Whirlwind Summer Treasure Trove

4 weeks. 4 incredible weeks.

They have been incredible not because I got to check out of real life for a while.
Not because I got to be on vacation.

No, because of the people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

To you that provided a place for rest in between the scurrying--whether in Portland, Anderson, Edgewood or Denver, thank you.

To you that shared your family--whether your great-grandkid, your newborn, your partner, thank you.

To you that provided me transport everywhere, thank you.

To you that was present in some of the lowest moments of the trip--whether by a Facebook message, a text, or staying up late to talk, thank you.

To you that kept pushing me to a better good--whether for my own spiritual well-being, or for communal good, thank you.

To you that allowed me to wallow in the parts of life that involve a small dose of cynicism, thank you.

To you that laughed with me as I found harmless ways to rebel break the rules work around the systems, thank you.

To you that said you will continue to walk this crazy, whirlwind journey with me, thank you.

To you that agreed to support one more chapter of my unpredictable life and ministry, thank you.

To you that believe in me so I can believe in myself again, thank you.

To you that sat with me through all the Mexican food, Sno-Castle, IHOP, Olive Garden and other meals that I've missed and craved, thank you.

To you that gave hugs, thank you.

To you that gave me grace for not having the time to catch up, thank you.

To you that allowed and pushed me to confront myself, thank you.

My life is better because of each one of you.

4 weeks of incredible people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Jamie and I were talking about how we never quite expected to run into each other, especially not after only a few years have past, much less in Denver, of all places. But here we are.

We'll see each other again, I'm sure.
But until then,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)

I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye.

Where We Come From: Holiness, Unity, Servanthood part #2

We recently started a new series, E100 (or the 100 essential places/readings to visit in the Bible). I'll be the first to admit I'm not a big fan of cookie-cutter programmes like these, especially Christiany programmes. I could come up with 101 theological reasons to disagree with the programme, but I forced myself to pack away the seminary cynicism and give it a chance. And I was glad I did.

As a result of this new series, I've been tremendously blessed by Table Talks, the adult small group I've been facilitating for the last couple of months. Granted, there's only the three of us that meet regularly, but that's the thing. We meet. And regularly. And of course, we go through the study questions and stuff.

But that's just the stuff that gave us a reason to start meeting together. The stuff that's really blown me away as getting to do life with these women who have become my church mums. Nina's taught me more about how to work in a western kitchen than anything Google can offer. Likewise with Sylvia's resourcefulness with children's ministry crafts and doing stuff on a low-budget.

And the questions they're asking. Nina and her four pages of loose-leaf notes complete with family trees of all the crazies in Genesis. Wrestling with God and evil questions. Stuff that make me wrestle with my own theology all over again, and coming to terms all over again with the fact that life isn't simply black or white. More than anything else, I was thankful that my seminary education managed to find a place in life outside the walls of Tallen Hall.

Then this week, Sylvia blew me away even more. Somewhere between asking questions about grace and redemption and the difference between the soul and spirit and the essentials of our faith, she said, "I want to know what our church tradition says about this."

I don't remember how I reacted outwardly, but inside, I was doing a happy dance. My gut reaction was, "Oh great, now I'm going to have to seriously review CHOG/Wesleyan Holiness theology so I can articulate it in non-nerdy language." But when I got over myself, I wanted to scream, "You're so Wesleyan, whether you realise it or not."

But this is why I appreciate these women.
Not because I have well-crafted seminary answers to throw at them, but because they challenge me to think about life.
And because they are so gracious with me and my inexperience with their children and grandchildren.
And because they don't simply write me off as a young whippersnapper, but embrace me as their nerd and their pastor.


So I've been thinking a lot about my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots lately. At Table Talks, we've been discussing a lot about law and grace and what those all mean according to our church tradition and understanding of scripture. I'll admit that I've taken the community of fellow Wesleyan Holiness nerds for granted in never really having to explain where we're coming from concerning our understanding of holiness and unity. But the more I dig into those roots, the more I'm thankful for a tradition whose concern for holiness and unity is rooted in grace. Not in law for the sake of law, but law for the sake of relationship.

And I've been thinking about my church mothers. The Nora Hunters, the Ann Smiths, and the MaryAnn Hawkins. The women who have gone before me, and the communities that have celebrated their wisdom and leadership. And I wonder if they had days when they had to deal with a self-esteem so low from being told over and over again (sometimes even not with words) that they were young, or inexperienced, or simply were not the right gender for proper leadership.

And then I think of my other church mothers and the Dumbledores. My own mother who has been quietly supportive and encouraging in her own way. The Ninas and the Sylvias who have affirmed me as their pastor, even in my whippersnapper-ness. And the Arthur Kellys and Jim Hawkins and Patrick Nachtigalls, who have never tried to pack my out-of-the-box-ness into neat packages.

And then I think of the people that Emily calls my "cloud of witnesses". The people whose paths I crossed while in Anderson who believe in me. The ones that hooded me not because I wrote good papers (I really didn't), but because we're all in this footwashing business together. The ones that talk about Kingdom Come more than the number of degrees we hold or the titles we wear.


On the days that I struggle with my place in the world, this is what I come back to.
Not the current job title or the job description. Those things are temporary.
No, this is where we come from.

