Advent 2: Quotidian Mysteries

I struggled to know what to write this week.  Nothing interesting seems to have happened.  I’m just trying to survive life.  I’m just trying to make it to the end of exam week (in two weeks).  But I am trying to write something weekly as an Advent discipline.  

And then I remembered the book I read yesterday, The Quotidian Mysteries: Laundry, Liturgy, and “Women’s Work” by Kathleen Norris.  Quotidian means “occurring every day; belonging to every day; commonplace, ordinary” (Merriam-Webster Dictionary, quoted in The Quotidian Mysteries).  The premise of this book is that all of our ordinary activities—washing dishes, doing the laundry, cooking, and cleaning—give a necessary rhythm to our lives.  Like liturgy, we sometimes do them by just going through the motions.  Norris says that “both laundry and worship are repetitive activities with a potential for tedium, and I hate to admit it, but laundry often seems like the more useful of the tasks.  But both are the work that God has given us to do” (pg. 29). 

I am prone to forgetting that the laundry, the dishes, cooking healthy foods, and other quotidian things are part of God’s calling on my life.  It isn’t only writing sermons and papers, working on group projects and trying to catch up on reading.  Norris also says that “workaholism is the opposite of humility” (pg. 25).  Workaholism and perfectionism tell me that I must do everything I possibly can.  And I must do it to the very best of my ability.  My ability, because it is all about me.  But this is all the opposite of humility, of quietly depending on God.    Of being humble enough to trust that God will provide; it isn’t all up to me.

And so this week, my prayer is that I will be humble, not a workaholic.  That I will worship even if I don’t feel like it.  And I will attend to the every day necessities, because they too are part of God’s work for me.  In all of this, and in all parts of my life, I pray for wholeness and integration in all parts of my life.

Advent One: I Heard the Bells...God is Not Dead

Life seems messiest at the holidays, when everything is supposed to glitter and gleam.  In addition to the family and economic pressure from the holidays themselves, it is the end of the semester for students and teachers; deadlines for college, grad schools and jobs are looming; and the hours of light in a day are the shortest.  Instead of bright lights, darkness descends.    

Today is the first day of Advent, the time in the church’s calendar when we wait for the coming of Christ.  Unlike the way Western culture gets ready for Christmas, with parties, tinsel, and cheesy Christmas songs, the church embraces the darkness of the season.  We acknowledge that human life is a mess.  And we remember that it is into this mess that God incarnated himself.

My first December in China, I learned a new Christmas carol, which has become one of my favorites: “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.”  That year, in addition to being far away from home at Christmas, my team was struggling.  We were struggling with our relationships with each other, and we were struggling with the knowledge that only two of us would stay at our school the next semester (the other two would hopefully be moved to another school in China.  But we didn’t know who was staying and who was moving or where we would go).  I was also praying about a nomination to the in-country leadership team for the next year.  I had many questions and lots of stress.  The world seemed dark.  My life was a mess. 

God came to me through this carol.  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the great American poet, wrote it in a time when he was also in great darkness.  The country was a mess as it fought the Civil War.  Longfellow’s wife had died a few years earlier in a tragic fire and the previous year his son was seriously wounded in a battle.  His life didn’t glitter and gleam the Christmas he wrote these words:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

of Peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair, I bowed my head

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song,

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then plead the bells more loud and deep;

“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With Peace on earth, good will to men.”

During Advent, we have the chance to acknowledge that we are in despair, that it seems like our world lacks peace and evil is winning.  We don’t try to sweep it under the rug or wrap it up with a beautiful bow.  Instead, in the Biblical tradition of lament, we look it square in the face.  We name the mess.  But in Advent we also bring the mess to Jesus, who took on our flesh and dwelled among us.  Because Jesus came and lived among us and eventually died and rose again, we know that God is not dead.  Jesus will come again and the wrong will fail permanently.  Right will prevail, and all things will be made new.  

But while we wait for that day, we have Advent to help us face our darkness with hope.  Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus!

In Lieu of Logos

This is a poem by Scott Cairns, found in his collection of poetry, Recovered Body, pg. 70-71 (The whole book is amazing!).  This is really a poetic rendering of Prof. Bosma's concept of "optionsville," and the reason I prefer Hebrew to Greek.

In Lieu of Logos

Let's suppose some figure more Hebraic

in its promise, more inclined to move

from one provisional encampment

to the next, then discover the effect

wandering tenders even as it draws

the weary hiker on to further

speculation, crossing what has seemed so

like barren country but whose very

barrenness proves a prod for yet another

likely story.  The old Jews liked davar,

which did something more than just point fingers

to what lies back behind one's fussy, Greek

ontology of diminishing

returns.  I have come to like it too, word

with a future as dense as its past,

a Ding Gedicht whose chubby letters each

afford a pause at which the traveler

rubs his chin and looking up entertains

a series of alternate routes, just now

staying put at the borrowed outpost,

but marveling how each turn of the head

gives way to distance, layers every term

of travel--each terminal--with reprieve,

invites indeterminate, obscure enormity

to gather at the glib horizon's edge.

