to the class of 2012: celebrations and hesitations

it has always struck me how odd the moments are when inspiration and deep thinking meld together to form blog posts in my head.  here i am, on a random, ridiculously foggy monday night.  11:21 p.m…. i haven’t blogged in weeks (possibly months at this point) and yet here’s a heart overflowing and fingers ready to type….

courtesy of google images

Transitions are something that we all become familiar with at some point in our lives.  Usually this begins around the time we graduate from high school and find that our friends are going off to college, or off to jobs, or off to the military — off to start their life anew.  A time of celebration and hesitation.  There are graduations.  And there are weddings.  And there are friends moving away.  And there are new friends.  And there is change.  Lots and lots of change.

You see, while we celebrate milestones in life — we also hesitate to do so.  In the same instance we are celebrating a milestone such as completing a 3-year graduate degree of all things divine — we mourn the loss of our current normalcy.  Our friends we’ve made will no longer be across the hall or down the stairwell — they’ll be across the city or on the other side of the world.  The singing that we’ve heard through the vent of our bathroom and the cat therapy that we’ve attempted to seek across the hall no longer exist.  We long to celebrate …. and yet, we hesitate.

I’ve been through enough graduations, my own and otherwise, in my lifetime that you might think these transitions become easier to handle … but they don’t.  A vulnerable heart doesn’t heal quickly from change.  I hope you forgive me, Class of 2012, when I long to celebrate with you and for you but the hesitation happens.

To this year’s class of 2012 at McCormick — I hope these words might express the gratitude that I feel towards each of you, even in the moments when I will hesitate to say them.  Our overlapping paths have taught me so much in this one school year — you have challenged, affirmed, pushed, pulled, accepted, laughed, cried, screamed, cooked, baked, hugged, homeletic-high-fived, preached, whispered, prayed, read, and understood.  And I needed that.  McCormick needed that.  The world continues to need that.  All of that.

I hope you keep giving, and if I know you all like I think I know you — the world is in for the gentle treat of a rude awakening from each of you and all of you.

courtesy of Peter Shin

So while hesitations will come.  For me.  For you.  For all of us. Celebrations will continue.  Lives will continue.  Changes will happen and hope will appear.

Thank you Class of 2012.  Now, go knock the world’s socks off.

holy saturday is a mud pile.

Today is Holy Saturday.

For Christians, it is a day that we often forget exists and struggle to know what to do with it.

In terms of emotional clarity — Holy Saturday is a mud pile.  The other days of Holy Week are laid out much clearer for us.  On Palm Sunday we rejoice, on Maundy Thursday we ponder, remember and start to feel the sliminess of betrayal, on Good Friday we question and grieve with Jesus as he takes his last breath, and on Easter Sunday we rejoice with a thousand hallelujahs at what God has done.

But what happens to Saturday?

It feels like limbo.  Caught between the heavy grief of Friday and the overwhelming joy of Sunday.  What are we do to?  Do we continue to grieve?  Honor the day with silence?  Or do we look forward to the future?  Expect miracles and believe them to be so?

Perhaps this turmoil in my mind surrounding Holy Saturday is a metaphor for something bigger.  Perhaps we are a people living in Holy Saturday.  Living in limbo between a world that is broken, longing for justice and the hope of ultimate redemption and reconciliation.

On this Holy Saturday — what will we do?  Perhaps we shall stand in solidarity with the innocent who are killed, hurt and wronged … those like Jesus?  Allowing ourselves and others a hope of Easter while still honoring and recognizing the agonizing pain of Good Friday.

I’m reminded of one of my favorite quotes, fitting for the occasion:

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares. ~Henri Nouwen

On this Holy Saturday, may we be this friend, this advocate for others — honoring those who have been wronged, and standing alongside their struggle.  May we practice a ministry of presence, not always solving or curing but sharing in the pains of life.  May we find the balance of hope and remembrance before the dawn of a new creation.  Amen.

McGuest McBlog McCormick McMission!

Did you decipher the code in the title??

Check out my latest guest post for McCormick Seminary’s The CURE Blog!  I’m disclosing some of our mission trip secrets from our trip to New Orleans in January!

a wolf in my clothing..

