I be a part of a whole with which I do not entirely agree?  Can I be intentionally out of place?

And as if on cue, I laid down the open book, sat back, and looked straight ahead.  There in front of me was a giant bulletin board filled with information about the homeless shelters, food drives, food pantries, and rehabilitation programs being started, continued, and operated by the local church community.  So here I was in a northern city eating southern food, an outsider among an insider's community, in unfamiliar territory with steady confident steps.  And God smiled and said, "Silly girl, how could you be anywhere else?"

...Answered

The phrase goes "God works in mysterious ways." Most of the time, I've found that to be true. How could we expect to know the will of a God so far above our understanding? Nevertheless, sometimes I think we catch a glimpse of what God intends for us.

Last week I was frightened and anxious, bent down by all of the pressures of life. I entitled last week's entry "Prayers," and spent the week praying for direction and peace of mind. God answered my prayers through the most obvious way possible, a letter.

No, God and I are not regular correspondents, although I couldn't ever have a better pen pal. The letter I received yesterday was from me to myself, a letter I had written from the Fund for Theological Education's Leaders in Ministry Conference in New Orleans that I attended in July. I was so blown away by how much my prayers were answered through this letter, that I wanted to share it with you. I wrote:

Dear Bethany,

I hope you will remember this conference in a positive light. You shouldn't remember the insecurities you felt, the need to excel personally. Or, maybe you should, but in order to fight against these things, not to hold on to them. You are so blessed. Never forget that. Because you are blessed, you have immense responsibility. You must use your talents and gifts for others. Sitting back because you're frightened, lazy, or lonely is not an option. No matter what you do you must live first for others. You must leave behind pride, ego, fear, and put yourself out there. Don't go for the easy paths. Forge ahead. Do things that are addressing real needs. Ask people what they want. Interact with people. Remember that you are responsible only for your half of the relationship and make sure your half is impeccably Christ-like.

Take time to be alone with God. Pray. Do yoga and meditation. Set aside at least an hour a day for those things. Get up early if you have to. Read the Bible. Make everything you do a prayer. Love generously-yourself and others.

"Give us grace, O God, to dare to do the deed

which we well know cries to be done.

Let us not hesitate because of ease, or the words of men's mouths, or our own lives.

Mighty causes are calling us-

the freeing of people, the training of children, the putting down of hate and murder and poverty, all these and more.

But they call with voices that mean work and sacrifices and death.

Mercifully grant us, O God, the spirit of Esther, that we say:

'I will go unto the King and if I perish, I perish'"

Sometimes, God answers our prayers through the mail. How miraculous.

Note: the prayer at the end of this letter was used for FTE's Leaders in Ministry Conference. It is a poem by W.E.B Dubois, entitled "Give us Grace."

Prayers

Writing an entry this week has been very difficult. The semester has started in earnest, and, like always, I find myself overwhelmed by work, school, and life in general. Although the business of the semester is a little comforting in its sameness, this semester brings the challenges of moving out of my safety zone, and into the great unknown of "adult" life.

Strangely, I find myself starting to do adult things, make adult decisions. I'm moving into the professional world (at a snail's pace) by beginning the ordination process in the United Methodist Church; I'm living mostly independently financially from my parents in an apartment; I'm transitioning into the intellectual adult territory of graduate school; and finally I'm engaged to a wonderful, loving man and find myself on the path to being a wife.

Many of these emerging roles (pastor, wife, adult) are frighteningly foreign. These are things I hardly dreamt of becoming, except in the safely distant future. Suddenly, the future is immanent. I find blessings piled on blessings, and, human being as I am, begin to list my shortcomings, and the reasons why I can't accept them, why I'm bound to fail.

Again, themes emerge in these entries. Themes that crop up in my journey through life, the things I haven't quite reconciled, haven't quite squared away with my psyche. Performance, failure, the overwhelming pressure to do everything and be everything.

So, daily I offer up my prayers. Prayers for peace of mind, for confidence in God, prayers for blessings in my endeavors and in the endeavors of my friends and coworkers. Prayers for a loving and lasting relationship, prayers for the skill, patience, and love that fuel healthy ministry.

The Holy of the Idea

For a course this semester entitled, "The Theoretical Approach to the Study of Religion," I have been reading Rudolf Otto's "The Idea of the Holy."  He takes what has been called an 'experiential' approach to the study of religion.  In other words, what is truly significant about the religious participation and belief is in fact the experiential value of encountering the 'numinous' as he terms it.  Now, after having established Otto's point, I wish to move on to what happened in class.

A hodge podge of seniors and sophomores, this course has students from many religious backgrounds, or no religious backgrounds, and many voices- passionate voices.  One could feel the average blood pressure of the room rise as the discussion of a holy experience unfolded.  As true children of the 21st century, many rushed to point out that we can now chart the parts of the brain active when an individual experiences something, 'ecstatic.'  Many wanted to say that Otto's stance on 'the idea of the holy' is obsolete because we can explain the 'mysterium tremendum et fascinanans' (tremendous and fascinating mystery) that is the experience of the holy.  Our professor quickly said that Otto would not buy it for a second- we can explain what's going on, but we can't explain why it's going on (unless there is some sort of drug ingested).  Thus, we can explain the reaction and not the cause.

I propose and impose another way of thinking about the phenomenon of the brain activity.  As an extreme rationalist, and one who feels wounded when my rationalism is rejected as non-belief, I propose that the holy, that which we experience, is an idea.  In other words, these holy moments are the culmination of pondering, or realization, a moment of clarity.  The idea of genetic change comes to mind in discussing this: most evolutionary possibilities (physical changes) exist already in genetic code as recessive, unexpressed traits.  Thus, rather than mutations causing the change, something we could consider a non-intentional outside force, the possibilities exist within already.  Our holy ideas could indeed exist outside of our realm of being, they could be inspired by an outside source, but the capacity we have to conceptualize these ideas is already there.  I feel that the keys to belief and understanding are already stored inside of us, and much of our lives are spent searching through the correct banks and drawers inside of us to find the right files to make sense of it all.

