My life flows on in endless song...

Bah! Humbug!

2007-12-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

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?

Seven Tidbits About Mere!

2007-11-14T07:05:00.000-08:00

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

Movie Time!

2007-10-15T21:33:00.000-07:00

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!

Rules of Engagement

2007-08-22T13:51:00.001-07:00

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...)

MySpace

2007-08-16T07:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Shouting Silence

2007-08-12T17:43:00.000-07:00

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?

Burnout

2007-08-07T07:24:00.000-07:00

"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...

Lessons Taught by My SPM

2007-07-24T06:22:00.001-07:00

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.

An Emerging Conversation

2007-06-19T06:56:00.001-07:00

"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.

I wonder...

2007-06-12T06:20:00.000-07:00

...why does the song, "Sweet Caroline," make me so happy?

No Surprise Here

2007-04-25T11:20:00.001-07:00

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.

Moltmannian Eschatology

100%

Amillenialist

100%

Preterist

60%

Dispensationalist

25%

Left Behind

Premillenialist

Postmillenialist

What's your eschatology?
created with QuizFarm.com

Lenten Reflection #1

2007-03-09T12:03:00.000-08:00

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.

I always thought it was interesting, and somewhat profound, that the same people who danced with the passion that only a rock-opera can convey (see: Hair, Tommy, etc.) would, in 30 minutes time, be the blood-hungry crowd crying demanding the sacrifice of an innocent man. We who cried, “Jesus, I am with you! Jesus I am on your side!” later cried “We have no king but Ceasar! Crucify him!” One minute, we worshipped him. The next, we derided him as he lay on the cross.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem! City that kills its prophets! We are quick to shout for vengeance and slow to remember grace and the true meaning of power and glory. During the show, we changed our clothes depending on who were portraying in that moment. But in real life, we do not have the benefit of a costume change. Our hearts become “quick-change artists” while our outer appearance remains the same.

We are fickle, non-committal, restless, grace-less. We hop on religious bandwagons because it is popular and well-received—or maybe because it’s hip and subversive. Religion becomes a passing fad, like pet rocks and mood-rings, when we follow the crowd and not our hearts. I am not convinced that the people who wished Jesus dead did, in fact, want to kill him. Instead, they gave into the mob-mentality, like sharks on a feeding frenzy.

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…

Musings

2007-03-09T11:44:00.000-08:00

I should've been alive in the 70's...

Lux Aeterna

2007-03-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

Monday Afternoon Reflections

2007-03-05T12:23:00.000-08:00

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!

Greetings from across the pond!

2007-01-22T12:52:00.000-08:00

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!

One More to Go

2006-12-15T06:05:00.000-08:00

As of 8:04 A.M. this morning, the eschaton has not occurred.

Looks like I will be writing my ethics paper afterall...I'm so tired, I could die!

Haiku? No, Youku!

2006-12-12T10:24:00.000-08:00

In my pre-seminary existence, I was an employee at the Hastings "Hard-Back Cafe" in Canyon, Texas. And as much as that job sucked, I enjoyed getting paid to serve people my favorite legalized drug.

For a period of time, I would compose coffee-inspired haikus and tape them to the wall of our Cafe storage room. Scrawled on stolen bits of receipt paper, the poems fluttered when the door would open. I was pretty proud of their extemporaneous character and perhaps a bit smug at my own cleverness.

Sadly, my boss, who was less than appreciative of the art of verse, made us take the poems down. But they were rescued by a fellow coworker who sent me a few of the poems via MySpace. Here are some of the better ones; I particulary like haiku #3.

Well trained barista
Works magic with espresso
Voila! a Mocha!

Work in the cafe
So many drinks to make
Tall, grande, venti?

Sweet nectar of life:
We worship the caffeine god-
Make mine a venti!

I miss my my job...at least when I was serving coffee to the huddled masses, I did not have to write final papers. Four days left, 2 papers to go. Come, Lord Jesus!

Put a Sock in it

2006-11-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

I read a lot of knitting blogs (yes, yes, I know....impossibly nerdy!) and have thus been inspired to post pictures of my various projects on my blog. Here is a pair of socks I finished during Fall Break.

Groovy, no?

Note how the socks also serve as most excellent puppets.

Shutterbug!

2006-11-15T08:24:00.000-08:00

"Three Little Maids from School Are We..."

So I finally broke down and purchased a digital camera-a miraculous feat since I'm not exactly the type of person to spend hundreds of dollars on whim. Ryan had to hold my hand while we were in the checkout line, just to make sure I didn't hyperventilate.

