A Question of Faith

My post this week is centered on a question, a question that I've been asking people for the past couple of weeks: "Does the Bible justify violence?" This is a question that gains urgency when we think of ourselves as Christians in the face of genocide, in the face of persecution, in the face of injustice. For many Christians, personal sacrifice is easily accepted, but what if we are asked to sacrifice another's life, the life of a loved one, or hundreds of other lives in order to remain non-violent? Could we do it? Should we?

Many of my christian friends point to the above-mentioned hypotheticals as support for a sort of conditional non-violence, a non-violence that is maintained until it is too costly to do so. What exactly is too costly differs from person to person, but most have a line to draw, be it in the defense of personal belongings, the defense of personal safety, or the defense of others. None of my Christian friends validated non-defensive violence.

Like many key issues in the Christian faith, it is possible to biblically support both sides. There are several verses in the Old Testament in which God orders his people to fight battles, condones capital punishment, and completely destroys not only entire towns, but most of the world's population. Any of these verses could be used as evidence for violence being justifiable in Christianity.

Yet, for every verse condoning violence there is a verse preaching peace as well. The New Testament, and the teachings of Jesus specifically, contain many of these verses: "Love your enemies; pray for persecutors" (Matthew 5:43); "Love your enemies, bless those who persecute you" (Luke 6:27); and finally, the capstone on Jesus' message of peace:

You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth. But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you (Matthew 5:38-42)

These verses are unavoidable commands from the person we are called to follow: Jesus Christ. The question I ask each of my christian friends who are part of the conditional non-violence camp is: "How do you get around these commands?" It is a question I can't answer for myself.

As a person, I know I would be unable to restrain from acting violently in order to stop genocide or to prevent another person's death. I think almost anyone would. Nevertheless, the question remains in my mind: "Are we called to non-violence?" So, I'm taking a poll. Post your comments, answers, more questions, anything. I would love to hear it all.

God's Name

At the Executive Council meeting a few weeks ago, the body voted to present the “Common Agreement on Mutual Recognition of Baptism” to the 28^th General Synod of the UCC, with a suggested action to affirm the agreement. The discussion among the council members about this resolution was very interesting. While many people were excited that, after seven years, the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) voted to approve the 85 page agreement, others were wary of recommending affirmation to the Synod body in July. The concern expressed had to do with the first common statement, which answers the question, “What is Baptism?” The proposed statement reads as follows: Baptism is a sacrament of the church in which a person is effused with or immersed in water, accompanied by the Trinitarian formula that the person is baptized “in(to) the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 28:19-20). Baptism is the first of the sacraments that a person receives. It is a means of grace though which God works in a person and that marks the reception of a person into the life and mission of Christ’s Church.

The problem with this statement lies in “…accompanied by the Trinitarian formula…” This kind of specificity bothered people; many churches in the UCC choose to address a “Mother God” in their baptisms, or a “Creator and Redeemer,” and they feel the Trinitarian formula, as this statement sees it, will limit their expression of God. In the true congregational style of many of our churches, this mandated requirement will not fly. Of course, anything decided at the Synod is for prayerful consideration, and is only acted on at the preference of the local church. Furthermore, if this resolution passes and a church chooses to disregard the “father, son, holy spirit” model, the UCC would still recognize the Baptism. The other associated denominations, however, would not be required to recognize the sacrament.

This leads me to another topic I’ve been meditating on recently. I’ve noticed often lately the ways people address God. “Gracious God,” “Loving God,” “All-Powerful God,” “Lord Almighty,” “Creator,” and “Father God,” are just a few examples. I’ve always started my personal prayers, “Dear God,” as if I was beginning a letter or email. People are passionate about this perceived issue with the Common Agreement on Mutual Recognition of Baptism because the way they call or address God frames their theology, and maybe more importantly, their phrasing invokes for their parishioners a very specific image of God. Not everyone responds well to a “God the Father” mental image.

