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.

Hospitality

My heart and my stomach are both filled to capacity after a week visiting old friends in Jaffna. Each person I met offered great hospitality, and usually some kind of edible treat or meal. I've come to expect this gracious welcome there, though it's still always humbling. But today, I was once again amazed at the generosity of strangers, people who have little, yet still sent us away with our hands full.

This afternoon Hollie and I visited about seven or eight different families in the Vanni who have benefited from the work of Kaveri Kala Manram, a cultural and development organization run by my friend Pastor Joshua. The Vanni was the worst hit area in the most recent final stage of the war in Sri Lanka, and nearly all of the houses in the villages we went to were destroyed. Many people lost limbs or family members in the bombings. KKM has helped many widows and disabled people begin small organic farms and coconut plantations for income. Several of the people we visited were eager to give us samples from their gardens. We were sent off with a giant gourd, peanuts, some mystery root vegetable, sugar cane, and even flowers. The gardens were really beautiful - even though they're meant to bring food and income for the families, nearly everyone had also planted beautiful flowers. A beautiful sign of hope in a place that has seen so much suffering for so long. We also saw some really cute 2-hour-old baby goats!

Worth the Journey

I was just starting to wonder if the long trip was really worth it -- travelling for several days, getting up at the crack of dawn to catch a train, feeling exhausted... and then I got to Jaffna, where I used to live. It's been a whirlwind of reunions since. Definitely worth the journey. The best part has been seeing some of the eighteen girls from the girls home where I used to spend a lot of time. They're like little sisters to me, and now they are all grown up. Many of them were from difficult backgrounds and faced a lot of discrimination. When I first came, we barely managed to communicate with each other. Now, some have finished college and are teachers and social workers, and helping to improve their communities. Some are finishing high school, and are doing really well -- playing on the school sports teams, on the school counsel, and just sweet, beautiful, spunky young women. Some are married now and have kids -- which makes me feel really old!

We spent a wonderful day together, going on an adventure around the Jaffna peninsula to Kashurina beach; to a sacred Buddhist site, a famous Hindu temple and a unique little Catholic shrine -- all of which used to be in the high security zone during the war and off-limits to civilians; and on a really amazing boat ride in a fishing boat, in the village where one of the girls lives. About fourteen of us climbed into this long, narrow wooden boat, squealing as it rocked back and forth so much that we were sure we were going to tip over. Luckily, the water was only 2 or 3 feet deep! We sailed out a long ways - it felt like we were at the far ends of the earth. Then, the two fishermen in the boat used poles to push us all the way back to the shore. It was a really magical experience.

And that was just the beginning -- the past week has been full of amazing, colorful, unforgettable moments with old friends exploring this incredible place. So much has changed here since I left, so much new construction and development, and in many ways life is much easier and more convenient. The roads are better, there's much more access to the internet, nice restaurants, even resort hotels -- things you wouldn't have imagined 9 years ago. I have lots of stories and pictures I will share later. For now, poyitu varein -- I will go and come. Off to explore and visit some more!

I didn't expect to feel culture shock. Not coming back to a country that was home for two years, and that I've visited a couple of times since. But things work differently here. Walking down the street, people stare at you as a single foreign woman. I'm in a different position, too. I'm not the missionary on a visit to the capitol, staying with Sri Lankan friends. I'm a tourist, in a hotel, coming back after a long time away, to a country that has spent the last 5-6 years living into it's tentative, new found peace after decades of civil war. There's a fancy new expressway from the airport into town. There are new crosswalks with crossing signals that people actually use to cross the busy main road, instead of playing a real-life game of frogger. Mainly, the sights are still familiar. But now I feel out of place.

What made me feel more at home was connecting with people again. And food. I felt better after I went to visit my two Aunties I used to stay with when I was in town. We caught up on the gossip, and ate hoppers (yum!). The next morning, I went to church and saw more familiar faces, and sang familiar hymns (well, tried my best to sing along in Tamil), and ate my favorite thosai and sambal at fellowship time after worship. This afternoon, I had lunch with one of my favorite families, who beautifully blend Sri Lankan and Western (Polish\Canadian) culture and practice generous hospitality. It is people who make a place feel like home, and sharing food together that really draws people together. Eat. Pray. Love. Off to a good start. Oh, and I did run a bit in the hotel fitness center this morning, too. It had a great view, but no air conditioning.

