Almost three years of grad school, and four and a half years of college, have taught me that nothing kills the Christmas spirit faster than finals time.
Sure, in high-school, we had finals (and later in December, too), but so much of high-school life revolves around social events and Christmas revelry that its not hard to catch the spirit of Christmas, even if that dreaded Chem II test is right around the corner. As a "mega-nerd," I always had the annual choir and debate team Christmas parties to look forward to, as well as other pertinent social obligations, dictated by whomever I happened to be dating at the time.
At my parent's home, the Christmas tree (after we splurged and bought a tasteful artificial one) usually went up either the day of or day after Thanksgiving. Even amid end-of-the-semester wackiness, an eclectic Christmas tree and cheerful display of stockings greeted me as I hurried in through the front door. For a few years, I even decorated my room with Christmas lights, stringing multi-colored strands (my favorite) around the legs and railings of my loft bed.
And then--I went away to college. Celebrating the season of Yule presents many challenges while in pursing higher education. After Thanksgiving, finals were a but a wink away and then we were required to vacate our dorm rooms until classes resumed in mid-January. Stringing Christmas lights in one's dorm room proved to be much time and frustration (because packing tape doesn't stick to cement-block walls) for little enjoyment. Friends scatter to the four winds after the completion of finals, and classmates and roommates disappear without so much as a "Merry Christmas."
Of course, the consolation for a lack of Christmas preparation at the college is that you get to return home where, if you are so fortunate, the tree and stockings and egg-nog await.
Ironically, I have had the hardest time "getting into the Christmas Spirit" while at seminary. Surely at seminary, Christmas/Advent would be a focus, sorta like the 4th of July is celebrated brightest and best in Washington, D.C. We expect our nation's capitol to model for us what it means to be patriotic, proud, and exuberant. Likewise, shouldn't our seminaries better model for us what it means to wait in expectant hope for the coming Christ child?
And in truth, the seminary I attend does its best. There are scattered parties, sing-a-longs, etc. The administration and community does what it can. But it is one of the hard facts of seminary life that the looming dread associated with final exams and papers extinguishes holiday cheer faster than you can sing "Silent Night." We weep, gnash teeth, rend garments until our work is done and we are able to return to the homes from whence we came. By the time we turn in work, collapse from exhaustion, board planes, drive cars, go home (or similar), see family and friends, we look up at our calendars and realize that is is January 6th and Christmas is over.
Christmas is a mere 9 days away and instead of Christmas lights, my room is littered with fragments of an exegesis paper. Books, lying open, too exhausted to hoist themselves on my bookshelf, clutter my floor. The only sign of Christmas is the two Christmas cards pinned to my bulletin board. Alone, neglected, dusty, and forgotten--a Rubbermaid storage bin hides in the corner of my closet. Inside it lies more Christmas decorations than a seminary dorm room can hold, but, as I look around my room, I see no place to display my wares. It seems that the Holy family may have to remain a hidden family, if I don't clear off enough counter space.
I used to love Christmas, but that was when I felt I had a home. These days, I feel more like a "wayfaring stranger," not yet an adult, but no longer a child. How does one celebrate Christmas in Limbo, when I have the ornaments for a tree, but no tree on which to display them? How do I celebrate Christmas when my stocking has no mantel nor hook on which to hang? Nine days to Christmas, and I have yet to buy a single gift, or send a card, or watch the Grinch attempt a holiday misdemeanor, or witness Linus recite from the Gospel according to St. Luke.
Perhaps I'll find my Christmas spirit. Perhaps it will hit me like a "stake of holly through my heart," as Dickens once said. Or maybe it will come and go, gentle and rolling as the tide, as ordinary and unassuming as all the days of the year. But then--isn't it when we least expect it, that something miraculous occurs?
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Seven Tidbits About Mere!
Kendra tagged me with this exercise and I regret that I have been somewhat delayed in my response. Here goes:
Seven Interesting Things About Me (my childhood?)
1. When I was in junior high, I had the outlandish idea to dye my hair with red food coloring. Yes, the same type of food coloring that you find in those tiny dropper tubes and stick around in your pantry for what seems like eons. Somewhere, perhaps in a TEEN magazine, I read about temporarily dying one's hair with Kool-Aid and had, on previous occasions, successfully tinted my hair blue-greenish by immersing my short, dirty-blond head into the bathroom sink. Anyway, the day had come when I decided to boldly dye my bond hair red and then proudly sport my alterna-grunge-rock 'do at school.
The night before, I carefully applied a mixture of red Kool-Aid/red food coloring. When my hair finally achieved the desired "atomic fire ball" countenance, I went to bed and awaited the next day when surely, I would wow my peers with my undeniable coolness, as well as supreme ballsy-ness.