However, it seems the camera has been a sound investment thus far and I've morphed into the quintessential "shutterbug." My apologies for the deluge of picture that will soon flood this blog.

Case in point: the above picture is of myself and my two very good friends, Kendra and Renee. I feel like a giant...

Not Another Cute Tuesday!

2006-10-10T10:41:00.000-07:00

Submitted for your perusal: the impossibly cute picture of the week!

Sit back, relax, and enjoy this warm, fuzzy moment...AWWWWW!

Cute Tuesdays

2006-10-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

Taking a cue from Ryan P., I've decided to add a few "weekly features" to my blog.

Today is "Impossibly Cute Tuesday:" designed to add some much-needed cuteness in our lives.

Is this kitten not the most impossibly cute picture you've seen today? Awwww...

Please Christmas, Don't Be Late

2006-10-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

Please forgive me, Stan Hall and other protectors of the purity of the liturgical year, but I wish it was Christmastime rather than Ordinary time.

I'd even settle for Advent.

Maybe it's because school is pure drudgery right now and, with all apologies to my professors, classes are not exactly firing my engines. I don't think it's the classes themselves, but I am having difficulty engaging myself with my course materials.

So as I labor at my trusty laptop, attempting to finish SPM paperwork, I find my mind wandering to the sounds and sights of the Holiday season. I especially find myself yearning to listen to old holiday albums, though I try not to listen to any Christmas music out of season. My family has a distinct repertoire of holiday albums that we bring out every year. Listening to these Christmas albums is like visiting old friends and it is a joyous reunion when Dad whips out the Kingston Trio and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas. Though life may evolve and change through the years, the familiar harmonizations of the Riders in the Sky singing "Silent Night" will remain ever the same.

Perhaps this is why Christmas albums are an integral part of my family's holiday traditions; traditions, after all, are actions and customs perfomed routinely through the course of time. So when we listen to Patrick Stewart read a A Christmas Carol (as is our custom), we are not simply partaking in a Christmas cliche, but rather, we are tapping into a tradition that has molded my family for numerous Christmas Pasts and will continue to mold many of Christmases Yet to Come.

Perhaps I am simply homesick.

Regardless, it is many weeks until Advent, so I will wait patiently, though I may download the White Christmas soundtrack while I do so...

Poor, Neglected Blog

2006-09-26T19:03:00.000-07:00

Ack!

It has come to my attention that I have not updated my blog in over a month. OVER A MONTH! Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Where has my youthful exuberance for cyber-journaling ventured?

Actually, I know exactly where it has gone: the mistress that woos me from my blogging duties is the Kairos, the "official publication for the students of Austin Presbyterian Seminary." Don't let the fancy Greek fool you--it's a weekly newsletter, for which I get moderately compensated. I'm the editor in chief, sole-photographer, and sole-columnist, all rolled into one package. Some days I feel like Lois Lane's and Peter Parker's love child, minus the good looks and superpowers. [Though I supposse I could one day be bitten by a radioactive spider, but my domicile lacks spiders, radioactive or otherwise. I did catch this ginormous cockroach this morning--roughly the size of a Buick, to borrow a phrase from Woody Allen. Totally gross, but I digress]

Anyway, please don't misunderstand me: I love my job, even though I have lovingly nick-named the newsletter "Bane," as in, for two days a week, it's the "Bane" of my existence. And as I will be travelling to Germany this winter, the spending money is needed desperately. But its sucking my creative energy, my usual rapier wit, and otherwise above-average mastery of the English language.

So sorry I haven't posted lately.

In addition to editing what may be the finest Presbyterian student publication this side of the Mason-Dixon line, my time has been consumed by the following pursuits:

1) Deciphering Christian ethics. Can somebody please succinctly explain Kant's categorical imperative? And why I should give a flying fuck? [just kidding...that sounded a little harsh]

2)Deciphering Greek, which I have decided is less futile than attempting to decipher Hebrew.

3) Knitting up a storm, beginning a quest to learn how to knit socks.

4)Trying not to have a complete nervous breakdown...harder than it sounds. (see number 1, 2, and "the Bane.")

I leave you with yet another quote from my personal poet laureate, Paul Simon:

"I know they say let it be
But it just don't work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again"

-- Mother and Child Reunion

Paul Simon Lyrics du Jour

2006-09-17T17:43:00.000-07:00

A little Paul Simon for you folks on this beautiful evening:

This is the story of how we begin to remember
This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein
After the dream of falling and calling your name out
These are the roots of rhythm
And the roots of rhythm remain.