As I think about how we welcome people to our country back in the U.S., it reminds me how important relationships are. It takes more than a job and housing and health insurance to start life in a new place. It takes connection to people who make you feel at home.

Eat, Pray, Love, Run

One of the great moments of a long trip is sitting down on the airplane and knowing that for the next few hours, all you can do is just sit there and relax. All the packing, planning, organizing, errand-running that have led to this moment have to be left behind.

The last few weeks have felt like a whirlwind of activity, with Christmas, getting things organized at church, and preparing the details of the trips that lie ahead. The last few years have been a whirlwind of activity - St. Paul's is a busy and exciting place, nearly all the time. I like to by busy and active, and have trouble sitting still for long. But I am ready to remember how to be still for awhile.

Today, as I waited impatiently in line at Target, trying to check off one more item from a long pre-trip to-do list, I remembered how often I had to wait for things when I lived in Sri Lanka. Lines were often long, travel was often slow and filled with check-points, programs rarely started on time, and life just moved at a different pace. I got used to waiting patiently. It became part of the rhythm of life. So, it seems fitting that I'll begin my sabbatical with a trip to Sri Lanka.

Though it's not especially original, I've decided to sub-title my sabbatical journey, "Eat, Pray, Love, Run." I'm looking forward to eating my way through all kinds of cuisines in the next few months. I'm already dreaming about the delicious curries, fruits and other foods I've missed from Sri Lanka, so I want to be really conscious of slowing down and savoring them when I eat.

Traveling is usually when I do my best journaling and reflecting, since there are so many interesting new sights and experiences to process. So, the next few months should provide some great opportunities for conversations with God, looking and listening for new insights. I hope to make plenty of time for prayer, especially the kind where I stop telling God everything I'm thinking and let God take over the conversation.

As I spend time with old friends, and hopefully make some new ones, I want to be really present with the people I meet and let them into my heart, to experience the joy of connection that goes beyond culture and language. I want to be generous with my time and attention and affection.

And I also want to continue to feel healthy and strong, and do lots of hiking and running. Even though that is the exact opposite of literally being still, those are activities that quiet my mind. I hope as I run over the next few months (including my 2nd half marathon!), I can focus on being present and aware of what my body is doing, rather than on how fast or far I'm going.

I'm so grateful to have this time to live life at a different pace. Though the schedule will still be busy, it will be filled with a different kind of activity, and - hopefully - I will approach it all with a different attitude and spirit. Instead of rushing through in order to get it done, I can be in the moment. Especially that moment tomorrow when I board the plane!

A New Name

Community is important, and helps you know who you are, and to be more fully who you want to be. The community at St. Paul’s Christian Church has been working on legally changing the names of fifteen Montagnard refugees who are part of the church, so they can claim the family names they were denied in Vietnam. There was a lot of paperwork involved – forms, copies of IDs and greencards, signatures and stamps. The day we went to the Wake County Courthouse and the new names became official was a milestone, but it didn’t feel really special or meaningful. When it was all done, Ni asked if that was really it – he expected some questions, or a swearing-in, or something more ceremonious than being handed a piece of paper.

What was really powerful, though, was this past Sunday morning when we had a Name Blessing service at the church. Each person’s new name was said aloud as we drew a cross on their forehead with water – a combination of an anointing and a baptism, since there are no models for an adult christening service.  The whole community gave thanks for each person named and prayed, “May our God, who knows your name, bless you and guide you.” Scriptures were read in both Jarai and English, and Jum and Tuat gave beautiful, heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving that they had written themselves.

It was especially powerful to hear Nip speak about why this meant so much to her. Here’s part of her speech:

As a human it is important to have a family name, so we know where we belong. It’s important to everyone and it’s important to my family too. What does it feel like when you do not have a family name, but instead, just “male” and “female”? Montagnard people in many places of Vietnam are still carrying it. An “A” for is male and “Y” is for female, which has been given by the Vietnamese. When many Montagnards are here in America, they find each other and try to unite. It is a pleasure that we finally officially, legally carry our family name. When we have our family name we can find other people from our village. This is a huge change for us. We now can look up as we walk forward in this new life.