Donning my best "grunge wear" (flannel shirt, boots, jeans) I proudly and boldly boarded the bus to school ignoring the stares of the other passengers. When I arrived at school, I felt a little like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever--you know, when he's walking down the street, looking impossibly cool.
But then it was time for gym class. Being that it was September, and the weather was still warm-hot, we played soccer outside for gym. I ran around, chasing the infernal checkered sphere. I became sweaty, but didn't think anything about it. Class ended, and we dahsed inside to change out of our gym uniforms.
That's when I saw it: large red spots, like crimson teardrops, on my white gym t-shirt. Shit! My hair was sweating out the food coloring! I panicked, try to cool myself off. It was time for lunch so I had no choice but to get out of my uniform and back into my grunge clothes. Despite my efforts, my red-tinted sweat continued to rain upon my shoulders. A classmate noticed. "Hey, you're sweating red!" Other students begin to ridicule me, both to my face, and behind my back. I begin wailing, my salty tears mixing with the dyed ones.
Upon recommendation from a friend, I go the school nurse and she lets me rinse out my hair in her sink. The red dye was EVERYWHERE, all over her sink, all over my clothes. She makes me visit the school counselor, who attempted to console me, but was basically ineffective. I end up missing lunch, so I grab a Little Debbie Cake and hurry off to my science class, wet hair (but dye-free).
Ok, that was a long story. The rest will be shorter...
2. When I was in elementary school, I was convinced that I one, day, would be the first female president.
3. On a similar note, I was obsessed with Hillary Clinton in fifth grade. I had all these Hilary Clinton buttons that I would wear on my sweater vests or book bag. A Clinton/Gore bumper sticker graced the cover of my school binder. Other kids made fun of me...
4. My favorite Halloween costume as a kid? Annie Oakley. She was a western sharpshooter that made a name for herself traveling with Buffalo Bill Cody in Wild West Shows. My mother made me a faux leather skirt and vest and I sported a plastic rifle.
5. I remember knowing all the words to UT's fight song, "The Eyes of Texas," by age five.
6. Going to library, for my family, was a natural as breathing, a regular part of the rhythm of our lives. I knew how to work the library databases even as young kid, and adults would often ask me how to use the library search engine.
7. Before "I discerned a call to ministry," I wanted to be an environmental engineer. The summer between 8th and 9th grade, I earned a spot to attend a summer camp at Texas A&M, sponsored by the Society of Women Engineers. The week ended up teaching me that I never wanted to attend A&M (too cultish!) and that I never, ever, wanted to be an engineer.
Now I tag: Ryan, Monica, Carrie
Seven Interesting Things About Me (my childhood?)
1. When I was in junior high, I had the outlandish idea to dye my hair with red food coloring. Yes, the same type of food coloring that you find in those tiny dropper tubes and stick around in your pantry for what seems like eons. Somewhere, perhaps in a TEEN magazine, I read about temporarily dying one's hair with Kool-Aid and had, on previous occasions, successfully tinted my hair blue-greenish by immersing my short, dirty-blond head into the bathroom sink. Anyway, the day had come when I decided to boldly dye my bond hair red and then proudly sport my alterna-grunge-rock 'do at school.
The night before, I carefully applied a mixture of red Kool-Aid/red food coloring. When my hair finally achieved the desired "atomic fire ball" countenance, I went to bed and awaited the next day when surely, I would wow my peers with my undeniable coolness, as well as supreme ballsy-ness.
Donning my best "grunge wear" (flannel shirt, boots, jeans) I proudly and boldly boarded the bus to school ignoring the stares of the other passengers. When I arrived at school, I felt a little like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever--you know, when he's walking down the street, looking impossibly cool.
But then it was time for gym class. Being that it was September, and the weather was still warm-hot, we played soccer outside for gym. I ran around, chasing the infernal checkered sphere. I became sweaty, but didn't think anything about it. Class ended, and we dahsed inside to change out of our gym uniforms.
That's when I saw it: large red spots, like crimson teardrops, on my white gym t-shirt. Shit! My hair was sweating out the food coloring! I panicked, try to cool myself off. It was time for lunch so I had no choice but to get out of my uniform and back into my grunge clothes. Despite my efforts, my red-tinted sweat continued to rain upon my shoulders. A classmate noticed. "Hey, you're sweating red!" Other students begin to ridicule me, both to my face, and behind my back. I begin wailing, my salty tears mixing with the dyed ones.
Upon recommendation from a friend, I go the school nurse and she lets me rinse out my hair in her sink. The red dye was EVERYWHERE, all over her sink, all over my clothes. She makes me visit the school counselor, who attempted to console me, but was basically ineffective. I end up missing lunch, so I grab a Little Debbie Cake and hurry off to my science class, wet hair (but dye-free).