The chair of the Conference of Catholic Bishops Committee for Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs, Archbishop Wilton Gregory, stated after the USCCB vote: “…we Catholic bishops can affirm baptism as the basis of the real, even if incomplete, unity we share in Christ.” There is no doubt that this agreement is an ecumenical milestone. It does, however, limit the expression of God, which makes denominations different. The recognition of unity is precious and valuable, however it strikes a sour note with me that acknowledgement of our universal faith in Christ even has to be written out. I struggle with these seemingly base and trivial disagreements between different Christian traditions. These little arguments seem petty to me, especially since we're facing so many larger issues in Christian society. Why are we spending seven years discussing the recognition of baptism, when logistically it doesn't change much on an individual level, while there are real, tangible issues that need addressing?

Don't Sit Still: Commentary on Peace

In a conversation with a dear friend, I was given inspiration for this week's blog post (sorry it's a little late). Here we are, smack in the middle of political strife in Libya, the 'West's' involvement in said strife, countless other battles, genocides, and episodes of violence. The news is depressing- but what's new? This week's question is not, "Where is God in all of this?" (see last week's blog). Rather, the question is, where is Peace in all of this?

Merriam-Webster defines 'peace' as "A state of tranquility or quiet: as a) freedom from civil disturbance, b) a state of security or order within a community provided for by law or custom." This is all good and well, but for me, it lacks a certain amount of responsibility and action. Responsibility? Yes, we are responsible to each other for peace. We are required to take action for peace.

As for the conversation with the dear friend, it concerned a movie, "Serenity," a film related to the popular series "Firefly." I have never watched either (I know, I know, I'm missing out). However, this friend detailed a scene in which the protagonists stumble upon a society that seems to have just stopped dead- meaning in the midst of their daily tasks, dead. The explanation being that there had been an experimental drug given to the society, a drug that was hoped to make the entire society peaceful. Instead, it made them so apathetic to doing anything, that they stopped living! Despite the sci-fi aspect, and somewhat morbid image of an entire society dead, I think this gives us a wonderful commentary on Peace: Peace is not doing nothing.

I am no pundit on achieving peace, nor do I understand arguments for or against war (though I'm fairly thoroughly against dying in all cases), but I think working towards understanding and peaceful behavior is a necessity for this day and age. Ali Asani describes an 'ethos of pluralism' that we must all strive towards. We must, as responsible citizens of the Earth, find an educated understanding that goes beyond saying "All religions are the same." Rather, we must feel those differences, find common ground, and make our common goal Peace.

A Week in New York

I spent last week in New York City. I began my trip on Sunday afternoon with nine other wonderful people associated or loosely associated with Marsh Chapel. Some of us were meeting each other for the first time, many of us were already friends, but all of us were excited to begin a week of volunteering in homeless shelters and soup kitchens.

One of the great things about Boston University is the variety and popularity of its Alternative Spring Break trips. This year I heard multiple people complain that within five minutes of opening online registration, all the slots had been filled. The registration process itself speaks to the enthusiasm of Boston University students have for giving back through volunteering. Why would a group of college students be so eager to spend their week sleeping in uncomfortable locations, driving or flying long hours, and doing manual labor? My answer to that is, apart from being morally upstanding and socially beneficial, volunteering makes you feel amazing about yourself. Fortunately, as long as it is the right kind of volunteering, the result is mutually beneficial.

Almost all of the service trips I've participated in have left me with that good-feeling glow afterwards; several of them have been major turning points in my life. All of them have been personally rewarding. This trip to New York was different. I arrived eager to spend time helping others and to learn about the immense problem of homelessness in New York. I know I achieved the latter goal, and I hope I achieved the former, but the process was far from pleasant.

While we were in New York we worked with Youth Services Opportunities Project, YSOP for short, an organization that facilitates groups of volunteers and places them with shelters, soup kitchens, food pantries and other outreach locations throughout the New York area. We were sent to a different site each day and worked in four very different locations with very different ideas as to how to best serve the homeless community.

