In the days when I worked at Church of God Ministries, we were used to getting phonecalls about the medical conditions or the passing of a minister or retired minister. I remember one of the ladies saying once, "It always happens in threes." She was referring to funerals, of course.
Holy Week this year has been one of those. It happened in threes--not funerals in our case, just... life. You know, the usual big upheavals. And because I take, "i carry your heart," the words of great ecclesiologist, e.e. cummins, way too seriously some times, this week... Well, for lack of fancy vocabulary, this week just plain sucked.
My worldview was shaken all over again as I lived into the life of a family in the midst of pain.
My take on gender roles and the feminist movement that had been slowly taking shape over the last few years were suddenly ripped apart and splattered all over the walls as if a druggy vandal had gotten hold of ugly red pain, and I no longer knew where I stood.
My understanding of social injustice shifted as my own tears mingled with those that I wiped away. The perhaps unintentional actions of one or two can so greatly hurt another.
Too many answers I was looking for.
Too much hurt to carry.
Too many situations that will remain unresolved for a while.
Too many nights of crying, "Why, God?" and "My shoulders aren't big enough for these."
In the midst of it all, I heard the words of the One that called me to this place.
"My child, remember when I brought you here, all I asked from you was to love this land and these people. I'm the one with the answers. You're the one with the skin on to carry My love."
And I began to remember the One had always been at work.
I saw it in the whanau that showed up every day to make sure there was food in everyone's stomachs, and to help calm the upheavals.
I saw it in the simple thank yous and the return of laughter to the dining table and the bedrooms.
I saw it in the tickle fights and the big hugs.
I heard it in the "How are you?"s that demanded a longer-than-five-second response.
I heard it in the "Call us anytime, even if it's 2am."
I heard it in the simple reminders to continue to be who we were created to be, not what circumstances want us to become.
And then yesterday morning, I realised how much I needed a little bit of liturgy to bring calm back into my week. Nina and I were both half awake when I first brought up the idea of trying to pull together a Seder meal, but we pulled it off anyway, and the whanau showed up when they showed up. It wasn't anything fancy, and halfway through the liturgy, I started beating myself up over not taking the time to find a more first-timer-friendly text.
But it wasn't so much about the meal or the liturgy itself.
It was taking time to remember the sacred things.
It was taking time to share stories.
It was taking time to affirm each other in our journey.
It was allowing these ladies to be the "church mums" I've missed.
It was allowing them to speak into my life.
It was allowing them to ask about my story, and to half-heartedly admit I was more qualified for what I do than I like talking or thinking about.
It was allowing them to say, "You may be a nerd, but you are OUR nerd."
It was allowing them to affirm my call as a woman in ministry, and to hear them say, "We know this isn't an easy calling, but you are OUR pastor, and we will do pastoral care for our pastor."
And in the silence of the night as the dust of the wilderness settled for a bit, all that's left was to whisper a word of thanks as I remember the One that started this business of footwashing.
29 March 2013
25 March 2013
"Rhythmus" Part 2 - Your Kingdom Come, Your Will Be Done
"Rhythmus," he said, with that familiar whimsical look--the one he got whenever a cheeky or brilliant idea was starting to take shape in his head.
I stared at him blankly.
"Rhythmus," he said again. "It's the spiritual rhythm that binds our community here. We don't do the traditional church model, but we still have this rhythm that keeps our group together. It's a rhythm that keeps us eating together, praying together and studying the Word together."
His words were starting to make a bit of sense, but I wondered if the mix of English and German I've had to function with had affected my ability to understand simple English as Kelley, Aaron and I sat at the dining table trying to piece together the website for the XZBerlin community.
Never mind that I had seen it lived out amongst the team members. That kind of taking care of one another, that intentional fellowship and study... I didn't fully understand the rhythm.
Then one day a few weeks back, I got an e-mail from Joe. Joe and I are better friends on Twitter than e-mail, so I was slightly surprised to get an e-mail from him. He mentioned something about Lent, the journey in the wilderness, the desert experiences, and finding sabbath and a spiritual rhythm.
It was an invitation to a group of friends--a community scattered across the US and here in Auckland--to join in a spiritual rhythm where we, and anyone else whom we knew were keen to join, prayed together, morning and evening, for Kingdom come, for ourselves and for each other. These weren't meant to be intense spiritual times as much as rhythm markers for the day. So we all, scattered across three time zones around the globe, prayed together at 7:30am and 6pm each day wherever we were.
The first day, as I started saying the words, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..." I was swept back to that Blue Church in Berlin, where together we chorused the words in German.
