I've been sick for the past few days. This makes me mad.
It makes me mad partly, of course, because it means I don't feel good, but it makes me madder because it means I can't work and I can't run. I mean, I'm not going to pretend I hate sitting in a reclining chair drinking tea and watching Gilmore Girls and What I Like About You. But when I started substitute teaching, and many times since, I calculated what I could expect to earn in an average week in, and how I could use that money. Turns out with all the various eschatologically-themed snowstorms recently, I've worked only 2.5 days in February. And then running--around Christmas I was asking advice on how to cut 10 minutes off my half marathon time. Now I'm so behind schedule on training I'm not even sure I'll be able to finish.
It forces us to slow down. I've heard people say that about being sick. I also heard people say that about the snow. And maybe it's true. In general, people in America need to slow down, even if it infuriates us to have to do so. However, I do not consider myself to be one of those people just now. I'm already living life at a crawl these days it seems. So what about when being sick just keeps you slowed down? When it makes life, in the words of Sheldon Cooper, "a swirling vortex of entropy?"
But even so, I suppose I can stand to be reminded that I'm not completely in control once in a while. I'm not completely in control of my income. I'm not in control of my training schedule. I can respond in ways that make the best of both--not spending as much, walking if I don't have a run in me, all that good stuff. And in the meantime, I suppose remembering my own lack of control over my plans is an occasion to trust God for things to be OK despite everything.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
...3 Johns, Jude, and Revela-ation..
I taught confirmation today, the first time I've done so on my own. I was a little nervous. Maybe a little less nervous than I would have been six months ago, since these days my livelihood pretty much depends on showing up places, having no idea what's going on, and teaching. (Or maybe, "teaching," depending on the day. But still. I don't have much experience with Christian ed, especially with youth. It seemed like a good idea to correct that now.
Looking over the book and planning yesterday, I actually got kind of into it. I decided, in the interest of Bible-familiarity promotion, they needed to learn a books of the Bible song. Maybe this was partially for me, because I never learned such a song, and I tend to fumble around a lot in the minor prophets :) So I found one on YouTube and listened to it on repeat a bunch of times. Today it played in my head during my run, except only the last part, "First Peter, Second Peter, 3 Johns, Jude, and Revela-ation." So maybe I will regret that, along with promising them a prize if they could show me they had it memorized, prompting one girl to ask if a dog was too big a prize.
Anyway, I really enjoyed the class today. They asked good questions: "Can God do anything? And if so, why doesn't he make everyone believe in him?" And, "Would God be angry if we called him Mother?" And it sort of made me think about how teaching makes you reformulate things, get down to the core of them. Because I could have totally been like, "Well, let me tell you about process theology, or the classic free will response" and they probably would have gone back to eating their donut holes. I mean, I don't want to talk down to them. I want to convey that there is a variety of answers to their questions, all faithful; I want them to think; I want my answers to have integrity, and not just be the ones that are easy to spoon-feed when we're already pressed for time; and I want to give them something, so that I've taken their question seriously. I want to express those answers in ways that are relevant without making them easy.
I'm sure I know many, many people who have struggled with these questions and are able to find good balances in their contexts. I have a ways to go. But that's one reason I'm glad I'm there. And hopefully, answering questions and putting what I (and others) think into new terms will help me clarify my beliefs as well.
Looking over the book and planning yesterday, I actually got kind of into it. I decided, in the interest of Bible-familiarity promotion, they needed to learn a books of the Bible song. Maybe this was partially for me, because I never learned such a song, and I tend to fumble around a lot in the minor prophets :) So I found one on YouTube and listened to it on repeat a bunch of times. Today it played in my head during my run, except only the last part, "First Peter, Second Peter, 3 Johns, Jude, and Revela-ation." So maybe I will regret that, along with promising them a prize if they could show me they had it memorized, prompting one girl to ask if a dog was too big a prize.
Anyway, I really enjoyed the class today. They asked good questions: "Can God do anything? And if so, why doesn't he make everyone believe in him?" And, "Would God be angry if we called him Mother?" And it sort of made me think about how teaching makes you reformulate things, get down to the core of them. Because I could have totally been like, "Well, let me tell you about process theology, or the classic free will response" and they probably would have gone back to eating their donut holes. I mean, I don't want to talk down to them. I want to convey that there is a variety of answers to their questions, all faithful; I want them to think; I want my answers to have integrity, and not just be the ones that are easy to spoon-feed when we're already pressed for time; and I want to give them something, so that I've taken their question seriously. I want to express those answers in ways that are relevant without making them easy.