These are the stories of holiness and unity.
These are the stories of the footwashers.
These are the stories of my Church of God/Wesleyan Holiness roots.

Where We Come From: Homesick

The year was 2007, and it must have been either June or July. Holly, Keren and I had, on this random night, decided we were going to "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's for ice-cream, as college students spontaneously do. I don't remember what else was on the playlist that night, except for two of Keren's favourites at the time. The windows were down, and we were singing at the top of our lungs, "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend!" and "Oh, **** it, I'm gonna have a party!"

I don't know what it was like for the Holly and Keren. But six years have passed, and I look back at that "roadtrip" now and think of it as a coming of age marker for me. Only a couple months ago, I had walked across the platform in Kardatzke Wellness Center as a celebration of the culmination of three ridiculous years' work towards a bachelor's degree. Anderson University had by then become a place where I had struggled long and hard with my self-identity, and just like that, those three years were over. Keren and I had by then had several long discussions about our dreams about the future, and she was just beginning to find her place while I was still looking for mine.

You see, Keren was a Third-Culture kid. Born in El Salvador, she eventually moved to Romania when her parents took a missionary assignment with a church there. She, and my other TCK friends, talked often about how they could never simply check one box when it came down to filling out forms about where they came from. She was at a conference for international students once, and when it came time for breakout sessions, attendees were asked to split into groups based on the region she came from. Was she to go to the one for Latin America or the one for Europe? There was never one single box to check.

I remembered one of our conversations being about the things we were passionate about. She said she was slightly jealous of friends who had found their niche in their passion for social justice, or art, or something of the sort, because she hadn't found her own. I remembered thinking the same thing. I loved music, but having studied it at the college level with an over-emphasis on performance (which I hated) killed it.

Then one day, she had just gotten back from a weekend in Chicago where she had been a part of a conference called, "Displace Me". It was a movement about creating awareness of displaced people. After all the time spent trying to figure out which box to check, she finally found it. Her passion. Working with displaced people because she herself was displaced.

That had all just fallen into place weeks before that summer. Then before that summer was over, her life was taken.

It was years before I started really processing everything that happened that summer. You see, I had forgotten about the phonecall I received that night on the "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's. In our laughter and singing, we missed the ramp for the motorway twice, and ended up halfway to Columbus, Ohio. We had gotten so frustrated that we eventually decided to simply head home, but ended up missing the off-ramp for the Anderson exit as well. Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Dad had rung up to chat and was asking about how things were progressing with my job search. By the time I hung up, I was even more frustrated from trying to explain to Dad the cultural differences in the job search process.

Holly and Keren calmly listened to my ranting for a while before Keren finally said, "You know, our parents haven't lived here themselves. They may have some ideals about what life is like here, but they are not the reality that we live in. And it isn't anybody's fault, we just have to learn to adapt to this new reality that we live in different worlds now."

It wasn't until years later when I began processing that I realised I had become displaced too. I had spent significant amount of time with my Missionary Kid/Third-Culture Kids friends while in college to know the traits of a TCK, and to begin to understand the way they think. But I had never saw myself as a TCK until then.

For a few years after that, I struggled to navigate the waters of this new revelation that a new chapter had begun in the pages of my self-identity. It was hardest around November because I would be celebrating American Thanksgiving with Danielle's family, thinking about the right time to call or e-mail Dad on his birthday. Then right after that, the countdown towards the time I left wintry Anderson for sunny Singapore would begin and I would get particularly homesick thinking of time with the cousins, the BFFs, the church family and all the yummy food. The night before I boarded the plane would usually be the worst. I always love going, but I hate leaving. It's in that in-between time that I feel most displaced.

Nine years later, this displacement hasn't gone away. I've moved yet again, and the understanding of homesickness has re-shaped itself as well. It doesn't help that even with all the diversity in Auckland, folks here still take one look at me, hear me speak and automatically ask the dreaded, "Where are you from?" Yes, I know I'm yellow on the outside, sound like white America, and have the black, red and gold of Germany hanging in the Snuggery where I live, but the truth is, I have too many other colours on the inside. I would happily don the black, red and green of my Kenyan sister, Emily, the vibrant flowers of my Island whanau, while wearing the intricately beaded headpieces of the Lakotas, a people near and dear to my heart.

And the in-between times... Gosh, the in-between times are the worst. Nina who has become one of my Auckland church mums came up to me at church yesterday, gave me a big hug and said, "You've been a bit homesick, haven't you?" The tears came really close, but I wasn't sure if it was because someone noticed, or if it was because I hadn't even noticed it myself until she pointed it out. There's so much here that I love and wouldn't be ready to leave, even if just for a month. But there's a part of me that's already in Portland having bubble tea with Arthur and a massive pow-wow with Cassie. Another part of me has already tasted the corn and cherry tomatoes from Heidi's garden, and solved all the problems of the world with the semiNerdian friends. And still another part of me has already snuggled with Hannah and thrown fries at Amanda.

And maybe that's why I love airports so much. Because I feel less alone in the in-between-ness, even if no one else in the waiting lounge is as crazy/displaced enough to be processing these thoughts.