Three out of the four sites we volunteered in left me feeling useless, frustrated, and sad. I was either ignored by the rest of the staff, bullied by them, or treated as a liability. I witnessed homeless people being treated as if they were problems to be dealt with instead of people, and small children ignored by their caregivers. At the end of my four days at YSOP, I felt no glow of a job well done. In fact, I just felt uncomfortable and a little depressed.

I want to be a missionary because of my previous volunteer experiences. I still want to be a missionary because of the week I spent in New York. Last week I learned a very important lesson about service-it's not about me. It's not about how good I feel about myself afterwards, it's not about me being comfortable or feeling like I've been useful; it's about the people I'm there to serve. Sometimes my satisfaction goes hand in hand with the benefit of those I'm serving, most of the time it won't. Last week I realized that I'm more than willing and able to be uncomfortable five, six, or even seven days out of the week if that means that I'm helping someone.

This week I'm a little sore, a little tired, a little sleep-deprived, but, in the end, glad to have my calling reaffirmed by a negative experience.

Facing the Budget

Over spring break, I went to Cleveland, Ohio, to attend my first Executive Council meeting of the UCC. There are so many things I can, and will, blog about on this meeting, and I am so grateful to be given the opportunity to sit on the board. The technicalities of the governing process of the UCC remind me that the UCC is, in fact, a corporation. For example, it abides by not only the decisions decided by the General Synod, but also the laws of an assortment of states, including Massachusetts and Ohio. Last Friday, each of the EC members worked on a committee: Budget and Finance, General Synod Planning, Development, Evaluation Policy and Planning, and Organizational Life. I sat on the Budget and Finance committee. While the UCC is not in the red financially, our numbers are not looking good. We are different from for-profit organizations because, though we cannot dip below the budget, we’re only trying to break even. But it is no secret that just staying out of debt is a challenge for churches these days. The national setting of the UCC needs a financial boost. But, how can the local church make the wider church a priority, when they can not pay their electric bill or a full time minister? That is the reality of around 75% of UCC congregations at this time.

Which brings me to an introspective reflection I’ve had over the past three months. I am making my faith my career. I am putting my financial security in the hands of a corporation that is losing money annually. People would think I was crazy if I were to pursue any other job with the same statistics. Someone told me when I was first considering my calling that working in the church is, essentially, extended hospice care. I worry that the church is dying on a regular basis. The only people I know who are around my age and care about church also plan on becoming ministers. If I am going to be a pastor, I am going to need a congregation. The lack of young adults in the church is often addressed with vague acknowledgement and sincere, if somewhat undefined, desire to repair this gaping void in the local setting. If I had an answer to the slow and steady decline in church membership, I would be shouting it from the rooftops, believe me. I hope this year will bring me wisdom to make the church more accessible and desirable to the people who’ve stopped attending, while at the same time retaining the integrity of the worship.

"Mommy, Mommy, Look What I Can Do!"

A friend of mine recently published a blog discussing the different theologies of history. A theology of history answers the question: How does God show up in history? No, not like those 'encounters with the sacred' that Eliade describes (and I recalled in my most recent post), but something on a more universal scale. Where is God in the grand scheme of things for the world? What role does God play in the history of humans? My wise friend presents four possibilities, which I will here note, and possibly elaborate on: 1. History is progressing in some way, just not in the ways modernity talked about so far, 2. History is a process of growth and decay, 3. History is open, but influenced by a loving God in certain directions, and 4. History matters to God because it contains (and is) God’s creation, not because history is heading any particular place, even if God does eventually intend an end to history and a new creation. My friend posits these as possibilities to be explored. I would add that maybe they are not mutually exclusive possibilities, but might actually interplay.