If you’re friends with me on facebook or follow me on twitter then you might have noticed this picture in your newsfeed lately:

Originally, I posted it with the caption, “This happened today.  Best day ever!”  Reflecting back on that post (as good bloggers do) — I realized that the caption has the possibility of being misinterpreted and I wanted to take this opportunity to clear the air a bit.  Here are a few of the possibilities that I thought might have run through your mind as you noticed the picture, either now or in your feed on social media:

Local Publicity Stunt:  In this scenario, you probably rolled your eyes, and perhaps a smirk escaped your lips when you noticed the picture.  Knowing my personality and social media addiction, you might have clicked the “like” button and continued to scroll down the page, assuming that the picture would soon end up as a profile picture — and thus was most likely the reason for taking said picture in the first place.

The “That girl is crazy” mindset:  This differs just a bit from the above scenario when you decided that a 28-year-old bought a fad hat when the winter hasn’t been cold and spring is nearly upon us — thus, “this girl is crazy.”

Disapproving of Indulgence:  In this scenario — you might have assumed that this part-time-working, full-time-seminary-student-who-is constantly-referring-to-the-face-that-she-has-no-money-but-obviously-had-enough-to-buy-a-fake-fur-hat-that-she’ll-only-wear-once — was totally flaunting my frivolous-ness all over the internet with this picture. You might have scoffed, or rolled those eyes, or sighed, or even got a little perturbed at the whole thing.

See — the thing is:  I’ve been guilty of assuming pictures, facebook stati, and even other real life conversations into one of these categories.  Assuming the worst, and judging without knowing the person or the story behind it.  It’s not a pleasant thing, this judgment.

You know why?

Because the story is the best part.  The story draws you in and makes you actually think about the situation — and you might even have a change of heart…

The story for this one is simple — but it might soften your heart a little if you dare to read it:

Just after Christmas, I was inspired by my cousins to buy a furry animal hat that went along with theirs.  After much seaching online and debating — I finally settled upon the cutest and most Stephanie-like selection:  a grey wolf hat.  Ordered it January 3.  Got the shipping confirmation on January 6.

And then I waited….

…and waited….

….and waited….

After numerous e-mails with the company — it seemed that my precious cargo was lost in transit and they ended up sending another one.  By this time it had been about 2 months since the original order —- 2 months of anticipation that I might see that little grey package in the lobby of the 1400 building upon returning from class … and everyday disappointment when it, alas, was no where to be found.  2 months of difficult classes, papers, mission trips, and reading, reading, oh the endless reading of this semester!  2 months of the honeymoon of the first semester of seminary ending and realization of the academic and emotional roller coaster that I just noticed I was on ….

2 months can be a long time….

See — when this wolf hat showed up on my kitchen counter yesterday — it was more than a package of fake fur and polyester …. it was a break in the monotony.  It was a glimmer of hope in a tunnel of doubt — and it was, dare I say it — a symbol of hope for redemption.

I realize this is a lot to place on one little package.  and I promise you it is nothing but a symbol of all these things.  But it’s what I needed at that moment, to remind me that in the ups and downs, joys and stresses in life — there is always room for a bit of fun and hope.

I’ve found mine for the moment — where do you find yours?

claiming my ashes

I’m sure most of you have figured out that yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  It’s not really a secret.  Especially in a seminary.

So here at McCormick we had our usual community worship which included the imposition of ashes.  Now this isn’t my first time dealing with ashes, but nevertheless, this time was different.  It’s always different.  That’s one of the funny and amazing and mysterious things about the liturgical year — it repeats itself on end, and yet each season seems profoundly different from the last time around.

Our worship space at McCormick is really a classroom/conference room that is transformed for an hour each week to become a space for our community to gather together in prayer, confession, and the word.  This also means that our space does not have traditional pews, or even chairs that are placed in boxy rows.  Usually, like yesterday, there were 4 sections of chairs all facing towards the middle of the room.  In this configuration, it is impossible to not see the faces of most of the fellow worshippers.

This is where it becomes important for my story.