Ok, that was a long story. The rest will be shorter...
2. When I was in elementary school, I was convinced that I one, day, would be the first female president.
3. On a similar note, I was obsessed with Hillary Clinton in fifth grade. I had all these Hilary Clinton buttons that I would wear on my sweater vests or book bag. A Clinton/Gore bumper sticker graced the cover of my school binder. Other kids made fun of me...
4. My favorite Halloween costume as a kid? Annie Oakley. She was a western sharpshooter that made a name for herself traveling with Buffalo Bill Cody in Wild West Shows. My mother made me a faux leather skirt and vest and I sported a plastic rifle.
5. I remember knowing all the words to UT's fight song, "The Eyes of Texas," by age five.
6. Going to library, for my family, was a natural as breathing, a regular part of the rhythm of our lives. I knew how to work the library databases even as young kid, and adults would often ask me how to use the library search engine.
7. Before "I discerned a call to ministry," I wanted to be an environmental engineer. The summer between 8th and 9th grade, I earned a spot to attend a summer camp at Texas A&M, sponsored by the Society of Women Engineers. The week ended up teaching me that I never wanted to attend A&M (too cultish!) and that I never, ever, wanted to be an engineer.
Now I tag: Ryan, Monica, Carrie
Monday, October 15, 2007
Movie Time!
The seminary has a week off for "Fall Break" and I have used this breather from the frenetic pace of the semester to catch up on my movie watching. In the past four days, I have seen four movies, possibly the most consecutive movie watching I have done since I had bronchitis two years ago.
Movie #1: Superbad
I saw Superbad at the Alamo Drafthouse, which I consider to be the most appropriate locale for such a cinegraphic experience. I split a pitcher of Shiner with a fellow moviegoer and I am convinced the slight beer-induced buzz only added to the overall hilarity of the film.
"Superbad" will not win any Academy Awards--hardly a minute passes without visual or spoken vulgarity--but despite its outrageous teen-sex-romp veneer, the movie is one of the most honest depictions of teenage "frustrations" (societal or otherwise) since the first American Pie movie. Anyway, I liked it and laughed until I cried. If you go see it, be sure to stay through the credits.
Verdict: 2 beers up!
Movie #2: Knocked Up
In keeping with our Judd Apatow theme, Ryan and I finally were able to snag a copy of "Knocked Up" from the local Blockbuster. Knocked-Up is sorta like Apatow's other movies in that the story focuses on a hapless man-child who is suddenly forced into adulthood. It seems to me that an increasing number of movies are focusing on the existential crises of men in the late 20's (i.e, The Last Kiss). Is this merely the manifestation of a post-modern, Gen X and or/Y angst? But I digress. KU is hilarious and offers a bit 'o something for everybody (love story for the sentimental types, drug-sex humor for rest of us). I have new respect for the acting abilities of Mr. Seth Rogan and hope to see him in more movies.
Verdict: Knocked Up is a knockout!
Movie #3: The Darjeeling Limited
Confession time: I'm not a huge Wes Anderson fan. I find his films a little too self-indulgent for my taste. But the fiance wanted to see it and hey, I'll watch any movie starring Adrian Brody (sorry Ryan, but if Adrian comes a knockin' on my dorm room door...just kidding).
Darjeeling Ltd. is probably the most beautiful movie I have seen in recent memory. The colors, costumes, camera angles--all typical of a Wes Anderson flick--are outstanding. I now want to travel India in a crowded railroad sleeper car. The three main actors in the movie--Jason Schwartzman, Adrian Brody, and Owen Wilson--have a quirky chemistry that seems all the more real because of the eccentricities of each character. And the soundtrack kicks ass, too.
Verdict: It's a Darjeeling of a movie!
Movie #4: Mona Lisa Smile
Checked this one out from the school library. This movie was as shallow as Darjeeling Ltd. was provocative. Its attempt at promoting feminism was, at best, weak; I liked it the first time, when it was called "Dead Poets Society."
Verdict: Van Gogh far away from this one!
Movie #1: Superbad
I saw Superbad at the Alamo Drafthouse, which I consider to be the most appropriate locale for such a cinegraphic experience. I split a pitcher of Shiner with a fellow moviegoer and I am convinced the slight beer-induced buzz only added to the overall hilarity of the film.
"Superbad" will not win any Academy Awards--hardly a minute passes without visual or spoken vulgarity--but despite its outrageous teen-sex-romp veneer, the movie is one of the most honest depictions of teenage "frustrations" (societal or otherwise) since the first American Pie movie. Anyway, I liked it and laughed until I cried. If you go see it, be sure to stay through the credits.
Verdict: 2 beers up!
