Post-Easter Challenge

I had great ambitions for lent this year. Since I was on sabbatical, I thought I’d have time to really devote to keeping some meaningful spiritual practices for those six weeks. But, like most great plans, things didn’t go like I’d intended. For most of that time, I was traveling and had a totally inconsistent schedule. I wasn’t regularly involved in one church community, so it didn’t even feel much like lent. Easter (which also happened to be the end of my sabbatical) snuck up on me much too quickly. So, when I realized that I’d totally missed out on the practice of keeping a discipline for six weeks, I started thinking about what I might take on for the weeks AFTER Easter instead -- some new tradition of focusing on the time between Easter and Pentecost. Because yes, I’m a church nerd. And I really like the way that taking on a lenten discipline challenges me to try something new.

But the time after Easter has a different feel to it than the more serious, wintery feel of the weeks following Ash Wednesday. For starters, it’s spring – the azaleas in my yard are blooming, the sun is out, and people are practically begging you to help them eat all that leftover chocolate. It doesn’t feel like a time to give up the things you love, or to focus on abstinence and quiet reflection. It feels like a time to celebrate new life, to rejoice and give thanks and notice the good things happening all around you. To breathe deep and smell the budding flowers (but not too deep because the pollen count is sky high!). I couldn’t help but be filled with joy my first day back at church. Yes, I admit I was a little sad to be giving up the freedom of sabbatical, but I returned to TEN people getting baptized at St. Paul’s. Ten beautifully diverse people, from third and fourth-generation members of the church (whose great-grandparents were probably responsible for getting the baptistery built) to first-generation Christians and first-generation Americans, who fled their home country as refugees because they didn’t have the freedom to worship there. It was a little piece of the kingdom of God, and it reminded me of how very much I love this church.

So, it feels much more appropriate to take on a practice of joy for the 50 days from Easter to Pentecost. I challenge you to this new practice, too – figure out something that makes you more aware of what a joy it is to be alive, something that makes you feel like your heart is overflowing with gratitude (or something that at least helps you cultivate a feeling of gratitude, even if you’re not in a great place right now). Something that focuses your attention on what you love. I’m listing a few suggestions below to get you started. Pick one (or come up with your own) to do each day, or try a different one every day! It’s a new tradition, so there are no set rules to feel like you have to follow! And remember to have grace with yourself if you don’t stick to it religiously – after all, isn’t grace the whole point of that Easter thing we just celebrated?

ÿ  Journal 3 things you’re thankful for from that day, each night before you go to bed

ÿ  Start each day with a dance party to your favorite songs, and give thanks for your body and how it moves

ÿ  Put your favorite cd’s (or playlist) on in the car, and every time you listen, celebrate the gifts of creativity and music that inspire us

ÿ  Eat a small piece of chocolate (or your favorite fruit) after lunch every day, and really savor it and rejoice in our sense of taste and the bounty of the earth

ÿ  Write  short note or text every day to someone who makes you happy and tell them why you’re grateful for them

ÿ  Sing in the shower. Loudly. Make up songs about what brings you joy.

ÿ  Get a blank art canvas and paint (or just a big piece of paper and markers) and add something new to your picture each day

ÿ  Take a photo each day of something that makes you happy and share it on Facebook/Instagram/Twitter

ÿ  Go for a walk each evening. Watch the sunset if you can. Really notice the beauty around you.

ÿ  Get a good-smelling candle. Each day when you get home, light it and give yourself permission to just sit still and breathe deeply for 10 minutes. Just be, without thinking about all the things you need to do. Give thanks that you exist.

ÿ  Get a post-it note pad. Every day write one thing you like about yourself on a post-it, and stick it on your mirror where you’ll see it when you get up the next day. Celebrate the unique and wonderful person you were created to be.

Feel free to comment and add your own ideas, too!

Endings & Beginnings

Well, it is really here – the last day of my sabbatical. It has been an amazing three months of travel and rest and connecting with special people. I can’t say that I’m ready for it to be over, but I do feel a sense of hopeful expectation about what’s next. Just as we in the church move from Holy Week – observing the end of the disciples’ journey with Jesus on earth – to Easter, when we celebrate new life and the work of continuing Jesus’ ministry in new ways, I am reminded that in what feels like an ending, there is also a beginning. An opportunity for new things to spring up. It helps that it really does feel like spring. The azaleas in my yard have little buds just starting to appear.