Praying beside my Montagnard friends, I felt like I was exactly where I belong – in a community of people from different countries, backgrounds and cultures who work together and know each others’ names and stories. These are the people who shape me on my journey through life. I become more fully who I want to be when my Montagnard neighbors remind me of the importance of family and faith, and remind me that with courage and a caring community around us, we can overcome any challenge.

Love & Marriage

6 Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.
7 Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot sweep it away.
If one were to give
all the wealth of one’s house for love,
it would be utterly scorned. (Song of Songs 8:6-7)*


I have always imagined that one day, I will get married.

Even through countless uninspiring dates, the challenges of telling potential dates that I am a minister, and offers of an arranged marriage from friends in Sri Lanka with eligible cousins or brothers (or “cousin-brothers”)**, I have not given up hope that one day I will meet the right person, the person I want to make a commitment to emotionally, spiritually, financially, and legally. As frustrating as the search has been, and continues to be, I have the assurance of knowing that once I do fall in love and am ready to commit, I have that option. That is an option that could soon be permanently taken away from many of my friends in North Carolina.

Amendment One, which will be on the ballot May 8, would make marriage between a man and a woman the only legally recognized union in the state according to the constitution. Anyone who dreams of building a life with a partner of the same gender would be denied the legal, financial and civil benefits that come with state-sanctioned marriage.

If passed, this amendment would not stop anyone from falling in love. Same-sex couples will go on caring for one another, making faithful covenants to share their lives, and building futures together, just without the same rights and recognition as straight North Carolinians. Amendment advocates who push the “slippery slope” argument – that if we allow gay marriage, then the definition of marriage will somehow become less sacred – should know that the law cannot quench love. As a Christian, I believe that love is one of the most powerful forces that exists. As the church prepares to celebrate Easter, I am reminded that the love and faithfulness of Jesus was stronger than all the forces of the Roman Empire, stronger than the disapproval of the religious authorities of his time, stronger than the voices of the majority who urged their leaders to silence his teachings, stronger even than death.

Amendment One may take away the civil rights associated with marriage from our gay and lesbian neighbors, but it will not stop them from making the emotional and spiritual commitments that lie at the heart of a faithful covenant. And it is this non-legal aspect of a covenant relationship that, to me, truly defines marriage. Ironically, the pro-amendment push to define marriage, in order to protect the institution itself, may actually serve to present marriage as more about government recognition than about loving commitment. Legal rights are important, and meaningful, but they are not what define healthy, life-giving relationship. They are not what I dream about as I psych myself up to go on yet another first date, hoping to find a deep connection with another person.

For my friends of all genders, of all sexual orientations, of all the diverse types of family configurations and household types, I plan to vote against Amendment One.

For all residents of NC whose love defies a single definition and whose hopes and dreams and relationships are every bit as valid and important as my own, I plan to vote against Amendment One.

For all my lesbian sisters who have supported and listened to me through my dating ups and downs, who have cried and laughed with me through disappointing first dates and heartbreaks and ridiculous crushes (even as I’ve done the same with them), I plan to vote against Amendment One.

For all the couples – both gay and straight – who have been my role models of what a meaningful committed relationship should be, I plan to vote against Amendment One on May 8.



*Listen to Julie Lee’s beautiful song, Many Waters, based on this scripture: http://www.myspace.com/stillhouseroad/music/songs/many-waters-featuring-alison-krauss-142295

**In Sri Lanka, the term cousin-brothers /cousin-sisters is used for the children of two same-gender siblings (the children of two sisters or two brothers), as opposed to “cousins,” which are the children of a sister and a brother.

The Dog Ate My Lenten Devotional

It's true...my roommate's dog actually ate my lenten devotional book. I guess he was really hungry for some inspiration. Either that, or he was trying to get the taste of wallpaper glue out of his mouth, since he also recently ate a chunk of wallpaper off the wall. I was planning to remove it anyways eventually, so he just got it started for me.

I actually didn't miss the devotional book that much either...I was about a week behind in the daily readings anyways, and I could get another one from church if I wanted.