I'm sure I know many, many people who have struggled with these questions and are able to find good balances in their contexts. I have a ways to go. But that's one reason I'm glad I'm there. And hopefully, answering questions and putting what I (and others) think into new terms will help me clarify my beliefs as well.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
"What if I'm wrong?": Some thoughts
Recently the Reconciling Ministries Network group that I'm part of on Facebook posted this blog entry by Joey Heath. In it, he responded to the question, asked in a conversation he was part of, of "what if he's wrong" in his belief that homosexuality is not a sin. Heath, who is a United Methodist seminarian working toward ordination, argues that if he's wrong, it doesn't matter. We're all sinners, and salvation comes from faith, not from one's correct stance on issues.
As anyone who knows me knows, I agree fervently with Heath's starting point--that homosexuality is "part of the beloved creation and not a sin." I agree that this is a very important question to have a cogent response to, because it will be asked, and because it furthers conversation rather than hanging on to a blind insistence that there's no possible WAY we're wrong. And, of course, I agree with his conclusion--we are saved by the grace of God, not our own orthodoxy.
But! I wasn't satisfied with the Methodism of his response. So I want to try to put it in what I feel is a more Methodist framework. Heath writes, "No matter how much we seek out perfection, it will be just beyond our reach, because we have sinned and therefore fall short."
Well, often I'm pretty tempted to agree with that, and I think many denominations would (?). But when I'm (hopefully) commissioned, according the the Discipline, I'll have to answer the question, "Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?" And I will have to answer yes. With God's help, of course. So I'm uncomfortable with the statement that perfection will always be just beyond my reach. That may be true, but I'd better believe it's not.
I don't think Joey Heath and I are at odds here, I just think we need to be clear about what perfection means. Christian perfection means for Wesley--as the Discipline says--perfection in love. Christian perfection doesn't mean "an exemption either from ignorance or mistake, or infirmities or temptations" (Sermon 40, I.9). So it follows that I could be "perfect," and still hold fast to an idea or doctrine that turns out in the end to be wrong.
But if I was perfect in love--or even if I was just far, far way and working toward this little by little--I think I would try my best to include the unincluded, however I understood that. I think I would have no choice but to stand up for justice--whatever my sincere but human idea of justice might be. And if I was wrong--if I am wrong--then I have faith that, through the grace of Christ and in the words of Julian of Norwich, "all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." And on that, Joey Heath and I agree.
As anyone who knows me knows, I agree fervently with Heath's starting point--that homosexuality is "part of the beloved creation and not a sin." I agree that this is a very important question to have a cogent response to, because it will be asked, and because it furthers conversation rather than hanging on to a blind insistence that there's no possible WAY we're wrong. And, of course, I agree with his conclusion--we are saved by the grace of God, not our own orthodoxy.
But! I wasn't satisfied with the Methodism of his response. So I want to try to put it in what I feel is a more Methodist framework. Heath writes, "No matter how much we seek out perfection, it will be just beyond our reach, because we have sinned and therefore fall short."
Well, often I'm pretty tempted to agree with that, and I think many denominations would (?). But when I'm (hopefully) commissioned, according the the Discipline, I'll have to answer the question, "Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?" And I will have to answer yes. With God's help, of course. So I'm uncomfortable with the statement that perfection will always be just beyond my reach. That may be true, but I'd better believe it's not.
I don't think Joey Heath and I are at odds here, I just think we need to be clear about what perfection means. Christian perfection means for Wesley--as the Discipline says--perfection in love. Christian perfection doesn't mean "an exemption either from ignorance or mistake, or infirmities or temptations" (Sermon 40, I.9). So it follows that I could be "perfect," and still hold fast to an idea or doctrine that turns out in the end to be wrong.
But if I was perfect in love--or even if I was just far, far way and working toward this little by little--I think I would try my best to include the unincluded, however I understood that. I think I would have no choice but to stand up for justice--whatever my sincere but human idea of justice might be. And if I was wrong--if I am wrong--then I have faith that, through the grace of Christ and in the words of Julian of Norwich, "all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." And on that, Joey Heath and I agree.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Next year, I'm giving up meat
Things I'm not giving up for Lent this year:
1) Sweets. I've done this a bunch before, prompted by the example of my Catholic aunts when I was a kid. I always expected to weigh 10 pounds less by Easter. It never happened. Instead my chocolate addiction was resurrected (yes, resurrected) with a vengeance each time, making it that much harder for next year.