Movie #2: Knocked Up
In keeping with our Judd Apatow theme, Ryan and I finally were able to snag a copy of "Knocked Up" from the local Blockbuster. Knocked-Up is sorta like Apatow's other movies in that the story focuses on a hapless man-child who is suddenly forced into adulthood. It seems to me that an increasing number of movies are focusing on the existential crises of men in the late 20's (i.e, The Last Kiss). Is this merely the manifestation of a post-modern, Gen X and or/Y angst? But I digress. KU is hilarious and offers a bit 'o something for everybody (love story for the sentimental types, drug-sex humor for rest of us). I have new respect for the acting abilities of Mr. Seth Rogan and hope to see him in more movies.
Verdict: Knocked Up is a knockout!
Movie #3: The Darjeeling Limited
Confession time: I'm not a huge Wes Anderson fan. I find his films a little too self-indulgent for my taste. But the fiance wanted to see it and hey, I'll watch any movie starring Adrian Brody (sorry Ryan, but if Adrian comes a knockin' on my dorm room door...just kidding).
Darjeeling Ltd. is probably the most beautiful movie I have seen in recent memory. The colors, costumes, camera angles--all typical of a Wes Anderson flick--are outstanding. I now want to travel India in a crowded railroad sleeper car. The three main actors in the movie--Jason Schwartzman, Adrian Brody, and Owen Wilson--have a quirky chemistry that seems all the more real because of the eccentricities of each character. And the soundtrack kicks ass, too.
Verdict: It's a Darjeeling of a movie!
Movie #4: Mona Lisa Smile
Checked this one out from the school library. This movie was as shallow as Darjeeling Ltd. was provocative. Its attempt at promoting feminism was, at best, weak; I liked it the first time, when it was called "Dead Poets Society."
Verdict: Van Gogh far away from this one!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Rules of Engagement
To paraphrase fellow APTS blogger, BCDees:
...happiness is being engaged to your best friend...
He asked, I said yes!, and less than a year from now, I'll be Mrs. Ryan M. Pappan!
(or Mrs. Meredith Kemp Pappan, or Mrs. Meredith L. Kemp-Pappan, or...)
Thursday, August 16, 2007
MySpace
Just to let you know, and brag to all my friends and companions, that Karl Barth is now my MySpace friend.
Dude has a MySpace page. Awesome. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he can't keep up with the kids these days.
Dude has a MySpace page. Awesome. Just because he's dead doesn't mean he can't keep up with the kids these days.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Shouting Silence
Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.
-- from the liturgy of St. James
I recently attended a leadership conference sponsored by the Willow Creek Association. Regardless of how I personally feel about the WCA, it was apparent to me that everyone--regardless of denominational affiliation or political ideology--is scared to death that the church is irrelevant in today's society. One of the prevailing themes of the conference was innovation, and though the conference did not address worship explicitly, many of the reading materials passed around discussed innovation and worship.
When anyone discusses innovation in a worship setting, what they usually mean is, "let's do away with stained glass windows and pews and create a post-modern sanctuary, complete with video screens and stadium seating." Popular buzz-words associated with innovation are "multi-sensory," "high-octane," "relevant," "culturally-savvy," and "engaging." Ok--I may have been stretching it a bit with "high octane," but the prevailing assumption is that worship needs to be exciting, electrifying, and mesmerizing, or people simply won't come.
I suppose I don't have a problem with innovation in and of itself. We are a church that is "reformed...and always reforming." One way to perpetually reform is to be perpetually innovating. Innovation means that a new, creative idea is introduced into an environment. Innovation begets innovation. Dead innovation is stagnation. Worship should never stagnate, the water in the baptismal fount should never sprout algae.
But I am alarmed that innovation has to mean moving forward with technology. "Wait, isn't that what innovation is?" you may ask. Well, yes and no. In computers or cell phones, the latest innovation means new and improved technology, stretching the limits of our technological imaginations. Yet, in a worship setting, innovation does not necessarily mean that the traditional format and styles of worship need to be replaced by MTV-esque video screens and praise bands. Some technology in worship is a good thing--microphones and air conditioning, for one. But a deluge of technological acrobatics is not only distracting in worship, it is an insult to our intelligence.
To assume that human beings need to be constantly aroused by "shiny objects," as if we were a pack of raccoons in a sanctuary, is insulting. We have been worshiping in a similar format for hundreds of years, dozens of generations. Worship needs to be innovating, true, but should "innovate" by returning to the basic spiritual disciplines and practices upheld by our religious forbears centuries ahead of our time.
Instead of adding screens and rock music and slick digital imagery, the church should focus on--silence. Yes, you heard me correctly (pun intended). Good, old-fashioned, crickets chirping in the background, sunshine on my shoulders silence. We should structure our worship services around the sound of silence. Our prayers should take time for silence. We should breathe silence, watching it expel from our mouths like breath on a frosty winter morning.
