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.