-- Under African Skies

525,600 Minutes

2006-08-23T18:09:00.000-07:00

Paul Simon Quote du Jour:

“But I think it’s going to be alright
Yeah, the worst is over now—
The morning sun is shining like a red-rubber ball.”

-- from Red Rubber Ball

***

Exactly 365 days ago (or 525,600 minutes, if you care to measure a year), I loaded what few, precious belongings a 23 year-old can claim in this world into my trusty Chevy Cavalier, hugged my two best friends, and, between sobs, managed a hoarse “goodbye” to life as I knew it. Into the passenger seat I slumped, crying, grieving, and basically experiencing a good, old-fashioned conniption as my mother—God bless her—assumed the driver’s seat and accompanying responsibilities.

Like my pioneer ancestors before me, I, too, was embarking on an excursion across the scrubby Panhandle plains, but instead of heading towards the expanses of the West, my journey would take me eastward. On that fateful day, my unbearably hot, non-air-conditioned vehicle would lead me down from the Llano Estacado into the rolling, verdant cradle of the Central Texas Hill Country. . The majestic city of Austin, beguiling with her river, lakes, and off-beat, cosmopolitan lifestyle had beckoned, whispering in my ear in the way a mother might coax a slumbering child out of bed. The whisper blossomed into a cacophony of voices and I knew that I must obey these voices, lest I forever be haunted by a destiny unfulfilled.

The reason I was moving to Austin—the REAL reason—was to attend Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. A call to seminary was (and still is, to a certain extent) a bit of a shock to my family and friends, a life-choice out of left field and a true existential non-sequitur. Granted, I wasn’t moving to New York to join the Rockettes, or selling all my worldly possessions and following Phish around (even more impossible, since, alas! the group has disbanded), but for some, my desire to attend seminary seems bizarre. Hell, there are mornings when I wake up and ask God, “Seriously, what the fuck?” But God always whispers in my ear that everything is going to be alright. Surely I have not been led into Central Austin just to die...

One year. 365 days. 525,600 minutes. Is that all? Dear Jesus, how time has slipped through the proverbial hourglass! When I think back to my first days as a neophyte Austinite, I can do nothing else but smile at my naïveté and thank God for the grace that led me “safe thus far,” and the grace that will ultimately “lead me home.” Thank God for friends. For patience. For grace. For the encompassing womb that is the Crown & Anchor Pub.

And so, tonight, I offer Traveling Mercies to those who seek a new beginning. May the benevolent hand of the One who created us continue to hold and guide you...

Welcome to the World!

2006-08-11T07:51:00.000-07:00

Announcing.....drum roll....the newest member of APTS bloggers!

No longer content to sit idly and peruse the ramblings of bloggers such as yours truly, the illustrious Renee has picked up the virtual pen, determined to make some sense of this crazy, often unintelligable world of theology.

Welcome to the web, Renee!

On Coffee and Mullets

2006-07-26T19:46:00.000-07:00

Coffee is my favorite legalized drug-- in fact, I dare say that I prefer coffee to beer, simply because I do not require beer to wake up in the morning. (Well, not yet anyway…) How should one “get on my good side?” If you are so unfortunate as to have fallen from my good graces, I suggest you buy me a cup of coffee. Much like the Balm in Gilead “soothes the sin-sick soul,” so shall a cup of coffee free you from any and all infractions.

Anyway, I write this from a quiet café table at an Amarillo Starbucks dangerously close to the home of my parental units. Yes—you heard (read) correctly—I am once again in the home of my idyllic childhood upbringing, bored out of my mind and yet, strangely busy. I am currently trying to forge random theological thought into a coherent sermon for Sunday, hence the coffee and Starbucks. The barista gave me a complimentary pastry and upgraded my measly tall Guatemalan to a towering coffee behemoth, simply because I had to wait for my coffee to be brewed. More coffee plus free baked goods just for waiting for freshly brewed caffeinated goodness? Seems a little out of sorts, but hey, who am I to turn down a freebie…

I feared this week might be a little on the dull side, since most of my friends have left this area or are otherwise occupied. Due to the pestering of my somewhat controlling but well meaning mother, I have had an assortment of doctor’s appointments. A cavity here, a filling there, plus a prescription for contact lenses--time for extreme Meredith Makeover!