Suddenly I became aware that "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," meant something far bigger than the simple words I was whispering in my bedroom in Auckland. Because friends in Indiana, Michigan, Ohio and Oklahoma were whispering these same words. The same words people in Germany and all around the world had been whispering throughout ages past. The same words that were whispered at the Pasifika festival only a few weeks later.
Suddenly Rhythmus became much bigger than that website discussion around the Philips' dining table in Berlin.
Suddenly Rhythmus included the friends that sent me the delightful care package only a few months ago when I was in desperate need for a sabbath, without realising I had a sabbath trip planned.
Suddenly Rhythmus included a global family whispering the words together, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
This past week has been one of the more emotionally exhausting ones. There were a couple of very victorious moments, peppered with a couple of very heartbreaking ones, with a side of an answered prayer and one of the most unexpectedly difficult and painful conversations I've had to have in a while.
When it started, I found myself leaning into the prayers of this scattered community, holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done" like never before.
And then in the middle of it all, I was reminded of promises I made when I first started this chapter in Auckland, and the peace that carried me through because I kept my promises.
And then in the middle of what was about to turn out to be another very difficult day, I heard the words again, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done"--and from a voice I least expected.
Most who read this blog know that I prefer to let my thoughts simmer for a while before I paint them on the screen so they don't come out ill-intentioned, hurtful or in manners I regret later. Part 2 of this Rhythmus series had been simmering for a while, and I had hoped for a beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra, celebrate the Rhythm hype.
But tonight, it's 11:44pm as I write this--later than my usual bedtime since I started the 7:30ams. And there's no beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra hype. Instead, there are tears of release, a very raw sense of pain, and a deep peace and hope in holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
This Lent, I've journeyed the wilderness through some oasis and some very dusty, thorny roads. I've endured the 6:30am alarms, snoozing a bagillion times so I can finally be awake to pray at 7:30am. I've wondered if I was the right person to have gotten thrown into some of the sandstorms because I never felt strong enough. I've learnt to lean into a community that is scattered like the Israelites in exile, and feeling the whispered prayers as we walked our own wilderness in this bigger rhythmus of "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
The dust of the wilderness will settle, and we will usher in the coming King with our Hosannas--the King whose Kingdom will reign forever and these seasons of wilderness and exile will be no more. But until then, I will lean into "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," and the hopeful glimpses of Easter and the empty tomb.
In case you're interested in joining in the spiritual rhythm, here's what it looks like:
At 2 times each day (7:30 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.), everyone involved would commit to the following:
1. Praying the Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13)
2. Praying the Jesus Creed (Mark 12:29–31)
3. Praying briefly for the people who they know who are involved
4a. In the morning, praying that God would keep them from evil and temptation and thanking God for his provision.
4b. In the evening, confessing any areas where they recall that they sinned and thanking God for his forgiveness.
We are encouraging people to invite others along and don't expect that everyone will even know of all the people who are involved. But the idea is to stay connected to something bigger, so please let me know (by simply leaving your name in the comments below--and location, if you've stumbled upon this space by accident) if you'd like to be a part so I can include you as I pray.
I stared at him blankly.
"Rhythmus," he said again. "It's the spiritual rhythm that binds our community here. We don't do the traditional church model, but we still have this rhythm that keeps our group together. It's a rhythm that keeps us eating together, praying together and studying the Word together."
His words were starting to make a bit of sense, but I wondered if the mix of English and German I've had to function with had affected my ability to understand simple English as Kelley, Aaron and I sat at the dining table trying to piece together the website for the XZBerlin community.
Never mind that I had seen it lived out amongst the team members. That kind of taking care of one another, that intentional fellowship and study... I didn't fully understand the rhythm.
Then one day a few weeks back, I got an e-mail from Joe. Joe and I are better friends on Twitter than e-mail, so I was slightly surprised to get an e-mail from him. He mentioned something about Lent, the journey in the wilderness, the desert experiences, and finding sabbath and a spiritual rhythm.
It was an invitation to a group of friends--a community scattered across the US and here in Auckland--to join in a spiritual rhythm where we, and anyone else whom we knew were keen to join, prayed together, morning and evening, for Kingdom come, for ourselves and for each other. These weren't meant to be intense spiritual times as much as rhythm markers for the day. So we all, scattered across three time zones around the globe, prayed together at 7:30am and 6pm each day wherever we were.
The first day, as I started saying the words, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..." I was swept back to that Blue Church in Berlin, where together we chorused the words in German.
Suddenly I became aware that "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," meant something far bigger than the simple words I was whispering in my bedroom in Auckland. Because friends in Indiana, Michigan, Ohio and Oklahoma were whispering these same words. The same words people in Germany and all around the world had been whispering throughout ages past. The same words that were whispered at the Pasifika festival only a few weeks later.