Number one: History is progressing in some way. Last post I described a faith that changes. Of course, in history, there is change too. We all know this, we all live this, we all study this in school. Modernity narrates a change for the better, but- we often observe new problems that arise in history that make that idea seem more than naive, and give us a dark expression as we mentally roll our eyes. At the same time, many things progress positively, and we can celebrate these victories as a species (congrats!). Sometimes, both happen at the same time: amazing, world-changing science can be destructive, peace treaties can backfire, we create cars and they end up being bad for the environment (whoops). I definitely think this is a viable theory, at least in some regards: things do change, things are good, things are bad, things are sometimes both. So maybe God helps us determine right from wrong in the grand scheme of things ("Go to your room, kids! Think about what you have done!").

On to number two: growth and decay. I remember learning about the concept of entropy in middle school. My sixth grade history teacher, Mrs. Patton, described entropy as the state of our bedrooms: Mom says clean it, so we do. Then, after time, it slowly becomes cluttered and needs to be cleaned again. I am not saying that humans make a behemoth, monolithic effort to keep the Earth clean (though we clearly should), nor am I saying that we forget to keep it tidy (though, given the car situation, we clearly do forget). I am saying, that there are times when we as humans seem to have it together more-so than at other times (I will let you use your own examples here). Where is God in this? Well, maybe he keeps us from drifting too terribly far from a clean room- a Mommy God (and no, I am not just including this to provoke my friends from home who cannot handle anything but a paternalistic God idea...well, maybe). To tie this back to the first concept: maybe God keeps pushing us along too.

Number three: History is influenced by a loving God in certain directions. Here I will continue with the mother metaphor, since I have a great one who afforded me the experience allowing me to write this paragraph. When I was looking at colleges, my mother (and father) were very supportive. They only wanted what was best for me, and encouraged me to push myself. They influenced me as I grew up, even before they vocally said "We will support you wherever you go" by cultivating a love of learning. Maybe Mommy-God does the same: Maybe God gives us, humanity, certain experiences and learning so as to help shape us, even though we have to make our own path, and pick our own institution of higher learning (Let's go BU!).

Number four: History matters to God because it contains (and is) God’s creation, not because history is heading any particular place, even if God does eventually intend an end to history and a new creation. So, Mommy-God sends her baby off to college. Of course, she wants us to get our degree (and experiences some empty-nest syndrome), but she just wants us to grow, and she is proud that we are there. We are God's children (ahah!), and God loves us, no matter what, and is thus invested and involved in what we accomplish, learn, and do.

A special thanks to David Scott for sharing his blog and allowing me to quote: Thoughts on World Christianity, Mission History, and Methodist History

A Lesson in Listening

What do you see when you imagine a conversation? Does it involve two people, or multiple people? Is it one-sided, or dynamic? How is it structured? Who talks more, who talks less?

When I think of a conversation, the first thing I think of is sharing. When we converse, the main goal is to share parts of ourselves and learn about the other person. Turns are taken, one person talks and the other listens; there may be interruption to ask questions, to clarify; there may be exclamations of surprise or commiseration. I see two friends sitting over a cup of their hot beverage of choice, reconnecting, laughing, communicating. It's a safe image, a secure one, an image of peace and friendship.

Now, think about a time when you went to someone for help. How did you tell that person about your situation? How did that person respond? What was the most helpful about the way in which that person responded? Although a conversation is a wonderful thing, it may not always be the most constructive. The most surprising aspect of my experience with seeking help from others, is that most of the time it is not what they say that helps, it is how they listen. In cases of emotional distress, attentive, honest, and engaged listening is often more helpful than any advice, no matter how helpful and constructive it is.

As someone on the listening end, this is extremely difficult. Our immediate urge is to help the person pouring out their heart to us by trying to solve the problem. We want to make everything right. While this is an extremely normal and heart-felt reaction, it is, in a small part, selfish. It is uncomfortable to see anyone upset, and frankly painful to see a loved one in agony. Therefore, to alleviate our own discomfort, our own distress, we attempt to work through the situation as quickly as possible.
Making bread is perhaps a fitting analogy for working through emotional distress. Baking bread, by hand, of course, which is the only real way to bake bread, is a process that requires attention, care, and, most of all, time. You have to be present and active in all of the stages: mixing the ingredients, letting it rise, kneading the dough, baking, and finally letting it cool. Hurrying any of these stages leads to disaster. Time, care, and patience are also needed to help those going through troubled times. Time to let the person vocalize and reflect on their problem, care enough not to interject with easy solutions, and patience and perseverance in working through our own insecurities about the situation.