I also got my hair cut; something a little less “country” and a little more “rock ‘n roll.” Ok—to be perfectly honest, I think my hair may be a little mullet-y which now means I am an aspiring theologian with a quasi-mullet— interesting. That sigh you hear is the sigh of frustration from Communion of Saints. “O! Meredith! What hath we wrought?” they ask themselves. I realize that I am probably the source of much exhasperation for such heavenly beings, yet, I humbly ask for forgiveness for my many foibles and the grace to proceed through life, with or without mullets.

Is there life after Greek Camp?

2006-07-15T21:15:00.000-07:00

Like a thunderstorm on a sultry West Texas afternoon, Greek arrived, unleashed its fury, and stopped as suddenly as its beginning. Those of us who weathered the storm are now sitting on the porch, staring at the blue sky, scratching our heads and marveling at the deluge that was Greek camp.

As soon as the “rain” subsided, many of my friends scattered to the four corners of the earth, just as cockroaches scatter when you turn the light on in the kitchen. With no Greek paradigms to memorize (or in my case, ignore) and no other school work looming in the distance, life seems a bit vacant. Free time, of course, is no curse, but with so many of my brethern and sistern gone, life is dull. In an attempt to fill this new void in my life, I utilized the following time wasters:

Reading sections from the Book of Common Worship

Reading the Directory for Worship in the Book of Order (for you non-Presbyterians, that's part of the constitution for the Presbyterian Church, U.S.A)

Updating my address book

Learning how to mail merge said address book into mailing labels

Cleaning my dorm room

Dropping off more possessions at the Goodwill in an attempt to further simplify my life

Checking everybody’s blogs

Exciting stuff, no?

…sigh…at least on Monday, I leave with my family for the Texas coast. Even though, according to SOME people, the Texas Gulf Coast is but a dim lightbulb compared to the sparkling diadem that is the Pacific Ocean, I enjoy the beach, regardless of quality, and anxiously await my vacation.

Furthermore...

2006-07-05T18:37:00.000-07:00

...and yes, my blog is now pink...

...I'm not sure why...

...sometimes, it's nice to get out of your comfort zone...

...you know, march to the beat of a different piccolo...

...circle your nouns....

...be a rebel, with a cause!

Don't Worry, Be Happy

2006-07-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

You might have seen the book, 14,000 Things to be Happy About, at your local bookstore, perhaps lodged between other quasi-gimicky "inspirational" gift books. My eight grade English teacher, apparently a devoted fan to such gimicky gift books, challenged us to keep our own "Happy Lists." Thus, we chronicled whatever inspired happiness in our pubescent pre-teen hearts; I can only surmise what I may have written down.

In the spirit of innocence and naivete, I have submitted a short list of life's blessings that are keeping me sane during these dwindling days of Greek...

thank-you notes
small children
dogs
Betty Crocker rainbow chip frosting
best friends
rain
zip-lock baggies
Shiner Bock
crisp bed sheets
colored pencils
yarn
coffee
wide, toothy grins
medium point writing pens, especially the gel-ink variety
books and book stores
grandmothers
vodka tonics
Muppets

Paper, Rock, Scissors

2006-07-01T07:09:00.000-07:00

The following is an editorial from my hometown newspaper, the Amarillo Globe News. Note how this is not the opinion of some letter-writing wacko, but rather is the collaborative effort of the Globe News editorial staff. I am appalled and offended by the shallowness of this letter's content, its lack of theological understanding, and its underlying mysogyny. Enjoy!

June 24, 2006

"Thinking Out Loud"

The nerve of Neil Armstrong.

As he became the first man to set foot on the moon, Armstrong uttered the now famous phrase: "That's one small step for man; one giant leap for mankind."

If the politically correct illness plaguing the nation continues to infect society, in the near future Armstrong may wind up being considered a white sleeveless undershirt-wearing wife-beater rather than an historic astronaut.

Sound far-fetched?

If religious leaders begin bowing down to the P.C. altar, what chance does Armstrong have?
The Presbyterian Church (USA) General Assembly recommended Monday that church members use other references for the Holy Trinity - the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. One alternative mentioned was "compassionate mother, beloved child and lifegiving womb."
In other words, get rid of the perceived references to maleness.

Lord, no matter your gender, help us.

For the sake of argument, those who think Armstrong was only referring to members of the good ol' boys club may not be from the moon, but they're definitely from another planet.
It should be remembered that when Jesus taught his disciples to pray, he began with the phrase, "Our Father in heaven ..." - Matthew 6:9.

And that comes straight from the Man himself, and the message is intended for all mankind.