I was scrolling through old photos on Facebook earlier and found this one, taken in front Brandenburger Tor in Berlin. It was one of the first days we were there and there were various exhibits that we could take photos with. Some were historical; others political; still others, simply funny. This little guy here though, reminded me too much of myself. By the time I got to Germany, I had come to the realisation that no matter what part of the world I move to or how many times I move, wherever I sleep that night would be home, but I would also still be homesick for at least one of the other homes.

That is the new normal now. And it will be ok.

Emily sent me this photo via Whatsapp today. I hadn't expected it because it wasn't a significant date. But it was the reminder I needed that I wasn't alone in this warped in-between place. A few months after Keren died, they planted a tree on campus in remembrance of her. When I still lived in Anderson, I would visit on her birth and death anniversary with the yellow flowers she wanted on her last birthday. It became a place of solitude in the summer months as well. Months before I moved, I told Emily that I wasn't sure what I would do anymore on her birth and death anniversary. She offered to simply bring flowers to visit whenever she was able. Emi, thank you.

This. This is where we come from.

Requiem

I told myself I wasn't going to write this one. Because when these things happen, everybody's talking and needing to process. The last thing they need is to be overloaded with more words. (They really just need yoghurt, I'm telling you.)

But after two hours have passed and this nagging feeling wouldn't go away, I'm finally sitting down.

Most folks may not know, but I'm very protective of my baby sister. I know she's just turned 18, so what? She's still my baby sister.

When the news came, my mind flashed straight back five years ago, when I was the one losing a friend. The days at the hospital, the morning the call came through, the memorial services, and all the nights after that.

But what struck me tonight wasn't so much the memories from that chapter. It was the realisation that when death hits you in the face like that, it doesn't simply leave you with that dreaded feeling of loss and emptiness.

No, it also takes your innocence away.

Suddenly the reality sinks in that it isn't only the old people that die.
Suddenly it sinks in that it isn't only the bad people that suffer.
Suddenly it sinks in that someone so young, so full of life, with unfulfilled dreams to help change the world can be taken away just like that.

Tonight, I got angry.
No, I wasn't just angry that a twenty-year-old college kid's life just ended like that.
Death happens.
Having to say goodbye is terrible, but death happens.

Tonight, I got angry that my baby sister--and her friends--have to go through that.
That their innocence just got taken away, just like that.

And then I remembered.
Anger is a part of grief.
If there are three things I can say to a close-knit community like AU going through this season of grief, it would be these:

Give each other grace. Give each other grace to be angry, grace to be silent, grace to be in denial, grace to simply cry.
Don't try to answer questions, just hold each other.
And most importantly, hold each other. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. Hold on.

Xavier, I don't know you.
But they all have kind things to say about you.
That you lit up every room you entered.
That you never failed to make them smile.
Tonight, I speak love to you and yours.
I pray Creator God hold those who love you dear tonight.

Much love to those who are hurting tonight.

""Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God." - Isaiah 40:1

Calling Time-Out

Most Western parents would be familiar with the phrase, "time-out". It is used when a child old enough to rationalise with continues misbehaving and is usually followed with the phrase, "go to your room."

While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.

"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."

This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".

I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"

But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.

I went to Wellington instead.

"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"

To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.

What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.

"What did you do in Wellington?"

To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.

It got awkward.

No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.

Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.

Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.

Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.

Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.

Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").

Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.

But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.

And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.

But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?

John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator at work play all over again. I wouldn't recommend colourful Wellington to just anyone needing a time-out, but those 48 hours were precious in creating that sacred, sacred space in the midst of all the hustle and bustle to find that inspiration all over again.

Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.

Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.

Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.

I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.

Celebrating Across the Seas

Well, it's officially "Black Friday" on this side of the world.

In all my years of celebrating Thanksgiving, I've only done the Black Friday madness once--only because Jenny and Becca convinced me that since it was my last Thanksgiving in the US, I had to at least get out there in the wee hours of the morning once, even if just for the cultural experience. I can't say I enjoyed the experience much; but maybe it's because I was more used to parking down in the Rhynard house for the Thanksgiving weekend 007 marathon with my homework or crochet, and trying to keep warm in the Michigan winter.

I remember my first snow. Danielle and I were going to pick Cody up from high-school (yes, Cody, I know you're grown-up now because you're in seminary, but I'll always remember you as that dorky high-schooler who wouldn't stop giving your sister crap, as all good brothers should) the day before Thanksgiving. We were walking in to the school when Danielle stopped me and said, "Look! It's snowing!"

Folks always talk about being excited about snow. But that first snow, I thought I was going to slip on the snow, hit my head on the side-walk and die. It didn't help that I crash-landed in a pile of snow when out on my first snow-mobile ride with Danielle and Cody. "Death by snow on her first Thanksgiving." Great headline, eh?

The years passed quicker than I was ready for them. My last two American Thanksgivings have been characteristically un-snowy--rainy at best, but snow would have been a major fluke in the weather system.

So we learn to adapt. We don't do snow or snow-mobiles, but we do stories. Turkeys cost four times as much here as they would in Michigan or Indiana, so we do chicken. Pumpkins only happen as a whole fruit and not in cans, so we puree our own for pies and coffee creamers. And we include friends for whom Thanksgivings may have never been, or will ever be, traditions, but whose stories we get to write together at least for this season.