Open Doors

My peers are mostly liberal, northeastern, twenty-something college students. Not surprisingly, given the previous string of adjectives, the mention of Christianity, God, the Church, or Lord-forbid, the fact that I feel called to be a living, breathing missionary, seems to cause many of my peers to react as if I have some sort of infectious disease, ranging in seriousness from the common cold to ebola. Given that the subject of religion throws a wet blanket on conversation, the prospect of getting my friends through Marsh Chapel's door is a task that probably would have caused Jesus himself to look for a metaphor stronger than "a camel through the eye of the needle."

The question of why so many college students have an all-consuming fear of the r-word (religion), is one best left to other blog entries, or, better yet, other books. The why is all-important, of course, but the scope of this entry is not nearly wide enough to even begin to address the issue. Instead, I'd like to address the how. How do we attract those 20-something students, leery of the mere mention of organized religion? How do we incorporate them into the life of Marsh Chapel?

The key word is access. I believe that once inside the doors of Marsh, undergraduates and grad students alike will find what I and so many others have found, a safe and nourishing environment in which to live, learn, and share in fellowship with others. The problem is not keeping them once they're inside, the problem is getting them through those doors in the first place. This offers many challenges, the first of which is that many people know nothing of the events planned by Marsh Chapel. Presence on campus is key. Brother Larry Whitney and Dean Hill are already doing an excellent job of being ambassadors of Marsh Chapel to the rest of the university, but it's not a two-man job, a three-man job, or even a fifteen-man job. Every single person involved in some way with Marsh Chapel must act as an enthusiastic and genuine advocate of Marsh if we hope to reach the student population at large. Advertisement is also immensely important. Presence at fairs are wonderful, handing out fliers and MarshChapstick, great. Much, much more can be done.

Secondly, the way that we interact with students, in my opinion, is all together too formal. Welcome brochures, literature, even the bulletins on Sunday morning, may be (and I say may) a little too abstract, too removed, somber, and traditional for the average college student. Some parts of Marsh fill the formality gap rather nicely; Servant Team comes to mind. However, there has to be a reason why Marsh is losing so many undergraduates to more contemporary, young-people driven worship services, and I believe that reason is lack of accessibility in the form of outreach and worship that we are projecting to the campus.

Obviously, this issue needs to be performed in dialogue. There are also many great minds within Marsh Chapel that think constantly, and have already taken many steps to rectify this situation. Undergraduate minds, however, are a great resource. So, I ask my colleagues and readers: how do we get our peers through those doors?

Mountains

Many years ago, mountains were insurmountable obstacles. Traveling through them was a risky business at best, taking months during the summer season, and impossible during the winter. The catastrophe faced by the Donner party, trapped high in the Sierra Nevada, and eventually forced into cannibalism, serves as a gruesome memory of just how perilous high-altitude journeys could be.

Now, with the advent of planes, trains, and automobiles, mountains are easily sidestepped, avoided, or traveled through. The true semantic associations with scaling mountains have been lost, lingering on only in the realm of mountaineering, in which the true dangers and joys of climbing on foot have been preserved. Many mountaineers equate reaching the summit to a profound religious experience. British climber and cave explorer Robert Parker elevated climbing to the realm of theology, declaring:

"In a sense everything that is exists to climb. All evolution is a climbing towards a higher form. Climbing for life as it reaches towards the consciousness, towards the spirit. We have always honored the high places because we sense them to be the homes of gods. In the mountains there is the promise of... something unexplainable. A higher place of awareness, a spirit that soars. So we climb... and in climbing there is more than a metaphor; there is a means of discovery."

It's no wonder that we use the word "mountain" to describe our most challenging emotional problems. Lately, I've been facing a couple of metaphorical mountains. Who isn't? Looking around this campus, absorbing the snippets of the overheard conversations of students and faculty, one quickly realizes that we are living within an emotional mountain range.

How, beautiful, then are Jesus' words: "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you" (Matthew 17:20). With a tiny amount of faith, faith in God, faith that we are his beloved children, not only can we climb the mountains looming threateningly before them, we can move them.

Insha'allah

I thrive on change. In fact, I practically can't live without it. After three or four months in one place, some small, but exuberant part of my brain starts screaming its boredom, and something must change. I didn't think any amount of change could phase me. A veteran of seven study-abroad experiences in four continents, I thought I had sailed safely through every storm. I was dead wrong.

This is my last year at college. I'm a senior. Yes, there are many of us; and yes, many, many more have been in the same situation that I have been in. Somehow that doesn't ease my mind. Change is imminent; I should be ecstatic; instead I'm terrified. I'm blessed to know exactly what I want to do with my life; to have experienced that elusive and often-misinterpreted sense of "calling" that both leads to intense joy, and often intense frustration. In short, I am not in the precarious position that most seniors face: that of not knowing the next step. My path is all too clear: seminary, ordination, service.

The certainty of my trajectory is what causes the apprehension I feel. Until this period of my life, my options were endless. I could do anything, become anything. As I near adulthood (true adulthood), I have noticed my horizons slowly narrowing as key decisions are made. What were once exciting opportunities are becoming certainties. With each step, the excitement of choice, of possibility, is wiped away. At the same time, new, far more fear-producing worries crop up, performance worries. Can I do this? Can I sustain this level of interest? Am I a capable leader? Am I a capable Christian? If I'm not, what then?

In Morocco and then Niger, I became used to using the phrase "insha' allah", or "God willing" after every statement of intention. It has stuck in my mind since then, a small reminder that God watches over us, directs us, and loves us. God is the ever-present guide, strengthening us for what lies ahead and instructing us in the ways to go forward. What better guide is there than an omnipresent, omniscient, ever-loving spiritual being?

Clarifications on Personifications and Deifications

Dear friends, I talk a lot, and I say a lot. Some of you have noticed that I, at times, contradict myself. That's okay, so does the Bible. I would like to clarify an issue that was brought to my attention today. I have written several times of not believing in a "God Entity" and would like to make a retraction for clarity's sake. I do indeed believe in something outside of the universe. In our series of big bangs and big crashes and evolutionary cycles, there had to be something that started it. That something, is my God. I do not however believe in a personified God. Giving God human qualities is not something I think is practical. I will often joke that my God is a prankster, and if God has to have human qualities, I hope one of them is a sense of humor. I do, however, believe that there is something that I am ignorant of, a power that exists outside my ability to perceive. To me, it's neither here nor there that God be personified.