Lent seems like an especially good time to contemplate what we hang on to, salvage or protect in our lives, and what we are willing to let go of, throw out or leave behind. In a recent conversation with some women at church (the fabulous Mary Circle!) several people mentioned that they had been trying to de-clutter their houses, and how difficult it was. One inspirational 90-year-old church member has been diligently cleaning out the house where she has lived for decades, in order to move into an independent living facility. Life seems to lead us to collect so much stuff that goes along with our memories and experiences, our relationships and our dreams...and not only the physical accumulation of clothes, books, photos, etc., but the emotional and spiritual collection of ideas, beliefs, places we love, people who have impacted us in some way...grudges and crushes, heroes and hopes, expectations and disappointments.

Is there a way to let go of the clutter in our hearts that keeps us from being fully present in the present? I don't know, but maybe the first step is letting go of that chewed up Lenten devotional book and instead of the time I would have spent reading it, I can spend some time reflecting on what else needs to go...

Grace & Other Unintended Lessons

Well, clearly my intention of doing a daily blog post for Lent has not happened! But what a good way to be reminded of what a gift it is to receive grace. This is a new benefit to practicing Lenten Disciplines that I had't really thought about before -- that when we aren't quite as disciplined as we meant to be, that we are reminded anew of God's mercy and forgiveness -- which we can never earn anyways through our own actions.

I don't think God really cares one way or the other whether I type out my thoughts every day -- what matters to God (in my humble opinion, anyways) is that I make the effort to live out my faith in meaningful ways (through prayer, writing, worship, acts of compassion, practicing spiritual disciplines, etc....).

God also doesn't really care that I have also given up meat for Lent...because faith is not about being deprived or suffering. In fact, I didn't give up seafood, so it turns out that I've actually been eating BETTER than usual - lots more shrimp, salmon, etc. than my usual diet. But, every time I go to order from a restaurant menu or plan what to cook for dinner, I do pause and remember that my options are slightly different from usual; several extra times a day I remember that it is the season of Lent, and I think about God just a little bit more often because I am eating differently. So, while going semi-vegetarian is not the deprevation I might have intended at first, it has still drawn me a little bit closer to God.

It makes me smile to think that God has a well-tuned sense of humor, and likes to throw surprises at us. Just when we think we are going to do something holy and righteous, God gives us a good laugh at ourselves to keep us humble and looking to God for wisdom. Just when we think that we are going to impress God with our discipline and good works, God impresses us with grace and love we do not deserve.

Keep It Simple

Sometimes, it's harder to say things simply and directly. This past Sunday, I preached the same "basic" sermon 3 times, in 3 different settings. Even though the central message stayed the same, I re-wrote it for each service to tailor the style and wording for the audience.

The easiest one to write, and the one I started with, was the most formal and wordiest one, for our traditional worship service. I altered it slightly, to be a little more conversational, for our contemporary worship service - and added a slideshow to go along with the sermon. The most challenging, strangely, was the version that had the most basic theology and vocabulary. It was for the Montagnard-American Alliance church's worship service, a congregation composed of Montagnard refugees from Vietnam, many of whom are fairly recent converts to Christianity. The sentences had to be short, so they could be translated into Jarai as I preached. The images and language had to be easily accessible to a community with different metaphors and experiences than my own.

I have always been a slow writer, largely because I choose my words and construct my sentences carefully. The flow is important to me - I search for just the right phrasing and language. I love the right-click thesaurus in Microsoft Word! So, it was a real challenge to let go of the desire to speak poetically and to instead construct brief, concise phrases that explained exactly what Lent is; that said why we often give things up for 6 weeks; that tried to quickly clarify who Satan is and why he'd want to tempt Jesus...to re-read each sentence I had written with new eyes that urged me to explain so many of the ideas that I take for granted because I've grown up with them.

It was such a helpful exercise for me, though, to have to boil down my fancy words to expose the real foundation underneath. To speak the good news in it's most simple, direct form. To figure out what I was really trying to say that would matter to someone who had really confronted evil & violence firsthand and who had truly found new life by starting all over again in a strange country.

The simplest things are often the hardest, but they can also be the most rewarding.

Are you sure?