It wasn't that many years ago that traditional celebration story-sharing started. Those first awkward Chinese New Year celebrations in the dorm rooms without a real kitchen to work with, or easy access to an Asian grocer. And we learnt to adapt anyway.

That's the life of living all around the world. We carry our stories, our food, our traditions and celebrations with us. We adapt where necessary, and we start new traditions and carry those with us to new corners of the world and fill even more pages of our stories with new friends, laughter, and always, always food.

And after the dishes have all been cleared away, we pause to sit down with a cuppa joe. And we give thanks for the stories we get to be a part of, the table of food and laughter shared, and for a rich and abundant life.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May it be filled with love and laughter.

The Call

It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word

There are a few things I remember very vividly about Old Testament classes with Dr Ross.

1) The maps. Oh, the maps. And the highlighters. And where to sit in the classroom so you don't get called upon to tell the class where things are on the maps.
2) The bee-box story. Yes. Anyone who has been in one of Dr Ross's classes would have heard this one.
3) The videos. And the ones he himself fell asleep watching.

And then there was that paper that he had us write at the end of our first year of seminary.

The Call Paper

Second semester of Old Testament was on the prophets. The final paper for that class was kind of a reflection based on the prophet Jeremiah's prophetic call. We were to read portions from the book of Jeremiah and then write about our own call to ministry.

That was a paper I would never forget writing. At the end of the term, we all had to do a very short presentation from our papers. And then he concluded the term saying, "Never forget this paper you've written. The ministry journey will be difficult. But never forget your call so that as things get more and more difficult, you will remember this call, and it will keep you going."

Recently, I've been prompted by a few different occasions to think about this call. MaryAnn had asked if I would do a piece about it. Since I will be writing a full-length piece that's going to print, this is more of a first draft/idea bank than anything else, but also a reflection of the week at camp.

Paul, who directed the camp, had asked us all to spend some time before the campers arrived to reflect on why we follow Jesus today. He made it clear we weren't supposed to be thinking about "when we first got saved" because kids would rather know how it's relevant today.

The theme for the camp was Xpedition Force, and as an introduction within each small group, kids were asked to share about the biggest adventure they had been on. Each night, one of the leaders would share the stories of why we follow Jesus, if they felt comfortable doing so. So really briefly, this was the kid-friendly story that I shared around the campfire one night.

Remember when we went around in our small groups on the first day of camp to share about the biggest adventure we've been on? Well, tonight I'm going to tell you a little bit about the biggest adventure I've been on. 

I was born in Singapore and when I was 18, I moved to the US for uni. I was nervous and afraid because I had no idea what to expect, and I was leaving my family and friends, and everything I knew behind.

The last Sunday I was in Singapore, my pastor got me up to the front of the church so that they could pray for me before I left. The last thing he said to me that day was to read the passage from Luke 5 about Jesus calling his disciples. The story went something like that: 

These two men had been fishing all night and caught no fish. Then along came this Jesus guy who told them, "Hey, take your boats out a little further and throw your nets a little deeper." Of course, they were thinking, "Well, we've done this all night and caught nothing. And we've done this for our whole lives, surely we know what we're supposed to do?" But they did it anyway, even though they still didn't really know who this Jesus was or what he was up to. And of course, what happens when they threw their nets out a little deeper? They caught a whole ton of fish! They were probably thinking, "Hmm, maybe this Jesus guy does know what he's talking about." 

And that was how my adventure began. In the same way that Jesus was with his disciples and looked out for them and their fish, every time I move somewhere around the world, whether it was to America, Germany, or now New Zealand, I remember that Jesus said to throw my nets out a little deeper because it's going to be the greatest adventure ever.

Of course, the Luke 5 story is also weaved into the very beginnings of the existence of this blog, which started as a place to chronicle the adventures in Germany. Little did I realise that the week at camp was about to be the roughest week I've experienced in my short career in children's ministry.

As we were leaving the campfire that night, I remembered thinking about how Kylee had once shared about how she usually feels really vulnerable after preaching because it was like she had just completely bared her soul. Any response to the sermon could be taken very personally because of that vulnerability.

That was how I felt that night.
"Was that story cool enough for the kids?"
"Do they now think I'm a complete nut-case?"
"Maybe moving around the world as an adventure isn't that interesting of a story for kids..."

The grass couldn't have been more fascinating that night even though it was pitch dark as I kept my head low to avoid anyone or anything that would make me feel less than human. Then along came this figure whom I recognised as one of the older boy campers who enjoyed appearing tough with the rest of his mates.

"That was a really cool story."
"Yeah? Which part?"
"The one about Jesus asking them to take the nets out further..."
(Awkward silence proceeds because Jael is shaken out of vulnerability bubble and gets flabbergasted really easily under normal circumstances anyway. And then panic ensues because Jael doesn't want to lose the interest of the young chap.)
"Yeah? Well, it is found in the Bible..."
(face-palm. What are you doing Jael? Get it together. You've gotta be cooler than that.")
"Really? Where?"
"It's in Luke 5. You can go read it if you have time."
"Oh cool! I'll do that."

It's never about me, is it?

That same night, I had my first homesick camper. I tried convincing her the story I had just told about moving away from home at 18 years old was the same thing as being away from home for the first time at camp.

Smooth. Real smooth.