What do I mean by personified? I don't think or believe that God needs the ability to smile, run, think, or love as we do to be God, and be my God, or to be a God with which I can have a relationship. In poetry, we give the sun the power to smile over the earth, because we can relate to that much more simply, gently, and warmly than we can a phrase like, "The heat and light produced by the sun fall on the Earth." It's much more comfortable to imagine it smiling, and in a way it does. It makes the sun active and personal, and brings us closer to it. The parallel I hope to make, is that the sun isn't actively conscious of what it is doing, but it does it anyways, and we perceive it happily. We project on it qualities it does not have in order to bring it into our world, include it in our understanding. I am okay with God being that way too. Whatever it is, I am comfortable speaking in terms of personable qualities, like Creator. Whether the things accomplished by the power that lies outside of my understanding actively and cognitively creates, or only functionally creates like the Sun, the job is still done, and I welcome it into my realm of understanding, despite the ignorance that it lies without.

Irkoy

Many of you know that I spent a semester abroad in Niger. Furthermore, you may know that I picked up some Zarma. I really enjoyed learning it, as well as its bizarre grammatical structure. In fact, you might have heard some strange noises coming from my mouth and responded with a facial expression along the lines of, "Did you just hiccup in a very bizarre manner or were you speaking in tongues?"

A good word to know in many languages is "God." In this case, "Irkoy." While this seems like a large grammatical tangent, I swear it will tie back to "The Religious Case Against Belief" soon. The word "Irkoy" is the joining of the Zarma word for "we," "us," and "our" (iri), and the Zarma word for "owner," or "to go" Thus we have "Us owner," and "We go." I'm going to break this post up into those two definitions of "Irkoy." It will all come together quite nicely in the end, if all goes well.

"Us Owner": None of us like to think of ourselves as having an "owner," at least not in those terms. The connotation of that word sounds possessive and reminiscent of the era of slavery to our American ears. However, if we insert this concept into the circumstance of an artist and that which is created by the artist, it feels less uncomfortable. Typically, we consider the artist who spent days, upon months, upon years into his masterpiece the original owner- if only because she made an investment of time, material, and energy. Of course, works of art change hands- an idea parallel to our notions of free will. Despite our freedom, our creator has a lasting connection to us, in that she will always know exactly what she made. Further, we come from a part of our creator, much like Eve came from the rib of Adam, we come from the imagination of our creator. Thus, our creator will always be a part of us, we will always be a part of our creator. We are the culmination of ideas, dreams, hopes, and fantasmic wanderings of the consciousness.

"We Go": Going is something we humans do all the time. We go from a state of sleeping to a state of consciousness. We go from bleary-eyed to breakfast. We go from being stationary to being transitory. We go. Notice here, that I use only the form of the word "go" that indicates a change in state. Paul Tillich defines religion as the "state of being grasped by the ultimate concern." Here he is substituting the "ultimate concern," for a deity, in an effort to keep his definition from limiting religion to those institutions with many deities, or no deities at all. From where I stand now, maybe the "deity" or that which is divine, is "the state of being grasped," that place where we change states, that place where "we go" to being grasped.

Had "koy" been Zarma for "maker," and "make," you better believe I would have included a reference to Dr. Neville. Oh look- I managed it anyways. To bring this back to Carse's "The Religious Case Against Belief," we can allude to his writings concerning many different concepts of God, many different interpretations of God, and many interpretations of texts. While I don't think the Djerma people intended for their language to be exigeted, I don't think they would throw around too many objections.

Religion needs a mind

I have found my Christian manifesto: Peter Berger and Anton Zijderveld's In Praise of Doubt. As those of you who take the time to read this blog know, doubt has been a recurring theme in my life for the past few months. Ironically, this theme comes after I brazenly proclaimed in a meeting with my beloved boss Brother Larry Whitney, that I have no doubts when it comes to my faith. That, my friends, is what we call a blatant misrepresentation of the truth (read: lie). At the time I was making poor linguistic choices. What I wanted to say, was that I had no doubt that being a Christian, loving God and others, and dedicating my life to those principles, was what I should be doing. Beyond that, a statement that can be made "standing on one foot," all else is subject to wide interpretation and endless questioning.

I frequently enter into discussions over the merits (or lack thereof) of blind faith with my Christian brethren. As Berger and Zijderveld state in their panegyric work on doubt: many of the world's religious institutions put importance on blind faith. Of course, why wouldn't they? What better way to secure the longevity and well-being of an institution than to declare it infallible? What better way to legitimate that infallibility than to quote the many Bible verses on faith, specifically "faith of a little child"?

Yes, Christianity is based on some level of faith. God, by sheer definition, is beyond our knowing. How could we ever truly understand a being necessarily beyond any mental capabilities that we could have? How could we empirically study something that created us? Yet, faith in the existence of God must contain doubt-doubt as to what God's relationship with his creations is; doubt as to how to live our lives once we have established that we believe in a God. Blind faith is only applicable to that one belief, it no longer applies to our daily decisions. We can't ever know what God is telling us to do, so we must test, retest, pray, and ponder on all of our decisions. This is where institutions step in, acting as handy how-to guides to all of life's conundrums. This is where faith becomes dangerous.

Applying infallibility to the divine is one thing, applying it to a human or groups of humans is pure folly. Humans are not perfect, therefore, groups of humans are not perfect, no matter how enlightened they are or claim to be. Unfortunately for us, human fallibility applies to the Bible as well. Not necessarily in the text itself, which is an entirely different issue, but in our interpretation of it. Our humanity invariably sinks in.

Our lives as Christians, the way we relate to God, Jesus, and his teachings, these things require a mind. One of the main reasons I am a United Methodist is because of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral. For John Wesley, this quadrilateral applied to the interpretation of the Bible. Reason, experience, and the established tradition of the Church were used as supplementary tools for deciphering the meaning behind scripture, which was the most important basis for the search for truth. I am fond of applying the Wesley Quadrilateral to many of my every day decisions. Personally, I rank the pillars of the Quadrilateral from most important to least important in the following order: the scripture, reason, experience, and the tradition of the church.