Brother Larry, Tim Hegan and I recently returned from a grant conference in Atlanta, Georgia with the Fund for Theological Education, FTE, the organization that is partially funding the internship I am lucky enough to hold. Part of the FTE's process of helping develop future church leaders is a system called Vocation Care. Through Vocation Care, people are invited to tell stories about their lives and their future as well as listen to the stories of others. These stories are initiated with “self-awakening questions”, questions that invite the teller to delve deeper within their stories and discover new aspects of their own interaction with the world.

Telling a story about yourself, especially one that involves your innermost hopes, anxieties, and feelings, immediately pushes the storyteller into a place of vulnerability, and, occasionally, emotional distress. We participated in Vocation Care exercises on our first day in Atlanta. For me, that day had started at 3:30 AM after a few hours of fitful sleep. One sunrise cab drive, a 6:00 AM flight, and a whirl-wind tour of Emory's Divinity school later, I found myself sitting in a conference room with a group of strangers, being asked to share the most significant parts of my life within a two minute time frame. “Emotionally distressed” definitely summed up my state of mind.

As I found myself moving through the process, however, I was surprised by how safe the Vocation Care model made me feel. That feeling had much to do with the Covenant of Presence we committed to at the beginning of the day. Maybe unsurprisingly, this covenant is not only pertinent to the Vocation Care model, but also contains the essence of how to listen. We all listen. We listen to our friends, our family, our coworkers, strangers on the train. Each of those listening moments is an opportunity to reach out and move that person into a place where they can feel cared for. Therefore, in an effort to make us all better listeners, I'd like to reproduce a part of the Covenant of Presence.

Be fully present, extend and presume welcome. Set aside the usual distractions of things undone from yesterday, things to do tomorrow.

Listen generously. Listen intently to what is said; listen to the feelings beneath the words. As Quaker Douglas Steere writes, “To listen another's soul into life, into a condition of disclosure and discovery may be almost the greatest gift we can offer to another.”

No fixing. We are not here to set someone else straight, right a wrong, or provide therapy. We are here to witness God's presence and movement in the sacred stories we share.

Suspend judgment. Set aside your judgments. By creating a space between judgments and reactions, we can listen to another person, and to ourselves, more fully.

Turn to wonder. If you find yourself becoming judgmental, cynical, or certain about what you know, try turning to wonder: “I wonder why she shared that story or made those choices?” “I wonder what my reaction teaches me?” “I wonder how my story connects to their stories?”

Hold these stories with care. There are many people who will benefit from the stories they hear...Imagine hearing another as you would listen to scripture-attentively, mindfully, and open to the holy.

Practice confidentiality care. We create a safe space by respecting the nature and content of the stories heard. If anyone asks that a story shared be kept in confidence...honor that request.

These are things I will be taking with me into my internship, especially next year when I begin my project with the wider Boston University community. However, as I already mentioned, everyone listens. So, next time you're asked to listen, try to keep those points in mind. Create a space of love and support by not trying to do something, but rather letting your mere presence and active attention show that person just how much they are cared for.

Ashes to Ashes

Dean Moore, the dean of BU’s School of Theology, held a class for STH students today in the Howard Thurman Center discussing Howard Thurman’s notion of “common ground.” Because I work at the center, I was able to catch a few words at the beginning of her program. She started the class, appropriately, by commenting briefly on Ash Wednesday, saying, “Ash Wednesday is a liminal ritual where everyone is radically equal.” Now, I’ve heard Ash Wednesday discussed in a lot of different ways; growing up in a Catholic school, observing Lent was a mandatory reflection. We looked inward, analyzed our past year with God, sacrificed to remind ourselves about the 40 days Christ spent fasting in solitude, and took personal moments of silence every Friday morning. But, I’ve never seen Lent as a group activity. It makes sense though. “Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.” We all have something in common: we are all born naturally from a mother and die at the end of our lives. This is our most basic “common ground.”