The next day, the homesick camper would not stop bickering with the BFF who was in the same small group. Halfway through one of the craft activities, one of them left in tears because they had gotten into another fight.

"She said..."
"But she said..."
"No but..."
Sigh.

That night, as the campers filed out to their cabins after supper, Jacolize, the camp mum, found me. I had a minor breakdown as she prayed over the situation, wondering again why in the world I was working with kids when I had no experience and didn't even know what it's like to be or to feel as a kid would. My childhood was mechanical, and any emotion I have the ability to express today came from the intense hormonal re-structuring from the 4 years in an all-girls school in my teenage years. When I eventually returned to the cabin, Paul and Gwen had sat the girls down to talk to them about respect.

As if I didn't feel low enough, now all these other adults needed to come out to help me with my kids.

I don't know how or why, but I had packed my pink Kaleo shirt along to camp and as I put it on the next day, everything about Dr Ross and the bee-box and the Jeremiah paper came back.

Kaleo means "I call" in Greek.

I thought about my friend Emily, and how proud she would have been that I had brought that shirt to camp. It was the momentary high of the morning until the next bicker between the BFFs. It was a good thing the camp schedule was so full on that I didn't have time for an argument with God or the whole, "You know I didn't want to do the ministry thing, or the seminary thing, or the work in a church thing, or the children's ministry thing and yet I've submitted to it all so why the flip do you not make it any easier??" conversation would have made its pointless loop all over again.

I knew exactly why.


It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word

It was The Call.
I got curious, and so I answered.
And off we went.
I've always had the opportunity to stop any time I wanted.
But really, the highs are so much more fun that the lows can eventually become negligible.

As I began to put more of these thoughts together, the song that became the theme as I transitioned out of Anderson last year came back.

It started off as a feeling

It's the same song that has kept me through all the weaving in and out of stories in the past year. Stories that I've interacted with along the road, even the ones I've only spent a day or a week with.

The Call is what I make of it.

I'll come back when they call me,
No need to say goodbye

Exegesis of 1 Corinthians 7:25-35, Paul on Marriage

Now concerning virgins I have no command of the Lord, but I give an opinion as one who by the mercy of the Lord is trustworthy. I think then that this is good in view of the present distress, that it is good for a man to remain as he is. Are you bound to a wife? Do not seek to be released. Are you released from a wife? Do not seek a wife. But if you marry, you have not sinned; and if a virgin marries, she has not sinned. Yet such will have trouble in this life, and I am trying to spare you. But this I say, brethren, the time has been shortened, so that from now on those who have wives should be as though they had none; and those who weep, as though they did not weep; and those who rejoice, as though they did not rejoice; and those who buy, as though they did not possess; and those who use the world, as though they did not make full use of it; for the form of this world is passing away. But I want you to be free from concern. One who is unmarried is concerned about the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and his interests are divided. The woman who is unmarried, and the virgin, is concerned about the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and spirit; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how she may please her husband. This I say for your own benefit; not to put a restraint upon you, but to promote what is appropriate and to secure undistracted devotion to the Lord.

 - 1 Corinthians 7:25-35

Introduction

            In deciphering scripture, there are many issues that one needs to consider. The tendency in reading scripture is for one to read our own agenda into the text without letting it truly speak to us. Often when this happens, scripture becomes the cause for division and manipulation. In the case of this scripture from 1 Corinthians 7:25-35 that is under exegesis, much has been said about whether marriage should be a qualifier for one to be in ministry. Each difference in opinion has caused the division in the church to fracture a little bit more. If Paul were the author of this letter, and he preached so much about unity in the community, could it possibly have been his intent for his letter to cause division? Here we will examine this text more closely.

Literary Criticism

            With regards to authorship, scholars seem to come to a general agreement that this first letter to the Corinthians is Pauline. Both Jerome Murphy-O’Conner and Joseph Fitzmyer interprets the Lucan account to be the main source of credibility that Paul did actually travel to Corinth.[1] However, Murphy-O’Conner goes on to say that:

Luke gives the impression that he arrived more or less on the heels of Aquila and Prisclla, he arrived more or less on the heels of Aquila and Priscilla, who had ‘recently’ come from Italy as a result of the edict of Claudius (Acts 18:1-2). Thus, Paul would have arrived not long after A.D. 41. Unfortunately, things cannot be as simple as this.

He argues that it is on his second missionary journey that Paul arrived in Corinth. In holding the Lucan account and placing Paul’s other letters on a chronological timeline, we arrive at the conclusion that Paul probably left Corinth sometime in A.D. 51.[2]

Murphy-O’Conner writes that “Paul returned to Ephesus in mid to late summer AD 52. He stayed there for two years and three months (Acts 19:8-10), during which he probably wrote letters to Galatia, Philippi, Colossae, Philemon, and Corinth.”[3] Murphy-O’Conner, Bruce J. Malina and John J. Pilch all agree that 1 Corinthians is not actually the first letter that Paul wrote to the Corinths, as Paul does make a reference to a previous letter in 1 Corinthians 5:9.[4] Murphy-O’Conner writes that the first letter was actually lost. These three scholars maintain that because of the reference to a previous letter, it sets it up that Paul “was already situated in a well-set-up information exchange relation.”[5] Murphy-O’Conner writes that

