A Week About Women

This has been a week about women for me. And not just because I am a woman, I swear.

Of course, today is International Women's Day, trending on Twitter and in my Italian class this morning where my professor led us in a conversation about "La Giornata delle Donne." But the night before that, I attended the We Say "NO!" to Violence Against Women service at Marsh Chapel. And the day before that, the discussion for my religion class was about Confucian filial piety for women.

There's a thread of continuity here, I promise.   

Let's trace it back to that aforementioned discussion section. After reviewing the expectations of Confucian society for women--namely, that they stay confined to the domestic sphere and influence the world through influencing their husbands--our TA asked what we thought the role of women should be today. Are they meant to be stay-at-home moms? Can they have careers? Should they have careers?

Some of the answers of my classmates shocked me. Things like, "Men are supposed to work. Women are supposed to stay home." I couldn't believe that, in 2012, we were sitting in a classroom saying such things.  I believe that women have the choice to stay home and raise a family--but that they also have the choice to have a career or anything else they dream of doing.

The next day, I went to the We Say "NO!" to Violence Against Women service. There were strong women there--wonderful singers and speakers and activists. Yet there were also men, both in the pews and at the lectern. It was such a powerful, yet tacit message: this is not a battle for women alone. We have allies. Fighting violence against women will only be successful if we have the involvement of both genders. 

And then there is today, International Women's Day. The media is filled with reports on the quality of life for women across the globe; some of the news is heartening, while some of it is heartbreaking. Women in the USA aren't as well off as women in Iceland, the leader of the pack. But we are in a much better place than our sisters in Yemen, at the bottom of the list.

Taken together, this week has made me dwell on the reality of being a woman in 2012. Our world is  now more than a decade into the second millennium. Women have made huge strides in terms of gaining equality. But there are still plenty of problems, things like sexual assault and violence, that are far from being solved.    

And this is where God comes in. As all of us--men, women, people everywhere--exist and fight for rights together, I hope that we remember that we are all children of God. To him, his sons and daughters are equally cared for. We are a family, and families take care of and respect their members. And above all--they love each other.

"The Razor's Edge"

When I first read Henry Somerset Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge, I immediately felt that I had found a fictional role model, and a potential answer to my own struggle with the real meaning of the “straight and narrow.” Matthew 7:13-14 says, “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life.” When I was younger, I imagined this verse to be a warning against sin, a calling to a blameless life. It wasn’t until my teenage years, when I began to take a closer look at the stories of the great men of the Bible that I began to question my own interpretation of this verse. Jacob, Moses, David, all beloved by God, were never saints. Jacob was a cheater, Moses a doubter, David sexually immoral. Yet it is undeniable that they walked the path of salvation. What then, is the true meaning of the narrow path and the small gate? The Razor’s Edge was the turning point in my interpretation of these verses.

Maugham’s protagonist, Larry Darrell begins his life as an orphaned, but well-cared for American teenager. Deemed perfectly normal by his peers, his life seems destined to follow his culture’s expectations of a successful man. Larry goes from being normal to decidedly abnormal after witnessing the death of a friend while serving in the First World War. After returning to Chicago Larry quietly but firmly resists his friends’ suggestions that he finds work, and instead embarks on a twelve year journey in search of religious truth.

The epigraph, and potentially the inspiration for the novel were taken from the Katha-Upanishad, a Hindu text, and reads: “the sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over, thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard.” Although Larry eventually discovers his own philosophy on God, it is not the answers to the questions he poses that are important, in fact Maugham invites the reader to skip the chapter in which Larry describes the philosophy he adopts, but the sacrifice that embarking on the path of seeking truth requires. The decision to search for God, a decision made every day, is the true meaning of the what it means to pass through the small gate and travel the narrow road of Matthew 7:13-14.

Although I, like any human being, falter constantly in my decision to search for God I have found a sympathetic role model in Larry Darrell. The strength of his decision, the grace by which he carried out his search for truth, and the dedication he brought to his journey serve to encourage me on my own decision to, like the rich man, give up all and follow Him. As my time as an undergraduate draws to a close, I stand at a crossroads. There are many paths to choose, but I hope in some small way to emulate Larry by choosing to seek the Lord.

Interfaith Potato-Cleaning

"My Zen Master liked to say there are two ways to clean a pile of potatoes."

It was Tuesday of this week, and I was sitting in a circle with some of the other members of the Boston University Interfaith Council at Marsh Chapel (a quick plug: we meet every Tuesday night from 6-7 pm in the Marsh Room, in the basement of Marsh Chapel!). The topic of discussion this week was the importance of individual vs. communal worship/practice/fellowship/insert-your-own-word-here. One of our members, a Buddhist, had just spoken.

"Potatoes?" I asked him, wondering what root vegetables (though, wait, are potatoes even a root vegetable?) had to do with interfaith dialogue.

Then he explained. The first way to clean a pile of potatoes is to take each one individually and scrub it in the sink. But this method is time-consuming, and, frankly, wastes a lot of water. The second method, however, is to get a giant pot and put water in it. Pour in the potatoes. Grab a stick. Stir.

And, as simply as that, the potatoes will get clean, rubbing against each other as they're stirred until the dirt is cleared away. "It's a metaphor for what my teacher called 'together-action,'" he explained.