"...I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can't

you can't you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don't write"

(Berryman, by W.S. Merwin)

This poem seemed an especially appropriate one to come across as I am trying to do more writing...and as I was trying to write a sermon the past few days. It fits well with my motto that kept me going through the last few months of Divinity School, too: "It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be done."

How much of our lives do we spend worrying about being perfect, rather than just living...how often do we keep ourselves from trying something because we fear we can't do it good enough? I know this is something I struggle with. It's something I'm working on - giving myself permission to fail, to not be perfect, to attempt things because they're worth doing, not because I am sure I will do them well.

For years, I avoided singing in public (well, except in a big chorus full of people so no one could hear MY voice). I was convinced I didn't sing well, and so no one should have to listen to me sing. But then I started singing along with our praise band at church, and realized that not only did I really enjoy it, but i wasn't too bad at it. Now, I'll step right up to the mic, and not worry about whether every note is perfect - I just sing with my heart and have fun.

My friends and I have formed a band, too. Not all of us are great -- I took 6 weeks of guitar lessons about 10 years ago -- but some of my favorite nights are when we gather around a firepit in someone's backyard and find ways to blend our ecclectic mix of instruments (guitars, mandolins, a banjo, a harmonica, Indian drums, A Native American flute...). We laugh and occasionally make something that sounds like real music, and I always end those nights feeling joyful and inspired.

You can never be sure...but who says you have to be? You just have to start.

Life Ain't No Dress Rehearsal

For a long time, one of my goals has been to write more. As we begin the 40-day journey through Lent, I realized that this might be the perfect time to challenge myself to actually do it - to write something every day, whether I feel like it or not, whether I feel like I have something to say or not, whether anyone reads it or not! One of my disciplines will be to write, to put into words the ever-changing adventure of this journey with God. A dear and inspiring friend likes to remind others that "life ain't no dress rehearsal," so let the show begin.

There's no reason for us to postpone fully living our lives -- God has created each of us uniquely to live our lives as we are. We each have the exact qualities, personalities, bodies, hearts and minds that we need in order to be and do exactly what we are meant to be and do, we each are exactly who the world needs us to be in this moment. So, let's start living, loving, writing, acting, and claiming our place on this wild and wonderful stage.

Life comes full circle sometimes. Ten years ago today, on the morning of September 11, 2001, I stood on a Habitat for Humanity work site in northeast DC. We had been planning a big ceremony for months, celebrating a build in partnership with the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. The HUD Secretary, the Mayor of DC, and several other VIPs were scheduled to be there later that morning to officially kick off the construction. As the crew got everything ready, people who were arriving after us said something big was happening on the news. Some sort of accident involving an airplane and the World Trade Center. We gathered around a car radio to listen to events unfolding in New York City. Then phones started ringing – the HUD Secretary and other special guests would not be coming. The president had called an emergency meeting with his cabinet.

We heard that something was happening in DC, too. Suddenly, we listened harder not to the radio, but to the sounds in the air around us. Our build site was only a few miles from the Capitol. Several of my roommates worked on the hill. The news was uncertain, full of rumors – there were reports that the Pentagon had been hit, that the White House might be targeted, that the Capitol Building and congressional offices had been evacuated. Someone heard that the USA Today building had been hit. The metro might not be safe. In those first few hours of chaos, it was hard to discern the actual events from the speculation.

We closed down the Habitat site and cancelled work for the day. I didn’t want to drive all the way across town, past the monuments and the mall, to my house, so I sat in the house near our build site where the Habitat Americorps volunteers lived and we watched tv and made phone calls all day. My dad was actually in town meeting with some people from the Pentagon, but luckily they were meeting off site, at a hotel in Virginia.

Many of the details about the rest of that day, and the days that followed, are fuzzy. What I do remember is the comfort that came from being in community. Spending those first few hours of shock and disbelief with my Habitat friends, who had been working together to make our city a safer, better place for everyone. Going to dinner that night (or was it the next day?) with my fellow Rhodes College alumni, all International Studies majors who had spent countless hours before this debating foreign policy and discussing what the world would be like in the post-Cold War era – unsure how our world had just changed. Taking refuge in my messy, comfy home with my three roommates once we all made our way back that night, shaken and emotionally drained.