Looking around campus today, I’ve been surprised how many BU students have ash-marked foreheads. New England is the most secular region of the US, but at the moment Boston looks downright Christian. I realize that I often assume my classmates have no religion. Today has proven me wrong, because today is the only day of the year that Christians are visibly marked. Imagine all the other students who are Jewish, Hindu, or Buddhist, or, for that matter, part of a Christian denomination that doesn't celebrate Ash Wednesday, who are as unidentified today as the Christians I am noticing are normally.

The ritualistic Imposition of Ashes exposes a commonality between people that I feel is comfortingly unifying. And because most of the sects of Christianity celebrate Ash Wednesday in similar ways, the denominational affiliations of the people I see walking down Comm Ave are indeterminable. For me, this is a reminder that even though different types of Christianity teach concepts with which I disagree, we all believe that Christ existed, and was resurrected, and we believe it strongly enough to walk around with (arguably embarrassing) ashes on our foreheads. It’s also a nice, gentle reminder that we are all, marked or not, equal in God’s eyes.

Intention: A Commitment

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that midterms and the beginning of Lent fall in the same week. Exams are necessary, but they beg the question, “What kind of knowledge counts?” Memorization doesn’t necessarily promote wisdom or universal understanding, but how else can professors hold students accountable? Along these lines, this week at Outlook, Marsh Chapel’s LGBTQ ministry, we discussed the concept of Lenten sacrifice. Ideally, we give up, say, chocolate to remind us of our commitment to God and Christ’s sacrifice for us, but does it still “count” if, in the back of our minds, we have visions of the perfect bikini-body? What is the intention of our Lenten commitment?

In the world of academia, Christians are subject to condescension and almost intolerance from many of their peers, ranging from evolutionary biologists to atheist theologians. Today’s “BU Today”, a daily news email sent to all affiliates of BU, highlights an interview with a right wing, conservative BU alum that wrote a book about the “sins” of feminism and the liberal progressive movement. (For anyone interested: http://www.bu.edu/today/node/12452) I regularly see valuable aspects of the faith in even my most conservative Christian friends; however I cringe at the religious term “sin” in such a politically heated discussion, especially in association with a woman I consider obviously ignorant of the true nature of the women’s rights movement and the greater issues of America. Lesser-involved consumers tend to generalize Christian views. The more-vocal practices of right-wing Christians aim to convert non-Christians, portraying an intolerant, yet easily publicized, version of Christianity.

Matthew 6:1 says, "Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.” In an age where knowledge needs to be tested, I wonder if this silent, personal Lenten commitment isn’t a bit selfish. Evangelism is a word that scares Americans today, thanks mostly to radical Christianity. Because of this, I find myself inclined to downplay my faith and role as a Christian. But I don’t think Matthew is suggesting that we hide or silence our faith to be closer to God. Rather, I think this passage in Matthew speaks to intention. The question to ask in this Lenten season is: Why do I sacrifice? There is a good, productive way to be a vocal Christian, and now more than ever it is important for liberal, progressive Christianity to have a voice. So, I’ve decided to give up Facebook for Lent. Not because I want to show all my 691 “friends” what a good Christian I am, but because I think it will bring peace to my life, keep me mindful of God, and be a more public acknowledgement of my faith than I’ve been hitherto willing to expose.

Inherent Doubt

I often find myself jealous of those whose faith comes easily, those whose faith is confirmed by a moment of experiencing the Divine, those whose conviction radiates indestructible, unshakable. I, in my own experience, can only note a few small moments, a few quiet instances, where something like warmth hints that there is indeed, something present. That is to say, I do live with doubt.