"From now on," I replied, "that's our metaphor for interfaith cooperation, too."

It's strange--you wouldn't think of potatoes as a great comparison to make. They don't exactly scream harmony and world peace. But this idea that by coming together--even if there's a little uncomfortable collision and disagreement in the process of being stirred about--can get rid of the dirt and grime of ignorance and misunderstanding? That's a beautiful concept, for root vegetables and for people too. 

Prayer

Prayer is so personal. It is entirely unique to every individual. When I pray, in my mind or out loud, I always begin my prayer “Dear God,” but I am the only one I know who does prayer in this way. I have heard “Loving God” “Holy Father” “Wonderful Creator,” but never ever “Dear God.” I thought about why I address God as though I’m writing a letter, and I came up with a few ideas. First, maybe when I first started praying before bed and at the dinner table, my mom taught me to pray in this way. Maybe “Dear God” was my introduction to prayer, and so that is how I think of it now. But I think there’s more to it than just a practice I learned as a child. So then I thought about the first time I felt God addressing my prayers. I was in the third grade, a time of structure and unvarying routine at school and at home. At school my teacher wrote our schedule on the blackboard for the week, outlining our regular subjects and any special activities planned by the parents or the school. At home my mom woke us up to breakfast and a morning devotional, morning chores, and Flintstones vitamins, and put us to bed with a book, prayers, and a song. One evening I went through the routine prayer, “Dear God, please bless Grandma and Auntie and Mom and Dad and Scott and Evan and anyone who’s hungry and anyone who’s sleeping outside and anyone who’s flying in an airplane…” and oddly added, “and please let us do something fun in school tomorrow.” I knew there was nothing planned, so this fun thing would have to be a good book at reading time or an especially fun recess. However, upon my arrival to school the next morning the plan had changed, and there was Celia Nissen’s mom with 25 small, flat, wooden crosses and hundreds of seashells to hot-melt glue on them. I distinctly thought, “God answered my prayer!” and I still have that cross toda

Not everyone likes the way I start my prayers, but though I have been criticized for it, I haven’t changed my opening address yet. I think the reason I open my prayers in letter-format is because I want to make sure I have God’s attention before I rattle off my concerns and requests. Its kind of a personified way of catching God up to the beginning of my prayer. I know that’s not how it works, but the distinction between “God the all powerful being” and “Jesus loves me this I know” becomes huge when I start to pray. Why would I pray to an essence? I don’t think God micromanages my life, but I do like to think God throws me a bone once in a while, like my wooden seashell cross.

Some recent conversations

Most if not all readers of this job live in a plural environment. We are constantly surrounded by people different than us in almost every way imaginable, beyond the array of necessary human characteristics that is. Each of us is acquainted, almost undoubtedly, with someone who does not share our skin color, sexual identity, socioeconomic status, or religion. It may seem strange to some people that not all Americans are afforded this opportunity. Until I went to high school I had little to no introduction to those different than me.

Growing up in the rural Midwest as a pastor's daughter did not offer many opportunities for conversation with those different from me. Now religious conversations with friends and loved ones who don't share my views of the world are both intensely exciting and frightening experiences. They have also taught me much about my own worldview, revealing my own set of those insidious hidden beliefs that we take for granted, either not acknowledging their presence or never imagining that those around us would differ from our cozily fabricated reality. They have also helped me to work through my own doctrine, fortifying and fleshing-out what I truly believe.

I recently had a couple of conversations with friends that helped me define my stance on the issue of religion and science. These two giants of ideology are often declared incompatible by members from each; debates have led to many a casualty, both on the intellectual and physical plane.

I have entered into this fray several times with friends. I am often quite nicely (literally, my friends are very nice) how I can be such a rational and logical person and a Christian at the same time. Isn't Christianity totally outside of the realm of logic? How could you even use logical processes to explore religion? These are all valid and reasonable questions. The answers to which lie in the nature of the two fields, not in their methods.

Science is often said to be a "hard" subject, a subject in which facts and only facts are sought and heeded. However, few people outside of science (and some within) fail to realize or acknowledge that the scientific process is based completely on mystery. Every scientific finding is only true until it is falsified, and only findings that are falsifiable are accepted. Therefore, we're not really sure what we know until we know that what we previously knew was wrong. An easy example of this would be the before-unquestioned notion that the earth was flat. Completely accepted at the time, it was only when it was proven to be false that this notion became antiquated.

The real issue with Christianity (at least in the scientific perspective) is that the existence of God, at least up to this point, is not considered to be falsifiable. How can you disprove the existence of God when most of the evidence for God is, to the naked eye, untestable. Yet, until the earth was proven to be round, no one knew how to test the hypothesis. It has not been proven that it is impossible to test the existence of God, therefore why is religion seen as something so far-fetched. I explained to my friend that my decision to become a Christian came after the accumulation of so much evidence for the existence of God that I could no longer deny it. Is the scientific process so different?

I believe that the real difference between science and religion lies not in the methods that they utilize, but rather their end goals. Science is devoted to the discovery of how the world works, while religion is devoted to answering the question of why it works. The latter question is not easily answered through physical data, at least that we know; the former is.

I never realized that I had developed such a theory on the relationship between science and religion until I had the chance to speak with my delightful friends. I am so blessed to be a part of the varied and dynamic community that is Boston University.

“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.