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.
Showing posts with label Sabbath. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sabbath. Show all posts
29 March 2013
31 January 2013
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 atwork 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.
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
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.
20 November 2012
On Merton
I haven't written in a while. Not because I haven't had anything to write about. But because everything's been such a whirlwind that nothing has really had time to stew. And writing... At least, my writing, needs stewing.
So in the midst of the hustle and bustle, I'm stopping for what Anne Lamott calls "radical self-care".
Earlier this year, Emily sent me a copy of devotional meditations from Thomas Merton's journals. I read it consistently for a couple weeks, then as usual, chucked it aside. Maybe it's because the busier I get, the more I crave putting in disciplines (I am a J according to Myers-Briggs after all), so I recently picked it up again. And the more I read it, the more I crave simplicity.
I had the idea a couple weeks ago of checking out the monastic life, then realised I would probably miss my people too much to live in a monastery full time. The concern I have with monastic life is that in taking folks in to the inner spiritual life, there is the risk of forgetting there's still an outside world that exists. The greatest commandments are to love God AND our neighbour, and I fear that I'd forget the neighbour outside of the monastic walls.
Anyhow, that is a whole separate discussion that I need to do more research about. But I came to realised today it's time to start thinking about resolutions for 2013. And since I have a record of not being great at keeping resolutions, I had almost decided to stay away from those this year since I didn't need another thing to potentially fail at. But the more I thought about it, the more these two things stuck out as must-dos for 2013.
1) Intentionality
2) Simplify
In this crazy season leading up to Advent, I haven't really had time to think about what it really means to wait for the Christ-child and the anticipation and expectancy involved. But stripping everything else away, the two still remain. I want to be intentional. And I want to keep things simple.
Love God. Love people.
Be intentional.
And keep it simple.
So in the midst of the hustle and bustle, I'm stopping for what Anne Lamott calls "radical self-care".
Earlier this year, Emily sent me a copy of devotional meditations from Thomas Merton's journals. I read it consistently for a couple weeks, then as usual, chucked it aside. Maybe it's because the busier I get, the more I crave putting in disciplines (I am a J according to Myers-Briggs after all), so I recently picked it up again. And the more I read it, the more I crave simplicity.
I had the idea a couple weeks ago of checking out the monastic life, then realised I would probably miss my people too much to live in a monastery full time. The concern I have with monastic life is that in taking folks in to the inner spiritual life, there is the risk of forgetting there's still an outside world that exists. The greatest commandments are to love God AND our neighbour, and I fear that I'd forget the neighbour outside of the monastic walls.
Anyhow, that is a whole separate discussion that I need to do more research about. But I came to realised today it's time to start thinking about resolutions for 2013. And since I have a record of not being great at keeping resolutions, I had almost decided to stay away from those this year since I didn't need another thing to potentially fail at. But the more I thought about it, the more these two things stuck out as must-dos for 2013.
1) Intentionality
2) Simplify
In this crazy season leading up to Advent, I haven't really had time to think about what it really means to wait for the Christ-child and the anticipation and expectancy involved. But stripping everything else away, the two still remain. I want to be intentional. And I want to keep things simple.
Love God. Love people.
Be intentional.
And keep it simple.
11 June 2012
Eat.Pray.Love. Days 1-3
Taking a three-week break from the real world for an Eat.Pray.Love. sabbath. These are the chronicles.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
Day 1:
Eat - chwee kueh, cai tao kueh, you tiao, ee mian, kaya toast, rojak, oyster omelette
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, parents' home group
Love - grandma, parents
Everyone wants to be heard, but no one's really listening.
Culture vs. Christ
Day 2:
Eat - chicken rice, wedding banquet
Pray - Francis Chan's Crazy Love, Young Theologians, "So you're a pastor..."
Love - Teresa, Jason, Dao Jian
Frivolity vs. Purpose
Judgment vs. Solidarity
I've stopped hoping to be understood, but it doesn't mean the sting is any less when reminded I'm not measuring up to cultural expectations.
Day 3:
Eat - Peng kueh, ti zang, chicken rice, sushi buffet
Pray - Who is Jesus? Reconciling existential crises to ministry life
Love - Carissa, Ke & Xuan, April+Ben & kids, grandma
Just because "they" may have greater access to resources doesn't make their problems any less real or painful.
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