Called.

Two years into this seminary journey, I am slowly coming to terms with this idea of 'call'--that I have been, somehow, plucked out of my small little life and dropped into the middle of Holland Michigan to prepare myself for ministry.

If you've kept track of my journey over the past few years, you'll know that I've spent much time and energy telling myself "don't worry--this will all blow over soon and you can go back to your 8-5 job and not think about Jean Calvin ever again." 

Because most days, including today, the thought that I will one day be responsible for a congregation terrifies me.

Precisely for this reason, Jeremiah 1:4-10 and I have issues--because every time I read it, I get this strange feeling that God is speaking to me.  The words jump out of pre-exile Israel and hit me smack in the kardia.

Now the word of the Lord came to me saying,
⁵ ‘Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and before you were born I consecrated you;
I appointed you a prophet to the nations.’
⁶Then I said, ‘Ah, Lord God! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a child.       ⁷But the Lord said to me,
‘Do not say, “I am only a child”;
for you shall go to all to whom I send you,
and you shall speak whatever I command you.
⁸ Do not be afraid of them,
for I am with you to deliver you,

says the Lord.’
⁹Then the Lord put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the Lord said to me,
‘Now I have put my words in your mouth.
¹⁰ See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms,
to pluck up and to pull down,
to destroy and to overthrow,
to build and to plant.’

 To be clear, I make no claims to prophecy--let's face it, I can barely handle the idea that I'll someday answer to "Pastor Sarah." 

But God's words to Jeremiah resonate in a part of my soul that I can't yet find.  "Do not say 'I am only a child,' for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you."  God and I have had this conversation so. many. times. 

It's almost as though there's a grieving process attached to fully accepting this call and living into it--as if I have to let go of the life that I wished I could live, with an easy 8-5 job and a cozy mine-all-mine living space, and realize that my life is no longer my own to direct or control or even make 5-year plans for.

That's not to say that I have no part to play in where I end up or how I get there.  That's not it at all.  But accepting that I am called to Christian ministry means living today in such a way that I will someday be prepared to put on that stole and a "Pastor Sarah'" nametag without having a panic attack.

That means taking my theology classes far more seriously than I do today.  That means really investing time and energy into my internship.  That means taking the steps I need to to be healthy in as many ways as possible. That means not using the dual-track program as a cop-out for all of this preparation, and actually learning my Greek vocabulary.

One of the supreme ironies in all of this came from my Preaching class two weeks ago.  Our professor printed weeks from the lectionary (the schedule of Bible readings that lots of churches use), and randomly handed them to us.  These were the passages that we would be assigned to preach our first sermon on for the class.

What passage is at the top of the list for August 25, 2013?

Jeremiah 1:4-10.

I have three other choices, too, of course--Hebrews 12, a Psalm, and something from one of the gospels. Perhaps I'll choose one of those. But looking at that lectionary page, I had to laugh.  I'm absolutely certain that God was.

Thanks for your grace as I figure all of this out, friends. Perhaps someday you'll be able to tell my congregation that I was once terrified of them, and probably still am.

Today's nerd alert is brought to you by...

...atonement theories.

Only my seminary and pastor friends will understand this, but as I was smack in the middle of belting 'In Christ Alone' in worship this morning, I had this thought:

"Why did I never notice that this song is so heavy on penal substitionary atonement?"

Cue internal facepalm.

Systematic theology will burrow its way into your brain, my friends. 

boring updates.

Since last weekend, I've written at least 10 thought-provoking blog posts--all of them half-finished and unpublished.

Writing is how I process information best, but it seems that I can't quite get to the end of a thought before something else takes over my brain.  Things like classes, reading, remembering to eat.  (One can only live on peanut butter sandwiches and CLIF bars for so long, after all.)

So instead of something deep, thoughtful, or eloquent, you get instead a list of my classes and a few life updates.

1. Two weeks in, I've made my way back to a 'normal' sleep schedule, and have actually been woken up by my alarm for two days in a row.  If you've ever experienced jet lag, then you understand what an accomplishment that feels like.

2. I've enjoyed some amount of free time this week, which was incredibly helpful in processing India and my grandmother's death.  I'm still not at 100%, but feeling much less overwhelmed by it all.

3. I'm still trying to figure out the difference between 'west Michigan nice' and genuine compliments on things like papers, my hair, and other such things. Michigan is an odd, odd place sometimes.

4. When you're stuck in west Michigan, surrounded by snow and people who are 'west Michigan nice', a great conversation with someone who understands the insanity that is your hometown can make you feel a lot less crazy.  Such a conversation was had this week, and thoroughly enjoyed.