The incorporation of reason and experience are key, in my opinion, to the practice of faith as well as the interpretation of scripture. God gave us a mind, I'm sure he expects us to use it. The application of reason to scripture, religion, and the divine is not a threat to any of the above unless they are patently unjust or false.

Troubled Waters

This past Sunday I returned from the Fund for Theological Education's (FTE), Leaders in Ministry conference hosted by Dillard University of New Orleans. For four days over a hundred undergrads, seminarians, and current leaders in ministry talked, laughed, and sang their faith. Readers, I was astounded by the energy, talents, and love I saw in these people. The FTE fellows, staff, and the pastors, social workers, and activists working in New Orleans are so inspiring, I was frequently lifted out of my seat by the elation I felt at being around them. If these are the future leaders of the church, I have a renewed sense of hope that the church will be a positive force in the world.

I can only describe my experience in New Orleans as life-shattering. When a shy undergraduate with a voice so small you had to lean in to hear him stood up, and, on fire with the Holy Spirit, spoke thundering words of wisdom to a crowd of over one hundred, I realized that fear is never an excuse. When the tiny Reverend Dejean belted in her beautiful voice that "God is real," I felt His hand sweep across the room, touching the hearts of every person there. When I talked with the other fellows, and heard their plans for ministry, their dedication and commitment to serving others, I realized that I wasn't alone. When I listened to the panel discussions on serving the community I was reawakened to a sense of urgency to provide relief from disasters and help for those who need it most.

Most of these experiences sound like things that should affirm my life goals, not shatter them, and, in a way they do. Since I felt a call to ministry two years ago I have never doubted that this was my place in the world. Yet, I've always had doubts. Doubts in my ability to effectively help others, doubts as to where in the world I'm called to go, doubts as to what I should do with my gifts. I doubt that my body is capable of handling missionary work in remote regions; I doubt that my mind is strong enough to overcome burnout, disillusionment, despair with the state of the world.

I was comforted to discover that many people who feel called to ministry experience these doubts. However, the conference put none of these questions to rest. As Reverend Dejean quipped, "another level, another demon." As I reached a new level in commitment to a life of service, the path to that life became even more muddled and riddled with insecurities.

Many critics of faith in God describe religion as a human fabrication created in order to somehow validate our own lives as human beings. God is seen by many atheists as a false father-figure, making all of our decisions and pacifying our fears with moral platitudes. Life with a god, they reason, is an easier life. They couldn't be further from the truth. God does not pacify, God ignites. God unsettles. Believing in God and his authority in this world does not make our role any easier, it makes it infinitely harder. We immediately become accountable for our actions, held to the highest standard possible: that of being like Jesus, the only perfect human being. We are, in a phrase, called to do the impossible.

Lately I've been feeling a lot like Moses. For the past week, New Orleans was holy ground. Even though I was faced with a burning bush, a miraculous space of religious experience, like Moses, I found myself asking God "Who am I, God, to do this work?" What if no one believes me?" Surrounded by so many talented preachers, so many young people with the gift of speech, I find myself echoing Moses' lament: "O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue" (Exodus 4: 10). Faced with the challenges, the burning questions, and the back-breaking responsibility of a life of ministry I, more than once, have asked God: "O Lord, please send someone else to do it" (Exodus 4:13).

Inability will never excuse us from what we must do in this life. When God calls, we answer. In the face of our overwhelming fear, our sheer inadequacy, God steps in, gives us a shove of encouragement in the small of our backs, and hands us the tools we need to get the job done. He answers us as he answered Moses: "Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go; I will help you speak and teach you what to say" (Exodus 4:11-12).

Classified Information

Now on the last leg of Carse's book, "The Religious Case Against Belief," I feel as though Carse is dancing around a simple resolution and solution for all of the questions posed and engendered by his book. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he has no answers, but rather abandons us to find our own. I would be alright with that ending as well. In the mean time, Carse's discussions connect with an idea I previously addressed. Two posts ago, I discussed how humans experience discomfort when dealing with ambiguities- at times so much so that we rearrange our beliefs in order to cope.

To play with a slightly different standpoint on this idea, I propose a discussion of evil. This is not a topic I like to discuss much, or even think about. For me, it's very hard to imagine an active good-opposing force that acts nefariously in our world. Carse allows me the option of letting evil be an inescapable byproduct of human intention rather than a superhuman force. He again plays with blurry boundaries in saying that it's very hard for us to define evil at all. He suggests that we can recognize instances of evil, and that is enough. I am a big fan of casuistry, so this made my heart happy.

I think it nearly impossible for us to write rules, especially ones tied to religion, that can be applied to everyone and every case- creating laws to prevent evil-doings and acts. Especially rules, that in Christianity, were created thousands of years ago. Times change- it happens. For those who would like to say that the rules never change because God never changes, I do not at all think it has to be that way. Humanity changes, so do our laws, social concepts, social constructs, languages, civilizations, etc. Why would laws NOT change? Yes I think they are important, yes I think continuity and a certain amount of stability need to exist to legitimize them, but at the same time, stagnancy of law can itself be evil. Until reading Carse, I had never liked the statement "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." I thought that it alluded to a delusional nature, the idea that we know so little that even that which we perceive to be good, is not. Reading Carse, I think a slightly less condescending spin on this might be that our intentions, our goals, as much good as they can produce, will have unintentional side effects. Side effects that could possibly be evil, without being an active force, or even actively achieved.

Talkin' 'Bout My Generation... Generating

My apologies for incorporating my musical taste into a blog title. There is a good reason for bringing The Who into this conversation. In the next piece of "The Religious Case Against Belief," Carse writes about the exegetical dynamic of the Protestant Reformation. He discusses various interpretations of the Gospels during the Enlightenment period, each in terms of the ideological movements of the day.  He does so in a chronological manner (despite large gaps in time), in my mind, setting up a framework of generations in the family that is the Christian church.  As the lyrics in The Who's rock and roll anthem suggest,  a new generation offers a new spin- many spins in fact. 