The circumstances surrounding the writing of 1 Corinthians are much more complex, and go a long way to explaining the number of subjects dealt with in what is easily the most dialogical of all Paul’s letters . . . Paul had three sources of information regarding the situation at Corinth – Chloe’s people, the delegation, and the letter. Together these revealed two sets of problems, to which Paul responds in different ways.[6]

Form Criticism

            Malina and Pilch suggest that the book of 1 Corinthians can actually be divided into two sections. They write that

In the first part of the letter, Paul responds to the information brought by Chloe’s people . . . In the second part covering questions put in the letter sent by some Corinthians, Paul deals with their concerns about having children (7:1ff), arranging marriage (7:25ff), eating foods set before images (8:1ff), and gifts of the Spirit (12:1ff); about his own idea of a collection for Jerusalem (16:1ff); and about Apollos (16:12).[7]

Ben Witherington III seems to agree with this analysis of the text. He writes that “[Paul] is convinced that even social problems have theological roots and ethical implications . . . He must show the future good of allowing love to govern how, when, and whether one expresses one’s freedom, knowledge, and gifts . . . Paul structures his discourse to achieve these aims.”[8] He gives the suggestion that this chapter under exegesis falls under the section probatio, which includes arguments concerning marriage and singleness amongst other topics. He writes that “The probatio was the heart of a rhetorical speech or letter and included the principal arguments used to persuade the audience.”[9]

Textual Criticism

            To gain as close of an unbiased understanding of this text as we can, we need to examine the text more closely, especially with regards to the use of words such as “virgin” and “unmarried.”

            Fitzmyer offers that the noun parthenos could have been in reference to a girl without experience of a man, or who has not been given to a man. He writes that

Elsewhere in the NT it denotes (14 times) a chaste marriageable girl (except Rev 14:4, where it is figurative: parthenoi, those who have not defiled themselves with idolatory) . . . Here, however, parthenoi has to be understood as masc. as well as fem., because v. 26 extends its connotation to anthropos, “human being,” and v. 32 applies it to masc. ho agamos. For this reason, the RSV, REB render it “the unmarried.” The translation “betrothed” (ESV, Hurley, “To Marry,” 16; Elliot, “Paul’s Teaching”) is tendentious and wrong; and parthenoi, as “widow(er)s married only once” (Ford, “Levirte Marriage,” 362) is bizarre. The noun occurs elsewhere in the Pauline corpus only in 2 Cor 11:2.[10]

Richard Horsley however, offers that “Traditionally, because of the reference to “his virgin” (NRSV: fiancée) in verse 36 and the verb “cause to marry” in verse 38, the passage has been understood as addressed to fathers about their virgin daughters.”[11] Gordon Fee seems to agree with this translation. He writes that “Of the various options for the meaning of “virgins,” that seems most probable which sees Paul as speaking to some who are betrothed and are now questioning whether to go through with their marriages.”[12] If we hold that Paul was writing this letter to address the issues raised by the Corinthian church, then the argument presented by Horsley and Fee would probably hold more water.

Fee goes on to address the use of the word “being loosed” that presents some difficulty to work with. It is often assumed that in this case, Paul is referring to divorce. However, Fee raises the question that “If Paul had intended divorce, therefore, why did he use this strange noun?”[13] He writes that “The clue lies with the word “loosed,” which is found throughout the papyri as a technical term for discharging someone from the obligations of a contract . . . If the view is correct, then [the reference here would be] in particular to those who are already under obligation to one another.”[14] Fitzmyer agrees with this argument. He writes that “The perf. Lelysai might seem to mean, “have you been loosed from a wife,” i.e., by death or divorce. The NEB understands it of one whose marriage has “been dissolved.” In view of the preceding question, however, it must mean, “Have you been free of any bond to a wife?” . . . In saying this, Paul is not speaking against marriage as such.”[15]

Another part of this text that needs to be examined are the words “free of concern.” Fitzmyer writes that “Paul is expressing his pastoral care by providing guidance to the celibate male, and is undoubtedly using a notion often associated with marriage in Stoic writings . . . Paul makes this assertion about an unmarried man in the context of an exhortation in favor of virginity. What he thus asserts is intended as a recommendation to consider the appropriateness of “pleasing the Lord” in a celibate way of life.”[16] Fee offers here that

The words “to be free from concern” translate the infinitive “to be” and the adjective “without anxiety” (amerimnous). They have to do with a state of being, not with “cares” as such . . . Paul’s concern most likely still has to do with living in the present age as an eschatological person. That is, because life is determined by one’s new existence in Christ (already but not yet, with the “not yet” clearly in view), the believer should be free from the anxiety-ridden existence of those who are determined by the world in its present form . . . These things do not determine one’s existence; the clear vision of the future does.[17]

Redaction Criticism

            Because of the nature of this text being a specific letter addressing specific issues to the Corinthian church, there is little that can be said about the redaction of this text. However, we do find that this issue of the “present distress” that Paul talks about in verse 26 is also discussed in Luke 21:23.

The passage in Luke makes reference to a time of great distress in the land. However, the tone in this text seems to indicate more of an empathetic tone toward those who are suffering than one of reprimanding for the fate that they found themselves in. If anything, it seems to suggest that Paul might have suggested the Corinthian church remained as they were because in a time of great distress, a change from the status quo might bring trouble, similar to the reference made in the Lucan text.