Finally and without further ado, a list of my current courses for those of you who wish to know such things:

BL102 - New Testament Foundations
BL101 - New Testament Greek/Greek Exegesis
FR122 - Entering Christian Ministry (Peer Group)
MN101 - Preaching Foundations (yeah, they're letting me preach!)
MN105 - Pastor as Person
MN331 - Dual-Track Cohort
TF114 - Systematic Theology II

--

That's all, folks!

On Grief

Just before I left for India, my last remaining grandparent passed away--my paternal grandmother.  I was in Michigan, which meant a quick trip home for her visitation and back here in time to catch my flight. I came back from India just in time to start classes again, so there's been little time to think, not to mention grieve. 

Grieving on your own like this is an odd sort of thing, though. There comes a point when all of the lovely and well-intentioned "I'm sorry"s just aren't enough, and you wish for a different sort of empathy that can only come from shared experience. It's the silent waves of never-agains, the I-wishes, the should-haves, the remember-whens, and the flash-photographed memories that make this hard.

I purposely didn't allow myself to do any of that in India, because I wanted to take in as much as possible without connecting it to that grieving process.  That it worked, I'm glad.

But now, I'm one week in to another semester at seminary and still haven't made the time to do any of that processing. My family has a massive head start, which means that they've already made it to the fighting-over-possessions stage.  Meanwhile, I'm 300 miles away and still back at "wait, what?"

And so I try to envision, once again, at what the new normal will look like after so much turnover. New pieces keep getting added to an ever-changing puzzle picture, and I sit here praying "Lord, what's next?" 

And instead of "go," I hear "sit, and stay a while."

Week One

Last week, I was standing in a small scarf shop in India talking liturgical colors/seasons with friends, deciding whether the orange or the pink scarf would be better for spring, and knowing that I had to come back to Michigan that night, silently scheming ways to return to India.

Today, I sat in the atrium at Western Theological Seminary watching the snow fall.

It's hard to believe that an entire week of spring semester has passed already.  I think I was asleep through most of it, to be honest, but I'm slowly coming to terms with the reality that this is, in fact, my life.  I've given in to the necessity of things like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming. I'm slowly succumbing to things like Greek vocabulary and New Testament reading.

But as I start a new semester, there's a strange tension lingering between how I want things to be and how they really are--the 'should be' and the existent.  Lately, I find myself daydreaming far more often than I ought to about the world, particularly my world, in better shape than I find it in. It's encouraging to know that such a world might be possible.  But there's a fine balance between hoping for a better world and becoming bitter at the world you see, and I'm really good at falling all over that line.  I'm not lying when I say that every fiber of my being wishes it were in India, but I'm also fighting to be present here.

So as I conquer jet lag, clean up my terribly messy apartment, find some semblance of a routine and hope that it stops snowing someday, I also hope for a world without daydreaming--a reality that I'm excited about and not slightly terrified of. 

...

 

And speaking of slightly terrifying things, standing on this bridge in Kerala was exactly that. This bridge is made entirely out of old pipes and tree limbs, tied together with rope. We fit eight people on it for a photo, and we honestly thought for a while that we would end up in the river.  But we got a fantastic photo out of it, don't you think?

Finding Hope in India

Every fiber of my being wishes it were in India right now.  The snow and bitter cold outside makes my skin ache for warm sunshine, the empty apartment awaiting me makes my heart long for more conversation, more people, more time there to process, and the long list of books to read and papers to write makes my mind long for rest under a cotton-silk tree in Lal Bagh Da.

Sometime, I'll post a play-by-play of what we did, where we went, and how it all shattered my brain into tiny little pieces. 

But before I do that, I'm going to say this:

I didn't use my time in India as wisely as I should have.  I was distracted and anxious and couldn't really think straight much of the time. I hadn't slept properly in days. I tried to absorb as much as I could, take lots of photos when possible, write down what we did and a few of my thoughts, but I wasn't able to enjoy India as fully as I wish I would have. 

It's not a fault in the design of the trip. or its leaders, or my companions--it's just a result of too much going on in my own head. So, as I try to process this, forgive some missing chunks and some bad cultural exegesis.

That said, my experience in India was still mind-blowing, heart-shaping, and above all, full. 

It was full in the sense that we crammed about a month's worth of activity into 10 days, but the India that I saw, particularly in relationship to the Church there, is full of so much good stuff that it's difficult to articulate what exactly I mean.  I'll try, but I make no guarantees.

The India that I saw is, first and foremost, a gorgeous country full of wonderful people doing amazing things in the name of one god--the God who became incarnate in Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.  (How's that for trinitarian thinking, Dr. Stubbs?)

India is full of great coffee (ohsomuch coffee) and delicious food.  I would walk across town in the snow if it meant a south Indian breakfast awaited me somewhere.