So why, as the church, do we seem surprised by this?  Why, when I describe my rather unconventional beliefs, do I get wide-eyes and dropped jaws?  It seems that we have forgotten that change has always been a part of faith.  We think of the infant religion just after Jesus' death as an ideal, cooperative, agreeing faith community- a community stronger because of it's consensus.  However, as Carse points out, that was never the case.  Disagreement existed even before the Bible was written, and as the Bible was written, as we see in the conflicting Gospel stories.  How, as Christians distant from Christ, linked only by faith and text, are we to cope with a text that disagrees with itself?!  Literal interpretations of the Bible are feeble at best, but offer security within the structure.  Going beyond the text opens up so many doors that the security of consensus is lost.  How can we keep the text pertinent, without foisting contradicting stories and beliefs as a monolithic and correct view? 

Carse offers what I believe is brilliant and reassuring wisdom for this generation of generators: "We can read it for what we think it says, or we can read it for what it allows us to say. We can regard the text as definitive, containing all we need to know, or as generative, leading beyond itself to what is not yet known."  Besides being extraordinarily eloquent, Carse doesn't hold the Bible responsible for having all of the answers.  

Two by Two

Many theologians write of holy numbers, something like a key or unifying factor. I'm not quite sure I get it all, because as an extremely left-brained anthropology major, all math is pretty ungodly. There are a few numbers tossed around though, so we might as well play with them. Some people like three, some people like seven, some people like one hundred and forty four thousand. I propose a new holy number (if numbers must be holy): two. This is just a segue for me to talk about "The Religious Case Against Belief" some more, promise. Noah's ark went in two's, we began with two genders, two tablets with commandments on them, etc. I want to discuss another two: the concept of dichotomies.

Many anthropologists believe that humans process the Divine in response to understanding the world in a series of opposites. Our concept of dark cannot exist without light, up without down, land without water, life without death, logical and illogical, etc. It is when there are in-betweens and idiosyncrasies that we become uncomfortable, and look for something other-worldly to explain this. I am not saying that this delegitimizes God or spirituality in any way. It is precisely the evolution of our human brain that allows us to experience what we perceive as the Divine consciously.

In Carses' book, he discusses how when we pit ideas against each other, one necessitates the other. Fundamentalists need progressives in order for their agenda to exist. The Pope needed Galileo, and vice versa. Christian believers need non-believers in order to fulfill the evangelical ideas presented in the Bible. The sacred needs the profane, to exist. The extraordinary needs the ordinary. Most things in our perception operate this way- or so we think. Can we perceive anything in between? We began with two genders and one sexual orientation, and now those are flexible. Our concept of race has been demolished by science and genetics. Things we once thought were concrete, are no longer. We are slowly learning that maybe dichotomies are not all there is to understand. After all, there are frequencies that we cannot hear- but they exist outside of our capacity to detect them.

Maybe spirituality is quite the same: there is more than we can perceive as humans, that's less clear cut than a "God beyond understanding." We have set up the dichotomy of an entity-God and the lack thereof. But what if the Divine is somewhere in between the two opposite ends of the spectrum- neither extreme, but somewhere inside- or even somewhere outside. The point is- what is there that we cannot know because of limited capacities, or our unwillingness to be in-between?

Sex, BU, and the Soul

I arrived on Boston University's campus in August of 2008 a depressed and disillusioned eighteen-year-old underwhelmed by the idea of going to college. The past year of my life had seen so many tragic twists and turns, romantic and otherwise, that I was veritably tired of feeling. Still in the clutches of a long-term, long-distance relationship with the pressure for it to become life-long, I had neither the time, the energy, or the inclination to participate in the party-scene. As I emerged from my shell-shocked state into the world again, the inclination never returned. Thus, in my three years of college party experience consists of one benign frat party, a couple of dry club outings, and two counts of being tipsy.

As I read Donna Freitas' book Sex and the Soul: Juggling Sexuality, Spirituality, Romance, and Religion on America's College Campuses, I found myself reacting almost as a shocked parent might to her descriptions of the seemingly ubiquitous "hook-up culture." Of course, I am not so sheltered or naive to have been unaware of this culture, but hearing stories of your friends' night out in a social setting is one thing, and students honestly and openly talking about their sexual and social regrets in private is another.

Freitas, a Boston University professor, conducted both online surveys and in-depth personal interviews with college students across the nation who attended a wide variety of schools, public and private, religious and secular. After Freitas conducted her research she divided the schools into two broad categories: spiritual colleges, which included both secular and catholic schools; and religious schools, the evangelical colleges. What emerged from her interviews with students from both types of schools was two systems for dealing with sexuality and the soul, both flawed, skewed, and often painful for those involved.

In her exploration of sexuality in evangelical christian schools Freitas uncovered a culture in which chastity is the ultimate marker of social status and religious purity. Most evangelical students come from strict evangelical backgrounds in which they are taught that sex before marriage is the apogee of sin. Men and women are taught to do battle against their sexual nature, sometimes not even kissing before they are married. Most of the pressure to protect a couple's purity falls on the christian woman. Many of the female students that Freitas interviewed had fantasies of giving their virginity as a gift to their husbands on their wedding night, an image I found strangely disturbing. In many cases this attitude on dating and sexuality led to early marriage, in most evangelical college students described a senior scramble to find a spouse before graduation.

Those that reach marriage with their virginity intact are revered as purity "princesses" or "warriors", those that partake in sexual activity before taking their vows face regret, and social opprobrium. Such is the stigma of premarital sex, that many students are afraid to openly share their feelings and remorse with their peers, professors, counselors, and religious leaders. Despair and shame are faced alone, without guidance.

The view of sexuality in secular and some catholic schools is widely disparate. The campus party scene is hyper-sexualized, represented by popular theme parties with names like "CEOs and Office Hos." Women, sparked by the media's portrayal of sex, are taught to cater to men's raunchy fantasies, using their bodies as poker chips in a high stakes game for potential intimacy. Many of the women Freitas interviewed portrayed casual sexual activity as the only way to a long-term relationship. One student likened sex with a stranger to getting to know someone before spending time and resources on a date. Students at these schools tend to completely separate God and sexuality, viewing sex as a requisite of the college experience and reacting against religious mores against lust.