Another portion of scripture that seems to reflect what Paul is saying in verse 26 about a man remaining as he is can be found in verse 8 where he encourages the unmarried and the widowed to remain as he was. However, it is difficult to interpret what he might have really meant in that text. Murphy-O’Conner suggests that, “When Paul wrote 1 Corinthians he was single. His formulation, however, draws attention to a latent ambiguity.”[18] He also raises the point that we cannot make the conclusion that Paul remained single his whole life based on one verse found in one of his letters.[19] This again points us back to the fact that Paul wrote this letter specifically to the Corinthians, addressing the specific issues that they had asked him.

Source Criticism

That Paul begins this part of the letter with “Now concerning virgins I have no command of the Lord, but I give an opinion as one who by the mercy of the Lord is trustworthy,” seems to indicate that he could not address this issue directly based on his knowledge of the Law. Peter Tomson offers that when we approach this passage, we have to recognize Paul’s authority as a Jewish religious teacher in his “previous life.”[20]

Witherington makes the suggestion that “Throughout this letter Paul tries to inculcate in the Corinthians a sense of what it means to live in the eschatological age . . . For Paul, the one thing of eternal significance that humans can do in this world is serve the Lord, proclaiming the good news of eternal salvation available through the crucified Messiah Jesus.”[21] If we hold this argument to be true, then perhaps we can assume that Paul wrote this section of his letter based solely on his authority as an apostle of Christ, “one who by the mercy of the Lord is trustworthy.”

Socio-Historical Criticism

            Witherington writes that “Often the study of passages like 1 Corinthians 7 has been attempted without consideration of the character and conduct of Roman marriage and family life. Such background study might help to explain why the Corinthians were acting as they were and why they were making statements like “It is good for a man not to ‘touch’ a woman.””[22]

Malina and Pilch offer that “The principle behind [Paul’s answers] are consistently the same: our present living is hemmed in by coercive conditions . . . The theme here is anxieties that come from family life. Given the shortness of time before the Lord’s coming, it seemed better, in terms of orderly and devoted living, to bypass family problems.”[23]

In his book, “Paul on Marriage and Celibacy,” Will Deming offers that there may have been a reason for Paul’s approach to celibacy. He writes that “An option pursued by a number of other scholars posits an ascetic theology among the Christians that arose from their confusion over Paul’s teachings on holiness and eschatology. As Johannes Weiss explains, these “earnest, fearful, unfree souls” were frightened by the Apostle’s condemnation of sexual sins, such as one finds in 1 Corinthians 6, and by the nearness of the End.”[24]

However, we still need to understand what is going on in the Roman world during this time to truly understand what it is that Paul is speaking to in this passage. Witherington offers several ways in which we can look at this. He writes that

First, while moderns tend to view a home as a haven or refuge from public life, the demarcation between public and private life was by no means as strong in antiquity . . . Whether because of work or because of arranged marriages, Romans frequently looked outside the home for pleasure and for much else that we would associate with home and family . . . A good deal of this background information comes into play in 1 Corinthians 7 because of the household setting of the ekklesia, which meant that sexuality and sex roles . . . represented an area Christians themselves could influence and control, whereas the public world was outside their control.[25]

Also, advocating that singleness was better than marriage was a view that would probably have been frowned upon by the Roman Corinthains. Witherington writes that “Some emperors, especially Augustus, had done all they could to encourage Romans to marry and have many children. Augustus even put into law penalties on women who remained unmarried too long after being widowed.”[26]

            At the same time, there was also much debate between the Stoics and the Cynics about the issue of marriage. Deming writes that “The starting point for this “Stoic-Cynic marriage debate” . . . was the recognition of a basic datum of free Greek society: marriage involved a man in weighty responsibilities . . . The effect was cumulative: marriage was the equivalent of leaving the freedom of one’s bachelor days behind and beginning the settled life of a responsible citizen with all its cares and concerns.”[27] One of these concerns was the issue of having children, as this was synonymous to being married in the eyes of both Stoics and Cynics. Deming goes on to write that “The basic question they asked was: Should the intelligent, informed, morally upright person take on such responsibility?”[28]

            The Stoics did not evaluate marriage as an entity in itself, but “as an important component in a larger system of morality. The act of marrying was a sign of allegiance to a higher metaphysical order.”[29] The Cynics, on the other hand, saw freedom to be more important than anything else. Deming writes that “the Cynic idea of freedom necessarily also included freedom from the responsibilities of conventional existence: “from all care about food, clothing, house, home, marriage . . . For this reason they resolutely excluded marriage from their sphere of moral concern.”[30]

            These were the arguments both for and against marriage during the time that Paul wrote this letter to the Corinths. However, Deming also presents that “In 7.26 Paul speaks of what is “good for a man”, an expression he uses in 7.1, and for which we have analogies in Stoic authors. In contrast to 7.1, however, where Paul follows this phrase with a Cynic-like judgment on marriage, here he states explicitly that he is giving his own advice as one who has been shown mercy by the Lord.”[31]

