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.