Which brings me to our own Boston University. BU is amazingly diverse; multiple realities exist on our mile-long campus. My experience at Boston University is very different from the perspectives of many of the students Freitas interviewed. During my three years of college, I have been in one long term relationship and am in the process of committing to another. I have friends and acquaintances who range across the board in terms of romantic situations. Some are celibate, some single and part of the hook-up scene. I know people who are still dating their high-school sweethearts, and others who met their partners in college.

Many of us came to BU for its diversity. We hoped to learn from those who think and act differently than we do. Why then, does Donna Freitas write of a lack of communication about sex and religion on secular college campuses? Why is sex a taboo on our campus? Freitas calls for open conversation on sexuality and religion. I second her motion. We can learn so much from each other. Why don't we start?

The next big adventure

If I were to sum up my life for the past six years in one word, that word would be "wanderlust." These days, when I proudly announce my intention to travel to a new (and in my mind exciting) locale, my friends and family just shrug their shoulders and send me off with a cursory "take care of yourself." Last year my wanderlust was satisfied by two semesters abroad-first in Ecuador and then in Morocco.

Ecuador was indescribable, a whirlwind tour of jungles, beaches, volcanoes, mountains, and cloud forests. I loved my classes, my professors, my friends, and most of all, my wonderful, loving host family. At the end of the semester I was ready for more travel, more incredible adventures. So, I applied to study abroad in Rabat, Morocco. Morocco was a somewhat different experience. I had more adventures, but they were of the harrowing variety, the kind that teach you just how quickly things can go wrong. I longed to go home; I became angry and inconsolably lonely. At the end of the semester I thought I was done with traveling forever.

Two months later I felt the first pangs of wanderlust. Unfortunately, my urge to travel could not be satisfied until after I graduated. I settled down to rebuilding connections in Boston, applying for scholarships and graduate schools, and studying, studying, studying.

Although frustrated with the prospect of remaining within the borders of the US, there was one bright spot in the future. I applied to be a missions intern in an exciting and dynamic program. Only one application out of eight, nevertheless, this was the opportunity I was most excited for. I did everything in my power to maximize my chances of receiving the internship, from calling, to personally visiting the office just to show my enthusiasm. I cared enough about the internship to turn down all of the other summer prospects I had applied for. I was certain this internship was what God was telling me to do.

My phone buzzed incessantly during the last final of the semester. As soon as I finished the exam, I rushed outside to return what I thought must have been an emergency phone call. It was the internship, telling me that if I took the internship I would have to give up an equally important ministry fellowship I had already committed to. I was devastated. I couldn't give up the fellowship; I desperately wanted the internship. I was not only out of a summer plan, I was confused about how my summer played into God's plan.

God is not Santa Claus; I don't believe in predestination. However, I do believe that God is an active force in my life, and that each of us have a God-given purpose on this earth. God works well with poor decisions; my semester in Morocco proved this to me. Through the awful and misguided decision to go to Morocco; I grew into a more mature and capable person.

It therefore seemed strange to me that a missions internship wouldn't fit in to God's plan for my life. Wasn't I being called to missions work? What better way to spend my summer? So, I returned home, disconsolate and perplexed. I didn't wait long for the answer to my questions. On the train ride home I received an email offering me funding to study Hausa in Niger.

Hausa has been my passion for two years; going to Niger is a twin dream. With the United Methodist's committed involvement in Nigeria, I believe fluency in Hausa is a valuable tool in missions work. The dates are perfect. The program is amazing. With the grace of God, I'm ready to set our on the next big adventure.

Defining Ignorance

Brother Larry has assigned the three Marsh Associates summer reading. I have decided to tackle, "The Religious Case Against Belief," by James P. Carse, first. As of now, I am about forty pages in. Before the book even starts, though, it creates a schism, that as a future minister (Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise), I feel an involuntary reaction to rectify the problem. The schism rests on the divide between religion and belief. Carse posits that religious groups have diverged from their original purpose, which was to facilitate spiritual growth in the form of ignorance.

Now, as a student, ignorance is not a word I feel comfortable having thrown around so cavalierly. Carse, however, defines ignorance in three ways: ordinary ignorance, willful ignorance, and higher ignorance. Ordinary ignorance being unconscious of something because of ordinary circumstances, willful ignorance being the refusal to seek out information that could correct or reform a current idea, and higher ignorance being the continual search for a higher understanding with the foreknowledge that one will never know everything.

Carse explains that religion once promoted higher ignorance, but now fosters mostly willful ignorance. It makes sense- what with last weekend's supposed end of the world, that Carse makes this claim. So, how, as a minister, a Methodist minister even, will I ever be able to fulfill both my obligation to the doctrine of the church as well as facilitate this higher ignorance. Are the two intrinsically opposed, or can the two be reunited under the current system? This is what I hope Carse will address in the coming chapters: how a large system can facilitate higher ignorance on a meaningful level for individuals.

Busy Resting

I remember a semester in high school in which two of my classes, scheduled back to back, were at opposite ends of the school. With only a few minutes between bells- I learned to move quickly. I've always moved pretty quickly, stayed busy, and talked at lightning speed. I lived by the mantra, "Head down, chin up." For me this meant keep my head in my work, and my chin up smiling at the world. These days, however, I'm finding myself moving more slowly- in a very good way. When I was younger, I was never able to enjoy walks, hikes, or trips, as I focused only on the destination. I was perplexed by the idea of 'getting there is half the fun.' In my mind, being in transit was a means to an end, and that saying was hackneyed and without meaning.

It wasn't until this year that I really started to appreciate that sentiment at all. I have not adopted a Zen lifestyle replete with happy breathing and constant smiling, rather I have come to a realization that the transit itself in fact shapes the destination. Consciously I knew this- as an anthropologist who trusts that identity is created by a person's socio-cultural environment, I knew this well. As far as my life was concerned, I could in fact point out that my identity involves religion because I was raised with it. I could pick apart all sorts of environmental factors that shaped my being. However, on a smaller day to day basis, I was wondering how I could be so miserable taking classes all the time in order to achieve a degree- if that was half the fun, then I wasn't sure that I wanted the other half at all. So I did something, that in my world, was quite revolutionary: I slowed down. I halved my course load, let go of some organizational commitments, and decided to focus my energies on rest. I let myself sleep, I started reading books for fun, I spent time in the city visiting pleasing places, I devoted time to my friends who had supported me through so much, I started trying to find (or obsessively search) for a feeling of faith that had been long gone. Slowly, I noticed that a change in my mood. It was no longer "Head down, chin up." It was "Chin down, head up." By enjoying the creation and blessings bestowed upon me in the form of rest, companionship, and Boston, I was bowing my head in thanks to that which provided it. At the same time, I was keeping my head up, taking in my surroundings, enjoying time and life as it swarmed around me, rather than having tunnel vision on endless schoolwork. To re-quote Dean Hill quoting someone else, "It is a sin not to take what is given." In my case, I hadn't even realized there was a gift right there in front of me. What a wonderful gift to speed through blindly. So I'm learning my lesson, to quit looking forward only- forward is always a step away, and if that is all we focus on, the now is never enough, and that's what we have the most of: now's.