2) Money. I've tried this before too--not buying anything unnecessary--prompted by a sermon my first year in seminary. I thought that was kind of in the true spirit of Lent, so I did it for two years, then got tired of it. Not too long ago I read A.J. Jacobs's Year of Living Biblically, where he tries to adhere to Scripture as literally as possible, and I remember thinking it would be a good Lenten practice to try to take Luke 6:30, "Give to everyone who begs from you," literally for 6 weeks. I still think that would be good. But turns out I don't have very much money these days, so maybe next year when I am rich. I know--nowhere does it say "Give to everyone who begs from you if you can comfortably afford it." But maybe that's just a good verse to generally keep in mind for now...
3) Meat. Who doesn't eat meat???
4) Facebook. It occurs to me that this would be another excellent option, probably also in the "true spirit" of Lent. I waste vast amounts of time on Facebook. Refreshing the news feed, checking if anyone liked my status, keeping tabs on the relationship status of every guy I've ever had a crush on. This is conducive neither to good stewardship of time nor to good mental health. If I gave up--or even limited--my Facebook access, I would have all sorts of time for things like prayer and meditation and learning Spanish. But then again, when your social life isn't exactly abuzz offline, Facebook does help you feel connected. So it's staying, too.
I'm thinking about these things because last year, when I started this blog as my Lenten discipline and committed to have one theological thought a day and write it down, I kind of ran out of things to talk about toward week three or four. That's crazy! If the goal is to think about my whole life in all its aspects more theologically--to see everything through the lens of faith and not just explicitly churchy things--how do you run out??
I know if I read the Bible more, I would more naturally think of life in terms of what I read. I want that for myself--for Scripture to be so much a part of me that I can't separate it from the things I experience on a day to day basis. I've been trying to be better about that for a while now. But maybe for writing I also need some focus. You know, so I could chronicle my experiences during my Facebook fast, or how I felt when I couldn't just walk past the overly-cheerful men collecting donations outside Giant (that did happen today; I was a little annoyed at how enthusiastically they greeted me, like they were personally excited to see me.) Anyway, I'm going to keep thinking, and maybe inspiration will strike!
1) Sweets. I've done this a bunch before, prompted by the example of my Catholic aunts when I was a kid. I always expected to weigh 10 pounds less by Easter. It never happened. Instead my chocolate addiction was resurrected (yes, resurrected) with a vengeance each time, making it that much harder for next year.
2) Money. I've tried this before too--not buying anything unnecessary--prompted by a sermon my first year in seminary. I thought that was kind of in the true spirit of Lent, so I did it for two years, then got tired of it. Not too long ago I read A.J. Jacobs's Year of Living Biblically, where he tries to adhere to Scripture as literally as possible, and I remember thinking it would be a good Lenten practice to try to take Luke 6:30, "Give to everyone who begs from you," literally for 6 weeks. I still think that would be good. But turns out I don't have very much money these days, so maybe next year when I am rich. I know--nowhere does it say "Give to everyone who begs from you if you can comfortably afford it." But maybe that's just a good verse to generally keep in mind for now...
3) Meat. Who doesn't eat meat???
4) Facebook. It occurs to me that this would be another excellent option, probably also in the "true spirit" of Lent. I waste vast amounts of time on Facebook. Refreshing the news feed, checking if anyone liked my status, keeping tabs on the relationship status of every guy I've ever had a crush on. This is conducive neither to good stewardship of time nor to good mental health. If I gave up--or even limited--my Facebook access, I would have all sorts of time for things like prayer and meditation and learning Spanish. But then again, when your social life isn't exactly abuzz offline, Facebook does help you feel connected. So it's staying, too.
I'm thinking about these things because last year, when I started this blog as my Lenten discipline and committed to have one theological thought a day and write it down, I kind of ran out of things to talk about toward week three or four. That's crazy! If the goal is to think about my whole life in all its aspects more theologically--to see everything through the lens of faith and not just explicitly churchy things--how do you run out??