Suddenly Rhythmus became much bigger than that website discussion around the Philips' dining table in Berlin.
Suddenly Rhythmus included the friends that sent me the delightful care package only a few months ago when I was in desperate need for a sabbath, without realising I had a sabbath trip planned.
Suddenly Rhythmus included a global family whispering the words together, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
This past week has been one of the more emotionally exhausting ones. There were a couple of very victorious moments, peppered with a couple of very heartbreaking ones, with a side of an answered prayer and one of the most unexpectedly difficult and painful conversations I've had to have in a while.
When it started, I found myself leaning into the prayers of this scattered community, holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done" like never before.
And then in the middle of it all, I was reminded of promises I made when I first started this chapter in Auckland, and the peace that carried me through because I kept my promises.
And then in the middle of what was about to turn out to be another very difficult day, I heard the words again, "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done"--and from a voice I least expected.
Most who read this blog know that I prefer to let my thoughts simmer for a while before I paint them on the screen so they don't come out ill-intentioned, hurtful or in manners I regret later. Part 2 of this Rhythmus series had been simmering for a while, and I had hoped for a beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra, celebrate the Rhythm hype.
But tonight, it's 11:44pm as I write this--later than my usual bedtime since I started the 7:30ams. And there's no beautiful, happy-ever-after type of ra-ra hype. Instead, there are tears of release, a very raw sense of pain, and a deep peace and hope in holding on to "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
This Lent, I've journeyed the wilderness through some oasis and some very dusty, thorny roads. I've endured the 6:30am alarms, snoozing a bagillion times so I can finally be awake to pray at 7:30am. I've wondered if I was the right person to have gotten thrown into some of the sandstorms because I never felt strong enough. I've learnt to lean into a community that is scattered like the Israelites in exile, and feeling the whispered prayers as we walked our own wilderness in this bigger rhythmus of "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done."
The dust of the wilderness will settle, and we will usher in the coming King with our Hosannas--the King whose Kingdom will reign forever and these seasons of wilderness and exile will be no more. But until then, I will lean into "Your Kingdom come, Your will be done," and the hopeful glimpses of Easter and the empty tomb.
In case you're interested in joining in the spiritual rhythm, here's what it looks like:
At 2 times each day (7:30 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.), everyone involved would commit to the following:
1. Praying the Lord's Prayer (Matthew 6:9-13)
2. Praying the Jesus Creed (Mark 12:29–31)
3. Praying briefly for the people who they know who are involved
4a. In the morning, praying that God would keep them from evil and temptation and thanking God for his provision.
4b. In the evening, confessing any areas where they recall that they sinned and thanking God for his forgiveness.
We are encouraging people to invite others along and don't expect that everyone will even know of all the people who are involved. But the idea is to stay connected to something bigger, so please let me know (by simply leaving your name in the comments below--and location, if you've stumbled upon this space by accident) if you'd like to be a part so I can include you as I pray.
12 March 2013
"Rhythmus" Part 1
The first time it happened, we were in Kaiser-Wilhelm-Gedächtniskirche. Or what became affectionately known as "The Blue Church". It was my first week in Berlin. Never mind that I had had a year of university level German by then; if not for the undergraduate class where four of our assignments involved studying and creating a liturgical order of worship, I would not have had a clue about what was going on.That was, until we got to "Das Vater unser Gebet". I still only understood about 5% of what was going on, but I gathered something about Father and praying. And then the chorus of German voices saying the words together. Something stirred in my heart as I simply read the text from the pages along with the other voices. I didn't know word for word what I was saying, but I knew in English I was saying, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."
It occurred to me for the first time that even before I was challenged to memorise the words of the Lord's Prayer as a primary school kid, people all around the world had been reciting the same words together. I was merely one of the voices joining in this familiar rhythm.
And then it happened again this weekend. The Pasifika festival, a celebration of Pacific Island nations, was on this weekend, and for the first time this year, there was also a unity worship service on Sunday morning. Naturally, I was there.
Never mind that we're in the middle of a draught and it was sweltering hot in the park that morning. I'm usually pretty skeptical about unity services because they can be very well-intentioned but not always well-planned. It was one of the most beautiful services I've been to in a while.
And then it happened, right in the middle of a congregational prayer in Samoan. The voice invited the Church to join in with The Lord's Prayer in our mother tongues. The chorus of voices in all the different Island languages, and I in my lame English (I know, I know... It's been on my bucket list to learn it in at least Mandarin and German, but I haven't gotten there yet), saying together, "Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name..."