The Great I Am

When Brother Larry preached this morning's sermon and spoke the famous quote, "For some people, you may be the only Jesus they ever see," I was reminded of two people: Dr. Neville as always, and my roommate Nikki. Now Dr. Neville and Nikki have very little in common, except that both of them have 'n's in their name and they both declare outlandish things sometimes.

One of the concepts that Dr. Neville has preached on in the past that really spoke to me was recognizing Jesus in other people. He was talking about how if we don't take Jesus' resurrection as a literal event, we can resonate with the accounts of many of Jesus' followers who met him after his death. Instead of discounting these stories, we can allow ourselves to think of them in terms of recognizing characteristics of Jesus in other people. Hence, a person may be the only Jesus they ever see.

Now my roommate Nikki, in a much less formal way, says something quite similar. For example, upon doing something praiseworthy, she will announce, "Because I am God." Did she intend to make a profound theological statement? Likely not. Did she know she was saying something akin to the Sufi Saint Al-Hallaj hundreds of years ago? Also, highly unlikely. What she did say, however, was no less true than it was comedic.

The call to goodness that is issued in the statement "For some people, you may be the only Jesus people ever see," is not what I am referring to here. What I am referring to, is a theological idea that in each of us, we carry a little of the Divine. We each possess qualities that can remind each other of Jesus' teachings, calling and inspiring others to goodness.

Examining the Easter Come-down

Logistically, Easter happens every year in the church calendar. When I was much younger, I figured out the Easter after I turned 33 would be the counterpart to the Christmas of 1989, the December after I was born. Obviously, now I know its not that simple. Religious holidays are a little different than national holidays, in that when we commemorate the birthday of a president or the signing of the Declaration of Independence, we celebrate a specific day that we can usually trace historically to some actual event that occurred on or around the designated holiday. However, with the religious calendar, as far as I know, the holidays are spread out sort of at random, and really based more on pagan ritual in practice at the time than any true evidence Christ was crucified on some day in late spring. So, based on the theme of the Holy week sermons at Marsh Chapel, I want to think about the believability of Easter, and also the significance.

Dean Neville approached this topic in his Saturday vigil sermon. He said, “The literal meaning of resurrection is not religiously interesting. So those of you who worry about whether you should believe in a literal resurrection that you find hard to believe can stop worrying.” I’ve never had a minister tell me not to worry whether Jesus actually rose from the dead. It seems incredulous to say whether the man Jesus actually came back alive or not doesn’t really matter. To me, saying that seems to, in transit, assert that perhaps Jesus did not rise from the dead at all, making Christianity itself a sham of some sort. As much as I love to question Christianity, the Bible, and anything philosophical or theological, questioning the resurrection of Jesus feels off-limits. Now that a well-esteemed and undeniably brilliant dean has opened the door and allowed me to explore these thoughts, though, I think wondering on the purpose of Easter opens an opportunity to be closer to God. For me, Dean Neville’s sermon allowed me to let go of my notion that there are certain avenues in Christianity that are simple, and unchangeably, one–way streets.

I need to reflect more before I can finish this post. What makes Easter important? Is it the celebration of the foundation of our faith? Or Easter’s ability to change hearts and minds? And is that change based off the literal resurrection, or the spiritual convincing that comes from the triumph over suffering? And, in the end, does it matter? And do these questions put me in the unfavorable position of the infamous Doubting Thomas?

Things Unseen

Last Wednesday was the farewell dinner for the participants in the Student Support Network training program. Participants from across Boston University came together on the lovely top floor of Student Village to share some food and fellowship, recognize the people who had taught and funded us, and to prepare to go forth as agents of empathy on Boston University's campus.

As part of the ending ceremonies, the BU Secret Project's video was shown to the Student Support Network trainees. For those of you reading that don't know, Boston University's Active Minds group launched the BU Secret project on March 17. Active Minds encouraged students to anonymously submit secrets on a provided postcard, which were then posted on bulletin boards and compiled into a video.

What was written on the postcards ranged from hilarious to heart-wrenching. Some students confessed to showering with their Brita, while others shared stories of neglect, fear, loneliness, anger, and pain. As I watched the short video, I realized that the people who had written these postcards are the people I eat in the dining hall with, the people sitting in my class, the people I pass by on the street without a second glance.

A huge stigma against mental illness exists in the United States, a stigma that makes treatable problems like depression, bipolar disorder, and eating disorders seem like insurmountable and uncontrollable character flaws. If people felt comfortable enough to share their difficulties with other, BU Secret wouldn't be a secret anymore, and more people would receive the help and support that they need in order to thrive and be happy.

Part of the Student Support Network's training is to show other students how to recognize the signs of depression. These signs are easy to notice in friends and people we live with. Withdrawal, change in habits, mood swings, changes in eating patterns, abusing drugs or alcohol, sleeping all the time or not sleeping at all, are the key ways to tell if someone is going through mental distress.

These unseen warning signs can lead to deadly consequences. Suicide is a very real and pressing problem on college campuses across the United States. Suicide is preventable. Being a friend, listening, and moving people towards ways to get help are key steps in suicide prevention.

I encourage everyone to watch the BU Secret video. If you see anyone that you feel may be in distress, talk to them. Recommend that they seek help. So many options exist. Marsh Chapel, Behavioral Medicine, Residence Life, support groups, and suicide hot lines are just some of these.