Our culture detests silence. We fill our households, automobiles, offices with iPods and Bose stereos; we equate silence with boredom or emptiness. We are nervous--especially in worship--when there is silence. Did someone forget something ? Is there a technical difficulty? Why isn't anyone talking?
However, it is in the uneasy feeling of silence, the prickly sensation in our gut, that we are in a condition to receive the Holy Spirit. Our God often chooses to speak not in a roar, but in a "still small voice." The uneasiness--the void we may feel--is the void invites God in. When I was learning how to breathe properly (breathe like a singer) in voice lessons, my teacher explained to me, in very elementary terms, the Bernouli effect. "Think of a plastic bottle," he told me. "When you squeeze it, and remove all the air, you create a vacuum. But when you release your grasp, the vacuum effect causes air to rush back into the space."
When we squeeze all the extraneous noise from our lives, the silence creates a vacuum and draws in the Holy Spirit. But only when we are centered, and silent, can there be room for Spirit to enter into us and allow us to focus upon God.
I'm not convinced that worship needs to be "more exciting." Instead, worship needs to be more mindful and increasingly intentional, carefully planned and joyfully executed. Silence as opposed to noise--what can be more radical and innovative than that?
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.
-- from the liturgy of St. James
I recently attended a leadership conference sponsored by the Willow Creek Association. Regardless of how I personally feel about the WCA, it was apparent to me that everyone--regardless of denominational affiliation or political ideology--is scared to death that the church is irrelevant in today's society. One of the prevailing themes of the conference was innovation, and though the conference did not address worship explicitly, many of the reading materials passed around discussed innovation and worship.
When anyone discusses innovation in a worship setting, what they usually mean is, "let's do away with stained glass windows and pews and create a post-modern sanctuary, complete with video screens and stadium seating." Popular buzz-words associated with innovation are "multi-sensory," "high-octane," "relevant," "culturally-savvy," and "engaging." Ok--I may have been stretching it a bit with "high octane," but the prevailing assumption is that worship needs to be exciting, electrifying, and mesmerizing, or people simply won't come.
I suppose I don't have a problem with innovation in and of itself. We are a church that is "reformed...and always reforming." One way to perpetually reform is to be perpetually innovating. Innovation means that a new, creative idea is introduced into an environment. Innovation begets innovation. Dead innovation is stagnation. Worship should never stagnate, the water in the baptismal fount should never sprout algae.
But I am alarmed that innovation has to mean moving forward with technology. "Wait, isn't that what innovation is?" you may ask. Well, yes and no. In computers or cell phones, the latest innovation means new and improved technology, stretching the limits of our technological imaginations. Yet, in a worship setting, innovation does not necessarily mean that the traditional format and styles of worship need to be replaced by MTV-esque video screens and praise bands. Some technology in worship is a good thing--microphones and air conditioning, for one. But a deluge of technological acrobatics is not only distracting in worship, it is an insult to our intelligence.
To assume that human beings need to be constantly aroused by "shiny objects," as if we were a pack of raccoons in a sanctuary, is insulting. We have been worshiping in a similar format for hundreds of years, dozens of generations. Worship needs to be innovating, true, but should "innovate" by returning to the basic spiritual disciplines and practices upheld by our religious forbears centuries ahead of our time.
Instead of adding screens and rock music and slick digital imagery, the church should focus on--silence. Yes, you heard me correctly (pun intended). Good, old-fashioned, crickets chirping in the background, sunshine on my shoulders silence. We should structure our worship services around the sound of silence. Our prayers should take time for silence. We should breathe silence, watching it expel from our mouths like breath on a frosty winter morning.
Our culture detests silence. We fill our households, automobiles, offices with iPods and Bose stereos; we equate silence with boredom or emptiness. We are nervous--especially in worship--when there is silence. Did someone forget something ? Is there a technical difficulty? Why isn't anyone talking?
However, it is in the uneasy feeling of silence, the prickly sensation in our gut, that we are in a condition to receive the Holy Spirit. Our God often chooses to speak not in a roar, but in a "still small voice." The uneasiness--the void we may feel--is the void invites God in. When I was learning how to breathe properly (breathe like a singer) in voice lessons, my teacher explained to me, in very elementary terms, the Bernouli effect. "Think of a plastic bottle," he told me. "When you squeeze it, and remove all the air, you create a vacuum. But when you release your grasp, the vacuum effect causes air to rush back into the space."
When we squeeze all the extraneous noise from our lives, the silence creates a vacuum and draws in the Holy Spirit. But only when we are centered, and silent, can there be room for Spirit to enter into us and allow us to focus upon God.
I'm not convinced that worship needs to be "more exciting." Instead, worship needs to be more mindful and increasingly intentional, carefully planned and joyfully executed. Silence as opposed to noise--what can be more radical and innovative than that?