Except this time, it was even more meaningful for me. I heard my own voice join in the chorus of Island tongues, with friends in Berlin, and the friends in the States who have been journeying with me through this wilderness season of Lent.
To be continued...
03 March 2013
Silence Again
I've been silent again.
After the week of two posts in a row, I had another one I wanted to write, but then something came up. Then something else. Then something else.
Now two weeks later, here we are.
In the middle of a conversation with a friend this week, the three majors on my bucket list came up again. Yes, the three that have been life-goals since 2007:
1) Running a bed and breakfast or backpacker
2) Running a cafe
3) Experiencing homelessness for a week/month
The friend laughed when I mentioned the one about homelessness. He asked if I thought that experience would make me a better person, or if that was the "spiritual thing" I was wanting to do for Lent.
I got really defensive in that moment because it was something with a personal meaning for me and I wasn't appreciating being mocked. What I didn't realise then was that the issue of homelessness hit a little too close to home for him.
In that moment, I was brought back to a conversation that I had with Will a few years ago, about how some over-romanticize the "problems of the world" to make ourselves feel better that we're trying to bring about change.
We eventually moved on to something else in the conversation that happened this week, but it left me feeling slightly guilty. It's easy for me to talk about wanting to experience homelessness because I come from a privileged background. And even if I did eventually get around to that experience, I knew I was going to be able to get out of those situations at the timeline I decided for myself. It wasn't going to be real.
But then I realised my motivations for wanting to experience homelessness had nothing to do with wanting to feel good that I had experienced such depravity. No, the years in Anderson taught me that because I come from a privileged background, I have the responsibility to speak against systems that work against the underprivileged. The short time spent with the women on the streets of Berlin taught me that I'm actually not that much different from them. Their stories could just as easily have been mine, except we were born in a different time, at a different place. And my place of birth was not decided based on my own righteousness.
We don't do advocacy simply out of sympathy or because our hearts are broken for a cause. We do advocacy because Jesus himself called us to "Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment." (Matthew 10:8)
And so I stop again for a few brief moments, repenting for when I have gotten self-righteous about helping with self-serving agenda. In the moments of silence in between, I found myself wrestling with these words that stumbled out of my mouth:
"I won't work in a church forever, but I'll be a pastor no matter where I go. It's the call on my life."
And in those moments of silence, I realised as much as I struggle with the "pastor"/"preacher"/"minister" titles, to deny that is to deny the very responsibility to love my neighbours.
"Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words."
After the week of two posts in a row, I had another one I wanted to write, but then something came up. Then something else. Then something else.
Now two weeks later, here we are.
In the middle of a conversation with a friend this week, the three majors on my bucket list came up again. Yes, the three that have been life-goals since 2007:
1) Running a bed and breakfast or backpacker
2) Running a cafe
3) Experiencing homelessness for a week/month
The friend laughed when I mentioned the one about homelessness. He asked if I thought that experience would make me a better person, or if that was the "spiritual thing" I was wanting to do for Lent.
I got really defensive in that moment because it was something with a personal meaning for me and I wasn't appreciating being mocked. What I didn't realise then was that the issue of homelessness hit a little too close to home for him.
In that moment, I was brought back to a conversation that I had with Will a few years ago, about how some over-romanticize the "problems of the world" to make ourselves feel better that we're trying to bring about change.
We eventually moved on to something else in the conversation that happened this week, but it left me feeling slightly guilty. It's easy for me to talk about wanting to experience homelessness because I come from a privileged background. And even if I did eventually get around to that experience, I knew I was going to be able to get out of those situations at the timeline I decided for myself. It wasn't going to be real.
But then I realised my motivations for wanting to experience homelessness had nothing to do with wanting to feel good that I had experienced such depravity. No, the years in Anderson taught me that because I come from a privileged background, I have the responsibility to speak against systems that work against the underprivileged. The short time spent with the women on the streets of Berlin taught me that I'm actually not that much different from them. Their stories could just as easily have been mine, except we were born in a different time, at a different place. And my place of birth was not decided based on my own righteousness.
We don't do advocacy simply out of sympathy or because our hearts are broken for a cause. We do advocacy because Jesus himself called us to "Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment." (Matthew 10:8)
And so I stop again for a few brief moments, repenting for when I have gotten self-righteous about helping with self-serving agenda. In the moments of silence in between, I found myself wrestling with these words that stumbled out of my mouth:
"I won't work in a church forever, but I'll be a pastor no matter where I go. It's the call on my life."
And in those moments of silence, I realised as much as I struggle with the "pastor"/"preacher"/"minister" titles, to deny that is to deny the very responsibility to love my neighbours.
"Preach the gospel at all times. When necessary, use words."
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