It seemed that at first, no one wanted to be alone. We needed each other, to listen to the questions we were each wrestling with, to try to figure out the ‘right’ way to respond, to process the different ways people across the country and the world were reacting, to offer each other hope in the midst of so many stories of loss and fear. It was the kind of time when the people around you mattered –you wanted to be surrounded by a community, a network of support, people who reminded you of who you were.

Now, ten years later, as we remember the events of September 11, I again find myself connected with Habitat and a community that is witness of hope. This morning there was an interfaith service of peace and solidarity on the site where soon we will begin building the Abraham House – a joint project of local Christian, Jewish and Muslim groups. I couldn’t be at the service in person, because I was helping lead worship at my church, but I am looking forward to working together on this Habitat house with a diverse group of people who share the dream of making our community a safer, better place for all. Our world and how we relate to others has certainly changed since I got my International Studies degree 12 years ago, but there is comfort in knowing that in spite of our recent history, Muslims, Christians and Jews can still find common ground. I find comfort in this community of people who will not let fear or differences divide them. In learning from each other and working together, we are all reminded of who we really are, of who we want to be, of the kind of community we want to be a part of, of the kind of world we want to build.

How do we respond?

An Irish friend emailed me earlier this week to ask me how I felt about Osama Bin Laden’s death, as an American. He & I were both living in DC on Sept. 11, 2001. He knows a lot of compassionate, intelligent Americans that he met while volunteering with Habitat for Humanity in DC, and I think he was finding it hard to reconcile the Americans he knows with the pictures he saw on tv of people celebrating death. As a pastor, it’s part of my daily work to share the good news that life is stronger than death, in big and small ways. Certainly, Bin Laden caused a lot of suffering and death, and I do feel a glimmer of hope, although cautious hope, that removing his angry rhetoric from the world will lead to less violence.

As I heard the news Sunday night, I couldn’t help but think about the news from Sri Lanka two years earlier, in May 2009, when the Sri Lankan government finally tracked down and killed another man who had inspired countless acts of violence and death, Velupillai Prabhakaran. When I heard that the leader of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) had been killed, I also felt hopeful for the beautiful country where I’d lived for two years. After two decades of war and suicide bombings, maybe they finally had a chance for peace. Maybe Prabhakaran’s death would be an opportunity for the Sri Lankan government to address the legitimate concerns of the Tamil minority, treating them as full citizens with equal rights. It was a moment when long-term peace seemed truly possible, if people could come together to address the reasons so many Tamil young people felt driven to join Prabhakaran’s movement. Unfortunately, the moment was lost as the government rounded thousands of Tamils up in detainment camps. Prabakahran is gone, but without any change in conditions, a new Prabhakaran will arise from the disenfranchised Tamil population. The potential to build peace and bring Tamils and Sinhalese together was lost.

So, as I consider how I feel about the removal of Bin Laden as a threat, my hope is that death will not have the last word. Osama may not be around anymore to incite followers to acts of violence against westerners, but how are we as Americans, or as Christians, contributing to create a climate of peace or of violence in the world? How will we respond differently to our Muslim brothers and sisters now that Osama is gone, along with the fear that he inspired in many of us? This is an opportunity for us as Americans to reach out to Muslims and say we know that Osama didn’t speak for all of you. We have done what we felt was right in holding Bin Laden accountable for the cruelty and murders of 9/11, so now let’s try to seek the path of peace.

This is an opportunity for us as Christians to remember that Jesus offered forgiveness and grace, even to the thief who hung beside him on a cross. We are not called to be a people of vengeance, but people who struggle to find a balance between justice and mercy, always erring on the side of mercy. The Old Testament prophets, as well as Jesus, insisted that to be faithful meant to seek justice, but the justice we seek is not in order to punish or condemn, but to ensure that the needs of the most vulnerable are met. When the orphans, widows and strangers among us are safe and cared for, then justice has been done and we are then freed to be peacemakers and love our enemies. As followers of Christ, we are taught to believe that all people are capable of redemption, that love wins over hate, and to live like we believe this.

I dream of a day where we will dance in the streets because we are no longer at war with any country or group, when we celebrate that life and love have won out over the need to kill in order to seek justice.