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Burnout
"Can I admit something to you?" I told my SPM supervisor during our last weekly meeting.
"Sure, go ahead."
"I have SPM burnout. It's not you, it's not the church, but I feel burned out--like I can't possibly write anymore or think anymore. I miss my boyfriend, my friends, my room. I miss my routine. I'm exhausted and I'm ready to go home." With a large sigh, I slumped in my chair, nervous to make eye contact.
He smiled. "It's understandable. This isn't where you are right now. You have a life waiting for you back in Austin, you have so much that awaits ahead. When you are the pastor of a church, and the church is your life, you'll feel different."
***
A summer internship is a strange; you become embedded in a worshiping community but you do not have time to build many relationships. I feel more like a pastoral voyeur than a real, live minister. An SPM is like a tasting buffet--you get a sample of the preaching life, but never a full course meal.
Even if I were able to be ordained tomorrow, I know I am not ready to be the solo pastor. I need more classes, more insights. The lessons from this summer need to stew and incubate.
And yet--maybe becoming a pastor is like becoming a parent for the first time. No one is ever "ready" for parenthood; you learn on the fly, you make mistakes, you triumph in your small victories and try not to sweat the stings and arrows of defeat.
Regardless,I find myself lifting mine eyes unto the hills of the upcoming Fall semester. During August alone, I have ordination exams, new student orientation, a CPM meeting, the first Kairos [school newsletter, of which I am editor] of the year...plus meeting at the C&A to visit friends and enjoy a pint (or two, or three) of that sweet ambrosia known as Shiner Bock.
Just under two weeks left...let's hope I can muster enough energy to complete my final sermon...
"Sure, go ahead."
"I have SPM burnout. It's not you, it's not the church, but I feel burned out--like I can't possibly write anymore or think anymore. I miss my boyfriend, my friends, my room. I miss my routine. I'm exhausted and I'm ready to go home." With a large sigh, I slumped in my chair, nervous to make eye contact.
He smiled. "It's understandable. This isn't where you are right now. You have a life waiting for you back in Austin, you have so much that awaits ahead. When you are the pastor of a church, and the church is your life, you'll feel different."
***
A summer internship is a strange; you become embedded in a worshiping community but you do not have time to build many relationships. I feel more like a pastoral voyeur than a real, live minister. An SPM is like a tasting buffet--you get a sample of the preaching life, but never a full course meal.
Even if I were able to be ordained tomorrow, I know I am not ready to be the solo pastor. I need more classes, more insights. The lessons from this summer need to stew and incubate.
And yet--maybe becoming a pastor is like becoming a parent for the first time. No one is ever "ready" for parenthood; you learn on the fly, you make mistakes, you triumph in your small victories and try not to sweat the stings and arrows of defeat.
Regardless,I find myself lifting mine eyes unto the hills of the upcoming Fall semester. During August alone, I have ordination exams, new student orientation, a CPM meeting, the first Kairos [school newsletter, of which I am editor] of the year...plus meeting at the C&A to visit friends and enjoy a pint (or two, or three) of that sweet ambrosia known as Shiner Bock.
Just under two weeks left...let's hope I can muster enough energy to complete my final sermon...
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Lessons Taught by My SPM
What I've learned from my SPM (so far):
1) The church secretary is the true authority. S/he is the keeper of the keys, the source of all wisdom and knowledge. Though the pastors come and go, the secretary is the life-force of the church. Do not, under any circumstance, cross the secretary for though they are often slow to anger, their wrath is mighty!
2) No one really cares about sermon form, or how perfectly you execute a Lowry loop or a "Craddock." All they care about is whether or not they can hear you. Because if they can't understand you, then you might as well be preaching from a cookbook.
3) MapQuest is a pastor's best friend. What a friend we have in MapQuest!
4) Church coffee generally sucks, but I drink it anyway because it's available, free, and the caffeine gives me that extra shot of energy I need for the early service.
5) I still do my best sermon writing at Starbucks (since there is no JP's Java near the church).
6) Church goers are generally quick to forgive, like when you bungle the words of institution or struggle to explain the salient points of Liberation Theology, but this should never inspire an attitude of complacency. I see congregational forgiveness as a theological-liturgical safety net, but one should always strive for the best.
7) The words that remind me why I love what I do: "I've never thought of it that way before."
8) The words that make me want to pack up and move to another continent and assume a new identity: "I thought your sermon was boring."
9) I realize now how crucial a peer group is to one's mental well-being.
1) The church secretary is the true authority. S/he is the keeper of the keys, the source of all wisdom and knowledge. Though the pastors come and go, the secretary is the life-force of the church. Do not, under any circumstance, cross the secretary for though they are often slow to anger, their wrath is mighty!