The Church in India, in particular, is full of hospitality and love for strangers. So much so, that we actually had to turn down food once or twice because we honestly couldn't eat any more.

Finally, (for today at least) the Church in India is also full of hope in the power of the gospel.

Christians in India, though a very small minority, often know exactly what their faith will cost them. Conversion may irreparably sever relationships with family members, it may get you in trouble with friends or authorities, and may make you into the cultural "other," the outcast.  And yet, people still do it.  They walk away from the life they've known and into a new life with Christ at the center.

Knowing that Christians are considered outcasts in some communities, particularly small ones, may sound rather depressing and sad.  And to be honest, it is sad to know that those relationships are broken.  But knowing that these people were willing to make that choice gives me immeasurable hope that the power of the gospel is not lost in the contemporary world--that the story of Jesus can still turn someone's world upside down like it did mine.

And sometimes, all it takes is a Bible.  I heard story after story of how reading or hearing Scripture changed lives forever--no sermons, no liturgy, no altar call required.  If that's not God at work, then I really don't know what is.



This poster was pasted on the wall outside of our guest
house in Bangalore. It fits just too well.

All this to say that the Church in India is alive and well, friends, and it's doing amazing things. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

Home.

Once I was finished with the semester, I spent a couple of days finishing things around Holland, worked a couple of hours, and then headed off to enjoy my 'free' time.

I was lucky enough to have wonderful and gracious friends in Chicago who let me stay with them for three whole days and two nights, which was probably the single best way to start off break that anyone could have dreamed up. They were all working at different points, which meant that I got some time to breathe, wander, and bond with Biscuit (the cat.) 

Then it came time to drive back to Fulton.

I decided once I got in the car, though, that a pit stop was in order.  I knew it would be slightly out of my way, but I didn't particularly care.

This is where I went:



"The Well"

Major bonus points if you know that this photo comes from Camp Manitoqua, where I spent a large chunk of my childhood summers.

This place was a home away from home for me growing up--it's the place where I was introduced to faith in a way that changed something in me. There, I saw people who loved Jesus not just because that's the way things had always been--but they had real stories, and real lives, and Jesus mattered in them. In a lot of ways, this place is responsible for who I am today.

I hadn't been there since 2007, when I was last a camper, and I probably looked like a huge creeper wandering around on a Saturday in December and taking photos with my phone.

I still don't care.

I wandered past the dining hall, the Well, the chapel, and Cabins A-F, across the bridge, and all the way up to Vesper Hill.  I just stood there for a minute, freezing, and remembered.

That hill, campfire burning on a Wednesday night, was the first place that I said 'yes' to whatever it was that God had in store for me.  I couldn't have been more than 9 or 10, and really had no idea what was going on, but I had a strange feeling that this was right, somehow. 

And it was.

And it still is.

And it always will be.

Obviously, a lot has changed since then. I've changed (thank the Lord!), and the world has changed.  Sometimes, that change is just overwhelming. I deal with change well, I think--I'm sort of used to it--but this year was just ridiculous.  As I drove westward, I spent some time thinking about 2012, and realized just how many times I turned my life upside down because something wasn't quite right. I dropped out of seminary, moved from Michigan to Illinois, got a job, got a different car, quit that job and started a new one, made new friends, reapplied to seminary, quit my job again, moved back to Michigan, made more new friends, and finished another semester.

All of that probably sounds borderline insane. But seeing this place again, and remembering how all of that insanity started--in a specific time and place, where God broke into my life in a very specific way--that gave me back my footing. 

Because it's easy to lose myself and my sense of call in all of this abstract God-talk that goes on in the seminary, I need that sometimes.  I need to remember where I've come from to remember that someone has control of where I'm going. Standing on top of that hill in the cold, I remembered all of those particulars, and all of the times that something entirely ridiculous and strange has happened to bring me here--to this moment, in this place.

Like that Stephen Colbert speech that introduced me to Knox College, or that Facebook ad that got me a job with SummerShine, or the time I spent planning InterVarsity's Large Groups that fostered in me this crazy sense of call. 

And now, I have photos and memories long forgotten from a place that changed everything.  That strange sense of rightness comes along with them.

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," says Elwood Blues.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

One year in.

As of Wednesday at 9:30 am, I have finished an entire year of seminary.

It took me a year and a half, but hey--who's counting?

And in the spirit of "thank God I'm done," here are a few things that I've learned over the last year and a half.  I've certainly learned a lot more, but these are the things that come to mind.

One. I'm a giant control freak. I really like to micro-manage everything, which leads to lots of neuroses when you have nothing to micro-manage.

 

Two. I'm a cat person.