I can’t yet fully articulate what I learned or how I changed over the past twelve weeks and thousands of miles. Not all of it was easy or comfortable. In fact, some moments were truly painful – like that icy slide down the side of a ski slope where several trees left their marks on my legs, and being forced to listen to really conservative theology I strongly disagreed with, for three days straight. Other moments were precious and holy – like climbing to the top of a waterfall with my dearest friend; singing with Montagnard children in the small village church in Vietnam; and seeing what strong, beautiful women my sweet Sri Lankan little sisters have grown into. At this point, I can say that I am more fully aware of how good my life is – not in comparison to the lives of others I met, but because I am lucky enough to live a life that has connected me to so many others whose lives are so different from my own; because my life has been so full of rich experiences and relationships. I feel rich. Grateful. Full.

My hope is that even as I go back to a busy schedule and the demands of “ordinary” life, I will continue to find ways to fill up my spirit again. That I will keep pouring myself out doing what I love, but also let myself be filled by what renews and energizes me. I hope that for all of you, too, that you will discover what makes you feel full of life, to share it generously with others, and then to know when to rest and play and take it all in again.

Freedom to Be

Being on sabbatical has been a real gift. To have time to just be, without having a set agenda or schedule (at least, when I haven’t been traveling). To choose whether and where to go to church on Sunday mornings. Some weeks, I’ve enjoyed visiting different worship services, and other weeks I took the rare opportunity to go for a Sunday morning run, or cook a big brunch with friends and stay in my pajamas until noon.  It’s a nice sense of freedom.

But I think one of the best unintended gifts of stepping away from the demands of the church is the humbling realization that the church can get by just fine without me. I feel like I do meaningful work and people appreciate my presence, but great things are happening in my absence, too. I’m excited to jump back in and be a part of those great things in just over a week, but I think it’s healthy for us a ministers to be reminded that the work of the church is so much bigger than any one of us. The health and success of our congregations, our denominations, and of contemporary Christianity is not on our shoulders alone, no matter how weighty the demands of our calling sometimes feels. I am called to this vocation, and I believe that God has given me unique gifts to offer to building up the kingdom of God, but when we start to take ourselves too seriously, stepping away for a bit is good for the ego and the soul.

To get even more personal with the ego-check, taking time away has been a helpful reminder that there is more to ME than being a pastor. It feels good to be needed -- so good that in this line of work it’s easy to start tying your self-worth to how well you meet other people’s needs. Suddenly, when the sabbatical started and the emails and phone calls stopped, I had time to think about who I am and what gives my life value and meaning beyond being there for everyone else. It’s both humbling and empowering to be reminded that I don’t have to earn the right to be loved and accepted. No matter how much we preach it, this is a lesson that we ministers can find extremely hard to apply to our own lives. Three months of doing just want I want to do (and of having to figure out what it is that I want to do anyways) has helped me rediscover that there’s a lot more to my identity than being a minister, and given me the freedom to just let myself be myself, without worrying too much about my role or my impact on others.

In the day-to-day life of the church, it’s easy to get caught up in the weight of our task as Christians. To put great pressure on ourselves – whether we are clergy or laypeople – to save the church. We agonize about declining numbers, and how to convince “the unchurched” that they need what we have. We worry about what others think of us, and whether we are doing enough. Maybe it’s just the giddy optimism of sabbatical making me too relaxed, but I wonder if we all need to take a step back and adjust our perspective. Maybe we just need to have some grace with ourselves and remind ourselves who we really are at our core, as the body of Christ. Instead of focusing on what others think of us as the church, maybe it’s time to re-discover what brings us joy and meaning, and spend our energy on those things. Instead of making decisions based on whether it will drive people into or out of the church, let’s make decisions based on who we are called to be as God’s people, and do it boldly and faithfully.

This past week, I’ve been delighted to see the leaders of my denomination, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), make a rare public stance on legislation in Indiana that (as I understand it) allows businesses to refuse service to some individuals if doing so conflicts with their religious beliefs. A core part of our identity as a church is welcoming everyone who wants to take part -- everyone – to receive communion. We don’t believe we have the right to deny anyone else access to the Lord’s Table. So, to be true to who we are, church leaders are considering moving an upcoming national church assembly out of Indiana, to somewhere where the rights of all to be served are protected by law. Too often, we have hesitated to rock the boat, to do anything that might disrupt the sense of Christian unity among our diverse congregations. Unity and allowing for diversity of views are both core values of the Disciples of Christ, too. In this case, however, I like to think that Disciples leaders felt compelled to act based on God’s call to practice radical welcome, regardless of how popular or unpopular it makes us; that they remembered who we are as a church, and felt empowered to be that church, and leave the rest up to God.