Word and Deed Revisited

I preached on Colossians 3:1-17 on Sunday.  The final verse says, “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.^”  This has been a key verse in my life for a long time.  I appreciate its call to do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, whether that is studying, or teaching, or administrating, or preaching, or visiting.  And I both appreciate and am challenged by its emphasis on both word and deed. 

Last summer I reflected on what it meant for Madison Ave to be a “word and deed” church.  And that’s something I’ve been reflecting on this summer, too.  Hope, like many rural CRC congregations, is strongly a word church.  I am known as a preacher, and people appreciate my sermons.  The church expected me to preach and lead worship, and so I did.  I am thankful for the preaching experience I have gained.  But I have also really missed being able to serve in a ministry of deeds, as well.  I have missed being a part of the neighborhood events and have missed the sense that the church is an integral part of the community.  I have missed the sense that we are “making the most of every opportunity” in the ways we interact with “outsiders” (Col. 4:5, from my sermon text from this Sunday).

Different people come to their life of faith with different emphasis, and different churches have different strengths and images of what their congregation is.  I have learned this summer that holding word and deed in tension is really important to me.  I won’t do well in a church that doesn’t care about the community around them.  And although I will miss Hope, at the same time I am looking forward to MCC’s ministry in the community.

On the Holy Spirit

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The work of the Holy Spirit in preaching and worship has amazed me again and again this summer.  There is really no good way to describe it.  I faithfully research, pray, write, ponder, edit, and practice sermons, but it’s the Holy Spirit that gives a sermon wings.  It’s the Holy Spirit that gives me the words, but also the Holy Spirit that prepares hearts to hear it and applies it to each person’s life specifically. 

And the Holy Spirit often has taken threads of various parts of the service and gathered them together into one.  Yesterday, we heard from a group of young people who came back Saturday evening from a SERVE trip to Las Vegas about their “God moments,” many of which touched on the poverty they had seen and how blessed we are.  The children’s message was about how corn is planted in fields because one stalk by itself will get blown over by the wind.  I preached on Colossians 2:6-23 about false teachings that hold us captive and the freedom we have in Christ.  Two of the false teachings I identified were consumerism and individualism.  I didn’t know what either of the previous parts of the service would be like, but they all came together, thanks to the Holy Spirit.  It’s both humbling and comforting to be able to rely on the Holy Spirit and to expect things you weren’t planning to happen!     

Toronto Excursion

CN Tower

Me at part of the Harbour Front in downtown Toronto--it was really pretty with a nice park

Outside the Royal Ontario Museum

Ojibway Beadwork

Beaver fur--one of Canada's national symbols (along with the maple leaf).  The loon must be important too, because it is on the $2 coin.  But the museum exhibit didn't talk about that.

The Preaching Journey

Preaching has been a long journey for me.  I came to seminary not wanting to preach.  I had a nagging suspicion I might be good at it.  But I didn’t want to be good at it.  It seemed so pastorly (yes, I made up that word) to preach, and I didn’t really see myself as a pastor.  During my first preaching class, we had to give the introduction to a sermon.  I have never been so nervous in my life—not when I went to Taiwan by myself as a 17 year-old, not when I did contract negotiations with the vice president of a Chinese university, not even when I started seminary.  I was pretty bad, that first time around.  It was an outer sign of an inner battle I was having, questioning what my calling was and if I was really cut out for seminary.  I remember one Sunday that winter my pastor preached on something (the sad thing is I have no idea what) and then we had a time of individual prayer.  I remember that I let go of what I wanted (to not preach) and said yes to following God, even if it meant preaching.  When I had to preach the conclusion to a sermon a week or two later, I was much more relaxed.  One of my classmates said I should get the “most improved” award for that class. 

And then I preached in the next class a couple of times.  It was still hard.  Both times I was ready to sit down when I was only about half-way done.  I still wasn’t sure that I wanted to do it.  Then I started preaching in churches.  It was difficult and scary.  I agonized over those first sermons.  I practiced them a lot.  But I got a lot of encouragement from my listeners.  Their words helped me to keep going.  To keep writing new sermons.  And the more I have preached, the more it has grown on me.

I came here this summer okay with preaching, but not being really passionate about it.  I expected to enjoy other aspects of pastoring more.  But a big part of what the church expects from me is a good sermon, so I’ve been spending lots of time sermonizing.  And it’s been fun to preach in the same congregation consistently.  Once again, this congregation has been very encouraging.  Even some of the (apparently) hard-to-please members have been supportive.  I feel like I am finding my voice—I don’t have to be super dynamic, have the congregation in stitches, or be preaching off the cuff.  I can be gentle and thoughtful.  I can be a manuscript preacher because I care for my words (and several people have commented on that).  That is one comment I’ve especially appreciated.  I loved studying and teaching English and my first year at seminary it felt like that part of me didn’t matter and wasn’t useful, since I had to learn a new language of theology.  Today I am thankful that I can use the English part of me, and that I am finding congruence within myself. 