2) No one really cares about sermon form, or how perfectly you execute a Lowry loop or a "Craddock." All they care about is whether or not they can hear you. Because if they can't understand you, then you might as well be preaching from a cookbook.
3) MapQuest is a pastor's best friend. What a friend we have in MapQuest!
4) Church coffee generally sucks, but I drink it anyway because it's available, free, and the caffeine gives me that extra shot of energy I need for the early service.
5) I still do my best sermon writing at Starbucks (since there is no JP's Java near the church).
6) Church goers are generally quick to forgive, like when you bungle the words of institution or struggle to explain the salient points of Liberation Theology, but this should never inspire an attitude of complacency. I see congregational forgiveness as a theological-liturgical safety net, but one should always strive for the best.
7) The words that remind me why I love what I do: "I've never thought of it that way before."
8) The words that make me want to pack up and move to another continent and assume a new identity: "I thought your sermon was boring."
9) I realize now how crucial a peer group is to one's mental well-being.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
An Emerging Conversation
"Evangelism" seems to be the theme of the summer and lately, I have been reflecting upon and questioning my own approaches to Evangelism. In doing so, I have been researching the Emerging Church.
And thus, I need to admit to all that I had this movement pegged all wrong. I thought that the Emerging Church was simply another pawn being played by the fundys. I assumed that Emerging Churches wanted to throw all liturgy and tradition out the window and simply play rock music with lyrics about Jesus. After reading numerous articles and visiting a few websites, however, I realized that one of the goals of the Emerging movement is the reclamation of tradition.
Listed below are some of my preliminary thoughts and critiques:
• Emerging churches should not attempt to mimic other emerging churches. Let me clarify: it is, of course, perfectly acceptable to borrow ideas from other emerging churches. But I have noticed that if one idea works at a particular church, then other churches instantly begin to emulate that idea. The result is an experience inauthentic to the worshiping community. Every emerging congregation/church is a creation unto itself and each situation is unique. Therefore, just because something works at Jacob’s Well doesn’t mean it will work in another Emerging Church.
• Emerging Worship needs just as much attention to detail as “more traditional” styles of worship. Just because it is “emerging” doesn’t mean that liturgy can be unorganized or haphazardly thrown together.
• The Emerging conversation needs to embrace inclusive language. I love many of the ideas behind the emerging movement but sadly, I find much of the language exclusive to women and homosexuals.
• Emerging Churches should refrain from trying to be cool/relevant/hip. Nothing is sadder than reading a host of pop-culture references on a church’s website. Either you are “cool,” or you are not—but even being uncool can be cool. Cool is hard to define, hard to maintain and it’s best to just be. If churches are attempting to attract people my age (20’s and 30’s), then they must be authentic. They must embrace their inner nerdiness. Otherwise, churches seem like Jim’s dad from the American Pie movies—hopelessly out of touch and awkward when attempting to converse with the “younger generation.” Authentic is, and always will be, tragically hip.
And thus, I need to admit to all that I had this movement pegged all wrong. I thought that the Emerging Church was simply another pawn being played by the fundys. I assumed that Emerging Churches wanted to throw all liturgy and tradition out the window and simply play rock music with lyrics about Jesus. After reading numerous articles and visiting a few websites, however, I realized that one of the goals of the Emerging movement is the reclamation of tradition.
Listed below are some of my preliminary thoughts and critiques:
• Emerging churches should not attempt to mimic other emerging churches. Let me clarify: it is, of course, perfectly acceptable to borrow ideas from other emerging churches. But I have noticed that if one idea works at a particular church, then other churches instantly begin to emulate that idea. The result is an experience inauthentic to the worshiping community. Every emerging congregation/church is a creation unto itself and each situation is unique. Therefore, just because something works at Jacob’s Well doesn’t mean it will work in another Emerging Church.
• Emerging Worship needs just as much attention to detail as “more traditional” styles of worship. Just because it is “emerging” doesn’t mean that liturgy can be unorganized or haphazardly thrown together.
• The Emerging conversation needs to embrace inclusive language. I love many of the ideas behind the emerging movement but sadly, I find much of the language exclusive to women and homosexuals.
• Emerging Churches should refrain from trying to be cool/relevant/hip. Nothing is sadder than reading a host of pop-culture references on a church’s website. Either you are “cool,” or you are not—but even being uncool can be cool. Cool is hard to define, hard to maintain and it’s best to just be. If churches are attempting to attract people my age (20’s and 30’s), then they must be authentic. They must embrace their inner nerdiness. Otherwise, churches seem like Jim’s dad from the American Pie movies—hopelessly out of touch and awkward when attempting to converse with the “younger generation.” Authentic is, and always will be, tragically hip.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
No Surprise Here
You scored as Moltmannian Eschatology. Jürgen Moltmann is one of the key eschatological thinkers of the 20th Century. Eschatology is not only about heaven and hell, but God's plan to make all things new. This should spur us on to political and social action in the present.