God’s work in the world will go on with or without us. New life will spring up whether we are there to witness it or not. May knowing this fill us not with fear or a sense of irrelevance, but with the freedom to live our lives authentically, and to be fully who God has made us to be.

Language Barriers

It's really humbling to not speak the language. Most other places I've travelled, people generally speak at least a little English, or I know enough words in the local language to get by. Here in central Vietnam, away from the tourist areas, neither is the case. Communication is a challenge, in restaurants, shops and taxis. We've been dependent on the few people who do speak a bit of English, like the hotel receptionist or Nhup (when he's with us). And we've gotten good at charades! It's definitely given me more empathy for the Montagnards and other immigrants who come to the U.S. and have to depend on others to do even basic things that require language proficiency.

We haven't always been sure what we'll end up getting when we try to place an order for food or drinks. Our taxi driver had a whole conversation with us the other day, and we have no clue at all what he told us! But other times, somehow the meaning gets through even without the right words. Yesterday, it started pouring rain when dad & I were out walking in Kon Tum, so we ducked under the awning of a coffee shop. A group of Vietnamese people sitting on the patio pulled up two extra chairs and waved us inside to sit with them. They shared their roasted sunflower seeds and guava, and we managed to introduce ourselves and share what country we came from. With hand signals, we learned each other's ages, and who was married, and how many kids and grandkids everyone had. One lady kept laughing uncontrollably and we're still not sure why, but it didn't seem like she was laughing AT us, at least! It was a nice moment of surprise connection.

We've had many moments of connection across the language barrier on our visits in the village, too. There's plenty of body language to communicate welcome, like handshakes and smiles, toasts and insistently waving us over to taste each and every pot of rice wine. Music helps, too. The last couple of days we've done lots of singing with a group of little girls at the church. They sang songs in Vietnamese and Jarai for us, dad and I sang a few songs for them, and then we taught them several simple English songs. They were so excited they practiced them over and over and over again. By the time we left, they really had "Jesus Loves Me" and "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" down.

Speaking the same language isn't essential to developing a friendship, as many at St. Paul's already know well. But it sure does make life a whole lot easier and more convenient, more predictable, when you can be sure you're understood. It takes a lot more faith and trust to go through your day hoping that everyone around you is on the same page as you, especially when they are in control of where you're going or what you're eating!

Finding Our Way

We really weren't sure what we were getting into when we got into the taxi. The evening before, we'd sent Nhup off with his relatives on their motorbikes back to his village, while dad & I stayed at a hotel in the small town of Kon Tum (Vietnam), about an hour's drive away. Nhup had given instructions to the hotel receptionist so she could help dad & I get a taxi to the village the next day. The taxi driver didn't speak a word of English, so we didn't know exactly how much he knew about where we were going. We didn't quite know what to expect when we arrived in the village -- what it would be like, what we'd do there, how we'd find Nhup (Nhup hadn't seemed concerned the day before that we'd be able to find him, or the village itself).

We drove for almost an hour, down progressively smaller and bumpier roads, until we finally came to a fork in the road and the driver turned to look at us. I pulled out the phone number we had written down for one of Nhup's relatives, but it had the international dialing code at the beginning, and we couldn't figure out how to dial the right prefix for calling within Vietnam. Just as we were pondering what to do next, Nhup's brother in law drove by on his motorbike! We had met him the day before in Kon Tum and luckily we recognized him and he led the taxi driver just a few hundred yards up the hill, down the correct fork in the road, to our destination.

A large crowd was gathered outside Nhup's mother's house, and they led us inside and sat us down on mats. Nhup wasn't there at the moment, but clearly this crowd was expecting us, so we all shook hands and sat there and smiled at each other. I remembered I had brought the photo cards that St. Paul's made, so I got those out and started passing them around, pointing out the pictures of Glun, Jum, Neh, Nip, Loi, and others that they would recognize. Everyone got excited and had fun looking through them. I pointed out the kids born in the U.S. and said the names of their parents. Nhup's mom was excited to see the pictures of her granddaughters. After a few minutes, Nhup got there, and there was also a teenage girl who spoke decent English who arrived and became our guide for the day.