I know if I read the Bible more, I would more naturally think of life in terms of what I read. I want that for myself--for Scripture to be so much a part of me that I can't separate it from the things I experience on a day to day basis. I've been trying to be better about that for a while now. But maybe for writing I also need some focus. You know, so I could chronicle my experiences during my Facebook fast, or how I felt when I couldn't just walk past the overly-cheerful men collecting donations outside Giant (that did happen today; I was a little annoyed at how enthusiastically they greeted me, like they were personally excited to see me.) Anyway, I'm going to keep thinking, and maybe inspiration will strike!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Ashes to ashes
Today being Ash Wednesday, I went to church. It was a joint service with a church nearby, it was as sparsely attended as might be expected (not everyone shares my enthusiasm for liturgical solemnity), and it was at 7:30 in the evening.
In high school, when I was first able to drive myself places, I started going to church before school on Ash Wednesday. These days it would take a lot more than repentance to get me up that early, but I liked having the ashes on my forehead all day. They showed people who I was. Specifically, they showed people that I was the kind of person who got up at ungodly hours for godly purposes. They showed people what a religious badass I was. Sort of like all the years I secretly looked forward to Lent because I got to feel hardcore explaining to people why I couldn't eat that delicious looking donut.
In college, my church had a noon service, so I went to that one. It wasn't quite as badass, I suppose, but I still got to walk around campus with a big gray smudge on my forehead for most of the day, so that was good.
I remember one of my friends in high school remarking cynically (as she often did with regard to the church) how every Ash Wednesday, people gathered and listened to Matthew 6, about fasting in secret and not letting anyone know, and promptly went and did the exact opposite by getting smeared up with ashes. And honestly, because even then I knew deep down why I had gotten up so early, I kind of agreed with her. Isn't walking around with a big smudgy cross on your face just a big, meaningless show of piety?
That's why part of me was glad our service was later this year. I got my smudgy cross and went home, watched Modern Family, wrote this, and will proceed to shower off the ashes. The outside world knows nothing of my piety, and my immortal soul is probably better off for it.
But then again, I miss those early morning ashes. Because they do help you remember that there's something different about the day. Today I barely remembered it was anything but Wednesday. I didn't have to be careful pushing my bangs back. No well-meaning stranger said, "Hey, you got a little something..." Today wasn't solemn, and I didn't feel repentant, and except for a semi-treacherous run in the street and several Facebook posts on my newsfeed reminding me that I was returning to dust, I certainly didn't think about my mortality.
And I didn't get to see someone someone else with a smudgy forehead and smile at them, knowing we shared something. I missed that too. Maybe what we share is the religious badassery of getting up early to repent, but maybe, maybe, it's something more as well. Maybe those ashes do show people whose mark we bear, and remind us to act worthy of it. Maybe.
If anyone's reading--thoughts??
In high school, when I was first able to drive myself places, I started going to church before school on Ash Wednesday. These days it would take a lot more than repentance to get me up that early, but I liked having the ashes on my forehead all day. They showed people who I was. Specifically, they showed people that I was the kind of person who got up at ungodly hours for godly purposes. They showed people what a religious badass I was. Sort of like all the years I secretly looked forward to Lent because I got to feel hardcore explaining to people why I couldn't eat that delicious looking donut.
In college, my church had a noon service, so I went to that one. It wasn't quite as badass, I suppose, but I still got to walk around campus with a big gray smudge on my forehead for most of the day, so that was good.
I remember one of my friends in high school remarking cynically (as she often did with regard to the church) how every Ash Wednesday, people gathered and listened to Matthew 6, about fasting in secret and not letting anyone know, and promptly went and did the exact opposite by getting smeared up with ashes. And honestly, because even then I knew deep down why I had gotten up so early, I kind of agreed with her. Isn't walking around with a big smudgy cross on your face just a big, meaningless show of piety?
That's why part of me was glad our service was later this year. I got my smudgy cross and went home, watched Modern Family, wrote this, and will proceed to shower off the ashes. The outside world knows nothing of my piety, and my immortal soul is probably better off for it.
But then again, I miss those early morning ashes. Because they do help you remember that there's something different about the day. Today I barely remembered it was anything but Wednesday. I didn't have to be careful pushing my bangs back. No well-meaning stranger said, "Hey, you got a little something..." Today wasn't solemn, and I didn't feel repentant, and except for a semi-treacherous run in the street and several Facebook posts on my newsfeed reminding me that I was returning to dust, I certainly didn't think about my mortality.
And I didn't get to see someone someone else with a smudgy forehead and smile at them, knowing we shared something. I missed that too. Maybe what we share is the religious badassery of getting up early to repent, but maybe, maybe, it's something more as well. Maybe those ashes do show people whose mark we bear, and remind us to act worthy of it. Maybe.
If anyone's reading--thoughts??
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