What's your eschatology? created with QuizFarm.com |
Friday, March 09, 2007
Lenten Reflection #1
My favorite musical is Jesus Christ Superstar, so imagine my delight and utter joy when, almost two years ago, I was cast in a community production of this 70’s rock opera. The experience, coincidentally, my last theatrical production before I came to seminary, continues to color my personal theological reflections and relationship with God.
One of the more interesting aspects of the production was that we, the chorus, had to fill every crowd scene in the musical. Disciples became the exuberant crowd shouting “Hosannas” who became the den of thieves selling wares in the temple who became the crowd crying for Jesus’ crucifixion. We had multiple costume changes throughout the show to convey the change in persona.
Christianity is no mere “fad,” were it so, we would still be worshipping trees or the patron deity of our city-state. But it is the inner movements under the umbrella of Christianity that are fleeting, enjoying 15 minutes of fame (or notoriety). How can we be sure that what we believe or support is substantial and not just popular? How can we be certain that we are following God’s, and not humanity’s, intentions? How can we escape the mob-mentality and focus on the message of the gospel which does not guarantee popularity or acceptance? Some questions to ponder during this Lenten season…
Monday, March 05, 2007
Monday Afternoon Reflections
There is a subtle joy in sitting at the C&A, here, on a beautiful Monday afternoon that seduces us with the promise of Spring. I am surrounded by Daly, Levinas, several pints of Shiner Bock and yet, I am inspired not to work, but to melt, relax, and reflect.
The bar, filled with quiet, curious souls, does not look like the bar on Friday night. A strange calm permeates the air and I reach again for a half-cold leftover french fry. Marley on the loudspeaker morphs into Blondie who morphs into the Old 97's. A grackle--otherwise known as a coal-black urban crow, boldly jumps on my table, my makeshift desk, and I notice he is not black but rather a pallet of muted blues and purples, navys and greens. The crow realizes I have no food to offer, for the french fries are eaten, and flies to another table.
A delivery boy, surely a savior to us bar-flies, drives up and delivers several kegs of the god's nectar. Does he know he is a bringer of salvation? Does he realize the power he holds? Blessed is he that comes in the name of the beer!
The wind blows, a soft, chilly kiss on my cheek. I shiver, reaching, at first for my well-worn jean jacket, but yet, the sun warms again, and the jacket remains a rumbled pile of denim on the "desk." And I think, and type, and write...and I pause...and I stop typing (only for an instant).
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
The bar, filled with quiet, curious souls, does not look like the bar on Friday night. A strange calm permeates the air and I reach again for a half-cold leftover french fry. Marley on the loudspeaker morphs into Blondie who morphs into the Old 97's. A grackle--otherwise known as a coal-black urban crow, boldly jumps on my table, my makeshift desk, and I notice he is not black but rather a pallet of muted blues and purples, navys and greens. The crow realizes I have no food to offer, for the french fries are eaten, and flies to another table.
A delivery boy, surely a savior to us bar-flies, drives up and delivers several kegs of the god's nectar. Does he know he is a bringer of salvation? Does he realize the power he holds? Blessed is he that comes in the name of the beer!
The wind blows, a soft, chilly kiss on my cheek. I shiver, reaching, at first for my well-worn jean jacket, but yet, the sun warms again, and the jacket remains a rumbled pile of denim on the "desk." And I think, and type, and write...and I pause...and I stop typing (only for an instant).
Gloria in excelsis Deo!
Monday, January 22, 2007
Greetings from across the pond!
Howdy all!
I write this message not from the comfortable confines of my Austin abode, but rather from the exotic locale of Geneva. Switzerland. That's right- as in home of the Rolex watch, the Swiss Bank Account, the Von Trapps, the cheese. We're staying at a conference center that is a mere 1/2 mile from the U.N.. Yea. Not too shabby, especially for a little gal from West Texas.
Anyway, the trip is going well and I have far too many insights, revelations, and stories to cram into one blog. So here is a quick note to say "hi" and that I miss my friends and family in the states.
Wish ya'll were here!
I write this message not from the comfortable confines of my Austin abode, but rather from the exotic locale of Geneva. Switzerland. That's right- as in home of the Rolex watch, the Swiss Bank Account, the Von Trapps, the cheese. We're staying at a conference center that is a mere 1/2 mile from the U.N.. Yea. Not too shabby, especially for a little gal from West Texas.
Anyway, the trip is going well and I have far too many insights, revelations, and stories to cram into one blog. So here is a quick note to say "hi" and that I miss my friends and family in the states.
Wish ya'll were here!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)