See, usually when I receive ashes … I walk up to the front of the sanctuary, receive the ashes, and then go sit in my pew watching everyone else receive ashes as well.  The configuration of this new space, however, didn’t allow me to see everyone receive the ashes, but rather allowed me a panoramic view of ashed people at every angle.

It caught me off guard.  Like a revelation of sorts.

It was scary.

and uncomfortable…

and I’m still not sure what to do with it…

The question that leapt into my mind at that moment is haunting me still.  See I saw all those people with ashes on their foreheads — and it symbolized many things, but to see people all together like that symbolized a group.  A group of people set apart for great things.  A group of people called to ministry.  A group of people reconnected with both the earth and God.  A group of people who are wise, caring, and full of grace.

The question?

Who am I to be a part of this group?
Who am I to call myself one of them?

See, naming and claiming myself to be a part of this particular group is more than finding a place where I fit and belong.  Oh no — it’s much bigger than that.  Claiming a space in this group means I am called to something higher than myself, something higher than the group — something that I can’t quite grasp and yet am overwhelmed with understanding.

So this Lenten season — these are my questions, my contemplations, and my prayers.  Discerning what it might be mean to claim a space in this group — a space that I ultimately believe has been already claimed for me by God, but a space that I have only just realized the beginning of the implications….

Here we go, Lent.  Let’s find our common place.

book review {{close enough to hear God breathe}}

The story of the book, Close Enough to Hear God Breathe by Greg Paul is one of redemption.  Not necessarily the one time redemption that Christians commonly refer to in Christ, but a redemption that continues to happen throughout our lives.  Paul divides his book into five sections:  The Heart of the Matter, Creation, The Fall, Redemption, and Consummation.  His stories are centered around personal anecdotes from his life in ministry as well as from his personal life.  Stories of love, loss, and redemption — mostly in very tangible ways.  One quote that I did particularly like from his book is, “I want to ‘hear’ the story God is telling me—the Great Story of his passionate love for all humanity and all creation. Wisdom is being able also to find my own personal little story within that big one. I want my spirit to vibrate at the same frequency as the Spirit.”

The story that Greg Paul tells in this book is one that is very familiar with Christian books of substitution theologies and personal salvation.  There were some stories and ideas in the book that I could really connect with, and there were others that I could not reach past the theological statements of ‘everything happens for a reason’ to find their redemptive qualities.  Paul often speaks of his own family and people he encounters through his ministry to illustrate his stories.  Often, he offers up a problem, his old thought process, an enlightening personal redemption story, and then a new thought process.  While none of this is necessarily wrong, it becomes predictable and repetitive throughout the book.  Overall, I would give the book 2/5 stars.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising

 

 

ripple in still water

 

I took these pictures this summer while visiting the Chicago Botanical Gardens on a gorgeously sunny day.  Standing on the bridge above the pond there seemed a natural place for contemplation and observance.

With the slight breeze dancing across the water, the ripples followed the wind’s melody from a spot I could not pinpoint behind me, to a distant future end that caused me to squint in order to discern.  The ripples seemed uniform, as if following some imaginary drum line’s beat as rhythm.  Each line on the water’s surface fell into place; one ripple after another, spaced evenly, with no room for hesitation.  It seemed a perfect metaphor for what I thought my life should be — following the supposed-to’s, swallowing the should-have’s, and following the path set forth by the first ripple.  It seemed so perfect.

It wasn’t long though, oh no …. not long at all, really, before the duck appeared.  This mallard, with her head held high, confidently swimming directly against the ripples.  This would be the time to explain a few things concerning this duck.  This duck was not swimming against the current for rebellion’s sake.  This duck was not bored with swimming in the easy direction. This duck had purpose.  Confidence.  This duck was on a mission.

The water that effortlessly flowed to the far side of the pond at the wind’s insistence also provided the means for this duck to swim with purpose.

Water is a funny thing.  So versatile.  Both strong and weak.  Both transparent and murky. Both steady and changing.  Both cleansing and polluted.  Both rippled and still.  Water can move us … and yet, we can also move water.  Sometimes it is the very things that seem to push us forward that enlightens us to other things we should push back.

So today my prayer is to be like this duck — what is yours?