Witherington seems to agree with this argument. He writes that “He urges the Corinthian Christians to do what is for their benefit (v. 35), that is, what allows couples to be united and individuals to be sure of what their marital status ought to be.”[32] He also says that Paul is not merely being socially conservative “in the interest of the ekklesia’s survival.”[33] Murphy-O’Conner makes the same argument in this. He writes that

Paul applies a very coherent set of principles to the solution of these problems. (1) God’s call comes to people in all walks of life. Hence one’s social status essentially irrelevant. In particular, celibacy is not intrinsically better than marriage (verse 7). Thus in itself no social change will raise one in God’s estimation. (2) A change of status may be initiated in order to compensate for human weakness . . . (3) A forced change of status should be accepted.[34]

Praxis

            In examining what Paul really thought about community and life in the church, it is hardly surprising that even in this text in 1 Corinthians, we come to the conclusion that essentially, whatever labels or structures that society may try to impose on us really does not matter. We may not always come to the same conclusion about everything concerning lifestyle habits, but we are essentially just “everyday people” trying to live “everyday lives.” As Paul himself concludes in this passage, “This I say for your own benefit; not to put a restraint upon you, but to promote what is appropriate and to secure undistracted devotion to the Lord.” (1 Cor. 7:35).

Everyday People

Sometimes I'm right, but I can be wrong

My own beliefs are in my song

The butcher, the baker, the drummer and then

Makes no difference what group I'm in

I am everyday people

Yeah, yeah

There is a blue one who can't accept the green one

For living with a fat one trying to be a skinny one

Different strokes for different folks

And so on, and so on and scooby-dooby-doo

Ooh, sha, sha

We got to live together

I am no better, and neither are you

We are the same, whatever we do

You love me, you hate me, you know me and then

You can't figure out the bag I'm in

I am everyday people

Yeah, yeah

There is a long hair that doesn't like the short hair

For being such a rich one that will not help the poor one

Different strokes for different folks

And so on and so on and scooby-dooby-doo

Ooh, sha, sha

We got to live together

There is a yellow one that won't accept the black one

That won't accept the red one that won't accept the white one

Different strokes for different folks

And so on, and so on and scooby-dooby-doo

Ooh, sha, sha

I am everyday people

           

Bibliography

Dunn, James D.G., Editor. Paul and the Mosaic Law. Grand Rapids, MI: William B Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1994.

Dunn, James D.G., Editor. The Cambridge Companion to St. Paul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Fee, Gordon D. The First Epistle to the Corinthians. Grand Rapids, MI: William B Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1987.

Fitzmyer, Joseph. First Corinthians: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, vol. 32 from the Anchor Yale Bible. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008.

Horsley, Richard A. 1 Corinthians from Abingdon New Testament Commentaries Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998.

Murphy-O’Conner, Jerome. Paul: A Critical Life New York: Oxford University Press, 1996.

Murphy-O’Conner, Jerome. St Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology, vol. 6 from Good News Studies. Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1983.

Malina, Bruce J. and John J. Pilch. Social Science Commentary on the Letters of Paul. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006.

Witherington III, Ben. Conflict & Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995.

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[1] Joseph Fitzmyer, First Corinthians: a new translation with introduction and commentary, vol. 32 from the Anchor Yale Bible (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2008), 37; Jerome Murphy-O’Conner, St Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology, vol. 6 from Good News Studies (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, Inc., 1983), 130.

[2] Murphy-O’Conner, St Paul’s Corinth, 139-140.  For the purpose of this paper, we will not go into an extensive discussion of when the letter to the Corinthians might have been written. Various texts, including the Cambridge Companion to St. Paul and Social Science Commentary on the Letters of Paul  seem to either point to Murphy-O’Conner as the authority on Paul, or make the general assumption that Paul is indeed the author of the letters to the Corinthians. Murphy-O’Conner’s in-depth discussion of dating 1 Corinthians in this book.

[3] James D. G. Dunn, eds., The Cambridge Companion to St Paul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 75.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Bruce J. Malina and John J. Pilch, Social-Science Commentary on the Letters of Paul (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 59.

[6] Dunn, 75-76.

[7] Malina, 59.

[8] Ben Witherington III, Conflict & Community in Corinth: A Socio-Rhetorical Commentary on 1 and 2 Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995), 73.

[9] Ibid., 76.

[10] Fitzmyer, 314.

[11] Richard A. Horsley, 1 Corinthians from Abingdon New Testament Commentaries (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998), 104.

[12] Gordon D Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: William B Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1987), 323.

[13] Ibid., 331.

[14] Ibid., 332.

[15] Fitzmyer, 316.

[16] Ibid., 318-319.

[17] Fee, 342-343.

[18] Jerome Murphy-O’Conner, Paul: A Critical Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 62.

[19] Ibid., 62-63.

[20] James D. G. Dunn, eds., Paul and the Mosaic Law (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1994), 255.

[21] Witherington, 179.

[22] Witherington, 170.

[23] Malina, 90.

[24] Will Deming, Paul on Marriage and Celibacy: The Hellenistic Background of 1 Corinthians 7 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) 16.

[25] Witherington, 172-173.

[26] Witherington, 174.

[27] Deming, 52.

[28] Ibid., 54.

[29] Ibid., 57.

[30] Ibid., 61.

[31] Ibid., 173.

[32] Witherington, 174.

[33] Ibid.

[34] Dunn, 78.