It felt like we spent the rest of the day eating and drinking our way around the village! We went to Nhup's brother's church, then Hnam's family's house. We went to Glun & Jum's old house where Glun's brother lives now. We went to Hon & Biyu's son's house. At each one, we were given something to eat or drink, or some kind of gift. We couldn't converse much, but we at least exchanged names and handshakes and did our best to communicate a bit. We definitely felt like local celebrities. All of Nhup's family, friends & neighbors have spent the week celebrating in honor of his return. Dad & I have visited the village for a few hours each day, making the rounds to different homes. More stories to come!

There's a Time to Build Walls, and a Time to Break Them Down

Over the past few years, I have really enjoyed being a part of Habitat for Humanity of Wake County’s Interfaith Builds. Some of the most active and enthusiastic leaders and volunteers were from NC State’s Muslim Student Association. I was totally impressed by the young women in headscarves swinging hammers beside me during our first build, and amazed at the energy of their student leader, Farris, who was one of the key organizers of the project. And so my heart broke today when I read the news that his brother was one of three young people killed in Chapel Hill this week, most likely because they were Muslim.  

We are shaped by our experiences and relationships in powerful ways, ways that influence how we understand the world around us. I have been fortunate that my life has been filled with relationships of welcome and hospitality. It’s made me love meeting new people from different backgrounds. I love learning their stories and finding ways to connect and communicate across the cultural and linguistic barriers that separate us. I’ve never felt the need to fear people who are different from me. I haven’t had to fear for my life or my safety, either because I grew up in the midst of a war or because my neighbors disliked my religion or ethnicity. I haven’t felt like my way of life was threatened by outside forces.

At times, I’ve been in the minority, but almost always a privileged one. I grew up as an American child in Germany; I worked in mostly African-American neighborhoods in DC, as a young white woman; I served as a Christian missionary in northern Sri Lanka, among mostly Hindu Tamil people; I’m now a female minister in a vocation where men still dominate, but in a denomination where women are welcomed in leadership positions. As a result of my experiences, I find it exciting and fascinating to make friends from other countries, religions and cultures. They help me see the world in new ways, they inspire and encourage me with their own stories. They have taught me about generosity and resilience.

I’m thankful that I’ve never needed to fear people who aren’t like me. Fear can breed anger, distrust, and isolation. So, I’m deeply troubled by the growing fear and resentment in the United States towards people perceived as outsiders, especially our Muslim neighbors. I realize that many Americans feel fearful because of ongoing violence committed in the name is Islam. We hear more and more stories about killings, kidnappings, and terrible acts by Muslim terrorists against Americans and our allies. Many Muslims, in the US and around the world, are afraid, too. Many of them have lived with the threat of violence as a daily reality.

If we let our relationships be driven by fear, then the problem will only get worse. The vast majority of Muslims are not terrorists. I believe that the vast majority of Christians sincerely want to practice Jesus’ call to love our neighbors. At our core, most Americans value diversity, even though living it out often makes us uncomfortable. We will never come to understand one another and build trust, we will never all be able to feel safe, until we break down the walls between us and learn each others’ stories, until we learn each others’ names and experiences. May we all keep working together to build a community where understanding drives out fear, and where love is stronger than hate.

Beyond Pictures

The pictures just can't capture it. We've said that over and over the past few days, as we've traveled across Sri Lanka. The natural beauty we've encountered is awe-inspiring. Hiking through Horton Plains, the environment changed every few kilometers, from scrubby plain to woody forest, from cliffs and cloud forest with swirling mist to steamy tropical jungle with a gushing waterfall. Now we're relaxing at a beach so perfect it seems unreal. Crystal clear water with crashing waves, and soft sand stretching out for as far as you can see.

Even some of the human touches have left us enchanted -- the Kandalama Hotel built into the landscape, incorporating rocks and trees and even the playful monkeys into its design; the magical cabana right on the beach that has been our home in Tangalle for the past few days; the ruins of a monastery at Sigiriya built on top of a towering rock fortress with panoramic views in every direction.

So much beauty in such a tiny country. It's such a treat to get to take it all in. Of course, there are moments that bring us back to reality, too. The slow, sweaty climb up hundreds of stairs to reach the top of the rock fortress; The endless curving hairpin turns on the drive to and from Horton Plains (some of which was done in thick fog at 5:30am); the rat that ran across my foot when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night! The wonder and the reality seem equally hard to capture into one image or description. It all blends together, into one incredible journey. One indescribably complex country.