I distinctly remember the first time I plopped down in Brother Larry's office, confused, frustrated, and demanding: "Larry! Where is hell!? I mean, in the cosmos, in the solar system?!" It was a crisis of faith. And so began a long list of questions that were hard to answer, even harder to think about, and even harder to feel, when they brought into question the very foundation of my entire belief system. For a while, I carried a certain amount of guilt regarding these questions, wondering if it made me less faithful. With time, as I sat with the doubt and let it rest in my mind, and as I resigned to it staying with me, I learned. I followed the questions. The doubt was bringing me closer to the Divine. I make no claim that I have answered any of these questions, or that I ever will. However, I do think wrestling with them has brought me closer to something real.

It was not until I was in conversation with a friend of mine that I really realized what this doubt had done for me and for my faith. My intuitive, atheist, friend offered, "Well, you know that I inherently doubt everything." His innocent claim of doubt brought about my thoughts on the subject. I realized that this atheist had probably thought more often, and more deeply about topics of theology and the cosmos than many of the Christians of whom I found myself jealous. What a benevolent gift it is that we humans are blessed with an intuitive, questioning mind! What a boon for a faithful heart to be able to dig deeply and to grapple with questions of faith and existence!

To quote Dean Robert A. Hill, quoting Rev. John Wesley: "Preach it until you believe it, and then preach it because you believe it." At first glance, slightly different view of how one can approach belief, I find a common thread: Continuity. All things in life are a process, almost nothing is static. Why would faith ever be any different? The connection, as I see it, could be that the questioning, the doubting, and all the angst involved with those things, spur a process of faith, not a crisis of faith. Wesley's words provide us with a 'don't give up' attitude; an attitude that accepts the realities of doubt and the challenges of a deeper faith while encouraging us to carry on all the while.

A Much Needed Rest

We are a nation of people who do. Action is our heritage; we were born out of a pioneer spirit fueled by unfailing energy and industriousness. We are constantly constructing, re-arranging, and destroying our environment in a frenzy of activity. If you are a college student, this description of the American Spirit is never more appropriate than during midterms. For many of us, the coming week is one of the busiest of the year, that magical time when exams, scholarship and internship applications, work, and spring break preparations combine to create a tornado of caffeine hangovers and stress dreams. I am sure we are all feeling the pressure. I know I am.

As those of you who attended interdenominational service this morning, or who listened over the radio know, Dean Hill spoke of substituting action for reflection. In the Gospel reading: Matthew 17: 1-9, Peter, on seeing Jesus transfigured, is immediately moved to act. Before he finishes voicing his dreams of construction to Jesus, however, God speaks, saying: "This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!" (Matthew 17: 5-6)

As people of faith, we often focus on our actions as Christians. We easily forget that we are daily receivers of grace, mercy, love, kindness. As important as it is to act on our faith, it is just as important to reflect, to meditate, and to listen.

This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the forty day period of Lent. Just as Jesus retreated into the desert to meditate and pray, so are we called to use this time to prepare ourselves spiritually for the Easter celebration. Many Christians use Lent as a time to change a small part of their lives, giving up some luxury in order to use the absence of something to remind them of their faith. While this is a wonderful way to practice self-denial and a great way to be mindful of all of our blessings, I have another suggestion to make. As we move into Lent, instead of planning on doing or not doing something for forty days, it might be more spiritual, more beneficial, to open up a space in our lives for being still, being open, and receiving. God has so much to give us.

Starting the Journey

Hi! I’m Kate, a junior at Boston University, studying English literature, with a minor in religious studies. I just returned from a semester in London, where I studied British literature, with a focus on spiritual allegory in the dramas of T.S. Eliot. Denominationally, I affiliate with the United Church of Christ, and plan to seek ordination with them in the near future. The UCC’s unapologetically liberal political stance and social justice work entices me. I am from Amherst, New Hampshire, and while I love the place in which I was raised, Boston, London, and the other cities I’ve been to, afford me much of the experience I rely upon for my theology today. I am very enthusiastic about starting a journey of discernment with Marsh Chapel, along with Rebekah and Bethany. A year ago, I decided to stop ignoring what I consider a strong call to ministry. I’ve given this rather life-altering decision (in my case) an extensive amount of consideration and reflection, and I hope this remarkable internship will expose me to many different paths of ministry, some I’m already interested in and would like to pursue, and I many I am not even aware of yet.