This journey is a testament to God’s grace in my life.  He has worked in ways that are surprising and terrifying.  I am grateful for the privilege of immersing myself in God’s word and sharing it with God’s people.  I give all glory and honor to him for the woman he has made me to be.

880

The last week has been a bit different.  Thursday-Monday I was either in Michigan or traveling to/from Michigan--around 880 miles traveled (I am thankful for my little car!).  On Saturday, my parents celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary.  Both of my sisters (plus my brother-in-law) were also in town for the weekend (hence my trip "home")--this was the last time we'll all be together until Christmas.  We had a family dinner of chicken mango kabobs, ginger cilantro rice, and grilled broccoli, with rhubarb strawberry tarts for desert.  It was fun to all be together and celebrate what God has done in and through my parents in the last 30 years!  Our family picture is below: 

In addition to the family dinner, it was fun to hang out with family.  I was also able to see some friends and spend an afternoon on the Lake Michigan beach.  All in all, it was a great weekend.  My least favorite part was all of the driving.  I'm glad that I don't have to make that drive again for a couple of months :).

Now I'm looking forward to the next weeks--preaching, worship planning, pastoral visits, Canada Day (on Thursday), meeting with the college students who are home for the summer, and we'll see what else develops.

Here's a picture of the backyard of the home I'm staying in.  This is basically the view from the basement (yes, I know that I am blessed).

Some flowers in the backyard:

Shaking Our Fists, Or Why I'm Humbled and Grateful

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Yesterday I preached on Psalm 13, a sermon entitled “Shaking Our Fists.”  The essence of the sermon was that the psalmist was so angry at God that he was shaking his fists at God, and we too have occasions to shake our fists at God.  God gives the psalmist and us the freedom to shake our fists at him, so that we can process our pain with the context of God’s covenant relationship with us. 

As I’ve mentioned before, this church has many reasons to mourn and shake their fists at God.  I was scared to preach this sermon.  This is only my second sermon to this congregation and I wasn’t sure how far I could go.  I wasn’t sure how bold I should be with naming the hurts of the congregation.  But I felt in my spirit that this message must be brought and that I needed to name things.  So I did.  I would imagine that some people went home uncomfortable.  Some might have even thought I was totally wrong (although none of them told me to my face so far).  But several people said this was exactly the sermon the congregation needed to hear.  One of the pastoral elders, whom I have quickly come to greatly appreciate, told me after the service that there is a history of people stopping coming to church when hard things happen to them because they aren’t happy with God and there isn’t room in the worship to be angry.  His comments reminded me of Prof. Nydam (pastoral care professor) saying that every worship service must have space to be sad, because that’s life.  The elder also said the previous pastor, although much loved, didn’t/couldn’t go there.  Put all these factors together (with an immigrant culture of making do), and people don’t feel the freedom to lament.

I look back at yesterday and I am profoundly humbled and grateful.  I am humbled that God would take my words and use them to speak his words.  I am humbled that even when I feel like my words aren’t good enough, the Holy Spirit still uses them.  I am humbled that God called me to this place for a purpose that I didn’t know (and probably no humans knew)—to walk with this congregation through the darkness and to acknowledge its presence. 

And I am grateful that God is using me here, but I am also grateful for all of the work God has done (and is doing) in me to equip me for this work.  I have heard over and over that to be able to walk with people through pain and grief, you must be connected to your own heart and able to grieve your own losses.  It is a testimony to God’s grace in my life that since I was in high school I have learned to express my emotions to people instead of my dog (loyal and patient as she was).  I am thankful for friends that have encouraged me to speak my heart freely to them and God.  I am thankful for friends that have listened to my stories of loss and disappointment and helped me to grieve.  I am thankful for Professors Bosma and Nydam who taught me about lament and equipped me to share this freedom with God’s people.

Port Perry!

Summer has come again, and I so I am returning to this blog. My goal is to update once a week for the summer (probably on Mondays, but it depends a bit on what my schedule ends up looking like).

In a week and a half or so, I'm departing for my summer internship site: Hope CRC in Port Perry, Ontario. I haven't been to Port Perry yet, but here's some pictures I found from the internet.

First, a map. I couldn't find one with both Michigan and Port Perry marked, but Michigan is to the west of the part of Ontario that sticks down to the south. Its a 6.5-7.5 drive from Grand Rapids to Port Perry.



Downtown Port Perry (looks kind of like Holland or Saugatuck):

Port Perry is on an inland lake.