 

Three. Living alone is the weirdest thing ever after being surrounded by people all of your adult life. 

 

Four.  I actually like the "real world," whatever that means.  I like being able to wake up and go to work every day and do something productive. On the other hand, I rather dislike waking up and realizing that I have a full day of class ahead of me.  There's only so much that I can fit in my brain in one day, guys.

 

Five. There is nothing more boring than inventory in the library basement. Nothing.

 

Six. What you do affects who you are, and who you are affects what you do. It's a giant circle that just keeps going and going and going.  One can completely derail the other, but they are forever and inextricably intertwined.  This has all sorts of implications for how we make choices.

 

Seven. If you find yourself asking questions related to the above, Desiring the Kingdom by James K. A. Smith is the best book ever. See also: Shaping the Christian Life: Worship and the Religious Affections by Kendra Hotz and Matthew Matthews.

 

Eight.  Humans are weird creatures, who do things like name their children Matthew Matthews. Who thought that was a good idea? 

 

Nine.  Humans also do terrible, awful things. Humans have a penchant for killing one another, it seems, on massive scales.  Humans abuse and neglect their own children, and others'. Humans mistreat one another so often that simple kindness is now a virtue heralded as wondrous.  We don't seem to understand that our lives are bound up with the rest of humanity's, and that we are not simply individuals coming together out of free will.  We are dependent on one another, and that's the way it ought to be.

 

Ten.  "Faith seeking understanding."  Faith seeks understanding without dismissing it because it's inconvenient. This means accepting things that we don't want to accept because they don't fit neatly into our lives. Things like climate change, like Calvin's thoughts on the sacraments, like discussions on gun control laws.

 

Eleven.  I have very little patience in general, and very little patience for purposely unclear messages.  If one has something to say, why not simply say it?  (I'm looking at you, textbook authors.)

 

Twelve.  I'm still a speech kid at heart.  I spent eight years of my life catching a bus at 5 am on Saturdays during speech season, and I miss it.  I still carry a lot of the lessons I learned there with me, particularly to seminary.  Words are important.  Inflection is more important.  Gesture only above your waist, and only when it adds to what you're saying. Be prepared, know what you're doing, and make sure you're on time. When others are speaking, pay attention. I could write an entire list of just the things that I learned from speech competitions, most of which I didn't know I was learning!

 

Thirteen. I'm slightly addicted to Facebook. This might be problematic in 2013.

Humans.

My mother told me for years that "you can't fix people."  I know that in my head, but I still act like I can. I want to make the pain go away, I want to give out hugs like anitbiotics fighting sadness, and I want people to wake up enjoying their lives.

But I can't make that happen.  No amount of smiling, (even though it's my favorite), no amount of holiday cheer, and no amount of wine can make that happen.

This is extraordinarily difficult for me to accept.  I mean, who doesn't want to make people happy?

But we can't fix.  I can't fix things like depression, or illness, or dementia. I can't take away grief, or hatred, or ignorance.  I can smile, I can encourage, I can give out all the hugs I want, I can make food, I can talk, I can argue, and I can simply sit and cry with people. But none of those things will fix the problems that this world brings us.  They just numb the pain a little.

The risk comes when you sacrifice your own sanity to give others happiness.  When you worry that sharing your problems and struggles in life might make someone else unhappy, so you simply keep them to yourself--that's when you've crossed the line. Eventually, you wind up curled up in a ball in your apartment for two days, afraid that calling someone would be an unfair intrusion into their lives.

So many struggle daily with this self-negation.  It's that little voice in your head that says "you don't matter." That little voice that continually says: "you exist only for the benefit of others."

And it's a hard cycle to break.  I'll argue that it's a harder cycle to break in the Church, with all of its (good and rightful) glorification of humility.  We talk about "emptying ourselves" and "giving selflessly." Those are good things to talk about when the problem is pride, but that sort of talk also feeds into this cycle rather easily. The problem is compounded when self-negating people try to out-self-negate one another to help.

What's the theological response to this?  What's a pastoral response? What's a human response?

I have no answers. I would love to just flip a switch and fix it, but...(see beginning of post.)

self-care fail.

Right now, I'm seated in a quiet corner of the library.  I'm working on a chapel service for tomorrow, contemplating the annotated bibliography that's due next week, attempting to work on my Holy Spirit and Christian Worship project due in less than a week, and sneezing all over the place.

Yes, I've caught the cold that seems to be everywhere. 

That's what happens, apparently, when you consume very little real food over the course of a week and drink coffee instead.

This is by far my worst self-care fail since starting seminary.

I am not a college student anymore.  I cannot avoid sleep to work on homework, I cannot consume more caffeine than food, and I must make grocery lists that include vegetables.

Lesson learned.