One of the aspects that most interests me about studying ministry is discovering the different ways people view God. I made a friend in London named John, who explained God to me as a man with an ant farm. He imagines God as a guy who protects His ants, puts their home by a sunlit window, gives them water and food, and treats them occasionally with a drop of sugar water or an orange slice. John’s God, however, does not know the name of every ant on His farm. His God is not a micro-manager. He does not allocate the Oscar award winners, nor does he dole out car accidents. To John, God provides the means, and the limitations, of life, and people use His resources to thrive or deteriorate. Just last weekend, I heard a man argue that God is logic, using the question, “Can an all-powerful being create a rock it can’t lift?” His reasoned, in short, that an omnipotent Being cannot act or create anything illogically, putting It under the authority of logic, inferring that logic’s ultimate power must make it “God.” I have friends who view God as a spirit, as a man, as a woman, as a pal, or even as an animal. The endless range of ideas about God undeniably causes conflict in out society today. Ultimately, however, I believe, the spectrum of opinions keeps people striving for a better understanding of not only spirituality, but also humanity, in a positive way. Over the next eighteen months, I’m excited to learn about religion’s cultural affect on the society I encounter every day. Engaging closely with my peers here at BU, I hope to learn more about the ways twenty-somethings use God in congruence with their lifestyles. It’s going to be a great year!

Kate

Beginnings

For me, this semester is a time of beginning. Yes, I am a Junior, and yes, that does mean that I have been living, breathing, and attending classes in Boston University for the past three years. Nevertheless, this March is a time of beginning.

Although I was raised in the Methodist Church, I am a very new convert to Christianity. Until last March, my Christian background was just that, a background, a comforting undercurrent of tradition that stabilized my life, but which I almost never acted on. Last March I literally woke up to God. One chilly morning I opened my eyes with the overwhelming certainty that God exists, that He loves each and every one of us, and that I should do something about it. I did do something about it; I became involved in Marsh Chapel.

That process was interrupted just a few months later, when I embarked on a semester abroad that took me first to Ecuador, and then to Morocco. These experiences deepened my maturity, both emotionally and spiritually. However, except for this summer, when I worked as a camp counselor for a United Methodist summer camp in Illinois, I have not had many opportunities to explore my vocation in ministry in a concrete way.

This March, that beginning has come. I am so excited. What a great opportunity to share our journey together. What a wonderful way to enjoy good Christian fellowship and support. What a chance to make a difference in our community. I thank everyone involved in the application process for opening this space in which to learn and grow. I am eager to get to know my fellow interns as well as the Marsh staff and community. As we start this process together I would like to share with all of you the blessing my dad gave my brother and I each time we left the house:

The Lord bless you, and keep you;

The Lord make his face shine on you,

And be gracious to you;

The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,

And give you peace (Numbers 6: 24-27).

Bethany

An Introduction

When Brother Larry mentioned that the new Marsh Associates (including myself) would be blogging on a regular basis, it did not occur to me that I might need to explain myself or provide a raison d'être. However, as with any beginning, an introduction is necessary. So let me introduce myself. My name is Rebekah Phillips. I am a junior in Boston University's College of Arts and Sciences studying Anthropology & Religion. I was raised in rural South Carolina by two United Methodist Ministers, and thus spent much of my youth in and around the church. The most fulfilling aspects of my faith have involved humanitarian work: hunger relief, construction projects, and working with children. To quote John Wesley:

Do all the good you can, at all the times you can,
in all the ways you can, in all the places you can,
to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

It is my hope that through this internship, with the support of the Chapel, university, and of friends, that I will grow and develop in a call to ministry. I look forward to prayerful reflection, peaceful community, and diligent study in companionship with the other new Associates and the Marsh Chapel staff.

Grace and peace,
Rebekah