What I Learned From Thomas and a Dog

Oh Thomas, my familiar, doubting historical figure. Today in Marsh's worship service, we read his story. I always feel behind the faith curve when I read his story, and Jesus praises those who can believe without seeing. I have always been one of those, "Trust but verify" types of people (to quote my father). So how can I relate to even Dean Hill's concept of a long lost friend living on in memory and love? I never knew Jesus personally, I never got to joke around with him, hear him teach, or poke his gut like Thomas.

As usual, I have a story:

My mother and father once had a basset hound named Bowser. I grew up hearing stories about how Bowser ate a whole cake leaving nothing but the knife on the plate, how Bowser would eat potato chips until he couldn't move, how Bowser had ear problems, and how he was such a good dog. I even heard stories about how Bowser died. One day, riding in a car with my parents, I burst into uncontrollable tears. I fell to pieces in the back seat of the car. I was weeping with all the love and devotion a little girl could have for a long time family pet that had passed away. The strange part about all of this, is that I had never even met Bowser, he had died before I was born. That did not stop me one bit from being completely overcome with emotion and grief for him. I knew what he meant to my parents, I knew what he meant to their friends, I knew that he was a good little dog.

So Jesus, the friend I never met, the teacher for whom I was never a student, that person I had never greeted on the street, is much like the little old dog, Bowser. Not in the sense that he was a family pet, but in the sense that even though I never spent time with him, he still has relevance to my life in stories and in meaning to those with whom I am close. I am indirectly his student.

Drive

Here in the academic world, many of us would call ourselves "driven." Driven to succeed, to excel, to spend long hours in a dark, crowded library in the pursuit of knowledge, or, more likely, that ever-elusive "A" so valued by graduate school application committees. Most of us spend large parts of our day doing something we don't enjoy in order to achieve what we feel is expected of us, either by our parents, teachers or friends, or by our selves.

Basic responsibilities aside, most of us don't need to do these things to have a happy and fruitful life. Really, what will five points on a test mean to our children or our grandchildren? Will any of our efforts still be meaningful ten or twenty years down the road? Yet, I for one feel compelled to succeed, and quite a few of my friends feel the same way. Where does this need for success come from?

Most of us, as human beings, feel the need to create something. We are constantly re-ordering and influencing our environment. We set ourselves to solving problems, thinking about things beyond our personal experience, dreaming, wishing. This is what makes us human, what sets us apart from even the most intelligent animals. We are all driven to do.

As part of the Marsh Associate Intern program, I am asked to participate in intensive discernment of God's purpose for my life. Since I experienced the call to ministry, suddenly and intensely a year and a half ago, I've felt little uncertainty about what that purpose is. I am not claiming to have a direct phone line to God, although that would definitely be first on my list of super powers to possess. The reason that I'm certain of my direction is that I literally feel driven towards what I believe God wants me to do in my life, namely devote my life to ministry.

Ministry was not something I wanted to do. One of my many emotions on receiving a call to ministry was anger. I was angry at God for denying my own plans and wants, and instead telling me to do something I had never wanted, never asked for, and was terrified of. Fortunately that feeling was tempered by the thousands of others I was experiencing: joy, gratitude, love, purpose, etc. Today I am supremely happy to be going in to missions work. I know of nothing I would rather do, but it took a lot of tearful conversations both with God and trusted friends to reach that point.

Each and every one of us has a purpose in life. I'd like to think that the things that we are driven to do are one and the same with this purpose. What I do know is that God loves us more than we could ever understand and that He knows each of our purpose. So, don't begrudge time to your passions, what you feel your true purpose is, since:

we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

Still Sleeping

This week in my Varies of Early Christianity class we are reading Augustine. It is surprising how easily I connected with his ideas, though he wrote in the 5th century and here I am in the 21st. This semester I've been thinking a lot about addiction. Whether it pertains to my family, my friends, or myself, it seems as though addiction has been a common trend for me this semester in a detrimental way. In Augustine's "Confessions," he addresses the attractive pull of vices in a way that helped me understand their power.

"The burden of the world weighed me down with a sweet drowsiness such as commonly occurs during sleep... Noone wants to be asleep all the time, and the sane judgement of everyone judges it better to be awake. Yet often a man defers shaking off sleep when his limbs are heavy with slumber. Although displeased with himself he is glad to take a bit longer, even when the time to get up has arrived."

Habits are easily formed and even more easy to fall back into. All my detrimental habits are ones I enjoy in the moment, but regret later. Reason tells me one thing, and desire another. "Confessions" was written with many aspects of faith in mind, a few being chastity and converting to Christianity. It is in this context Augustine further writes:

"But I was an unhappy young man, wretched from as at the beginning of my adolesence when I prayed you for chastity and said: 'Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet.' I was afraid you might here my prayer quickly and that you might too rapidly heal me of the disease of lust that I preferred to satisfy rather than suppress."

I think this applies to so much more than sexual desire. Whenever I have vices that I feel like I can't get ahold of, it's because consistently waiting until next time to fix the problem. I have heard people say, with ironic indignation in their voices, anything that feels good is probably a sin. By this I think they mean the suppression of drinking, sex, drugs use, or even chocolate gorging. The tradition of the church has been to ban all of these actions, perhaps to stave-off potential excess in any of these areas. Historically the Church's view says: To avoid any problems, do not engage in the first place. I understand this philosophy-- addiction is a slippery slope. I've seen the downward spiral of alcoholism affect a friend, starting from occasionally being excessively intoxicated on the weekend to getting kicked out of bars on Tuesday nights. However, I think moderation shows much more internal power than deprivation. Can I have one piece of chocolate without eating the whole box? Can I drink one beer without taking seven shots? Can I be aware of, and engage with, the potential of addiction without falling into it's trap?

Coming out of the Lenten season, I have returned to Facebook. Do not think I'm being dramatic as I say that Facebook is definitely detrimentally addictive. "Creeping" people has taken hours away from my life. So why don't I just delete it all together? Because I don't think Facebook is all bad. It allows me to keep in contact with my friends abroad, see the growth of my cousin's baby boy, and make sure my brothers are staying in line. Just like a glass of red wine can be good for the heart, Facebook in moderation can keep me more socially connected. To me, self-discipline is much more admirable when enacted with temperance, rather than denial.