Bully!

2006-06-21T17:50:00.000-07:00

Found while moving-- a piece of yellow paper with the following quote:

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered with failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in the gray twilight that know not victory or defeat."

--Theodore Roosevelt

Something to ponder as we attempt to wrap our heads around a gazillion Greek paradigms...

Movin' On Up

2006-06-16T07:23:00.000-07:00

In life, there are three constants: Death, Taxes, and Moving. Unless you were born, raised, and buried on the generations-old family homestead, most of us eventually pack up our quasi-precious belongings and send out cutesy Christmas newsletters (or similar) announcing our relocation. But, regardless of your moving experience (or lack thereof), everyone in the world has helped another person move. Your probability of being asked to help move increases exponentially if you are 1) visibly stronger than others and 2) own a truck. If you want to avoid any and all requests for moving assistance, I suggest you either move to a remote cabin in the woods and/or never purchase a truck.

Most of us seminarians have helped our sisters/brothers in Christ move in/out throughout the semester. And just as June is the peak season for weddings, it has also been the peak season for moving. Graduated seniors, leaving the seminary nest in order to test their wings at a first call, are packing up three year’s worth of belongings and memories. Couples, uniting their lives and bank-accounts in marriage, are merging two apartments of “stuff” into tiny, seminary subsidized housing. Some people, like yours truly, are abandoning the freedom of apartment life for smaller [re: cheaper] quarters in the campus residence hall.

Helping another person move is usually pain in the ass. Those who are moving realize this and frequently hesitate to ask for assistance. But living in a community, seminary or otherwise, requires the humility to ask for help and the kindness to give it. Allow me to paraphrase a popular section from Ecclesiastes: “To everything, there is a season…a time to move, and a time to help move. A time to give grace, and a time to receive it. A time to love, and a time to allow yourself to be loved.” Sometimes we are the mover and other times, we are the one moving (Unless, of course, you are God—the unmoved mover—but that’s another post for another time).

Such is the “Circle of Life,” to borrow a phrase from The Lion King. In order to grow individually as people and collectively as a community, we must uphold symbiotic relationships; otherwise, those who continually give will burn out and those who never give or contribute eventually subject their lives to the will of others. However, human sin disrupts perfect symbiosis and therefore, true reciprocity does not exist in our world. Just like communism works in theory but not praxis, community life never achieves a healthy balance of givers and takers. A recent news headline declares that a huge sum of FEMA aid was not used for its intended purposes, but rather was squandered by people who were not hurricane victims. As much as 16% of FEMA aid went to frivolous causes by fraudulent people, rather than those who needed the money most of all. Unfortunately, such fraud will result in more bureaucratic red-tape, complicating the relief process further for disaster victims.

Though such atrocities exist, we must not let the reality of human sin prevent us from acting as good neighbors. The hopelessness of the FEMA fraud or other derivitives of community cynicism must not prevent us from acting in good faith for the benefit of others. In the Presbyterian Church, we often say we are "blessed to be a blessing;" in other words, we help move because others have helped us move and will help us move again. The cycle of giving and receiving flows as effortslessy as the shifting of the Seasons or the rotation of day into night. May we all, then, remember our own blessings and the gifts of others, and live, not into apathy, but the fullness of the joy and grace of our Creator.

And thus, another summer begins

2006-06-07T06:56:00.000-07:00

Summer is here, folks! I say, bring on the margaritas, the daytime drinking, the hours frittered away by the refreshing waters of a swimming pool or ocean.

True to form, I have ushered in this most delightful of seasons by acquiring a righteous sunburn, which I earned yesterday during an afternoon at Barton Springs. Luckily, the sunburn is mostly on my back, so as long as no one touches my posterior, I am in relatively little pain. Don't cry for me, Argentina; you would think that after 24 years on this planet, I would have learned to apply sunscreen. But no one ever said I was a model of common sense...

Greek began this week, much to my chagrin. But, unlike some OTHER ancient biblical languages which shall remain nameless, Greek is infinitely more accessible and enjoyable. So far, I really the class, which our professor refers to as "Greek Camp." I have pledged not to take this very seriously--which is why I am currently at my haven, the Crown & Anchor, "studying" for tomorrow's quiz. Another Shiner Bock, please!

Here's a Greek joke for ya:

Man: Guess what? I've got a Grecian urn.
Woman: How much's a Grecian urn?
Man: Oh, about 6 bucks an hour!

Ok...not funny...it's an old joke that we like to tell in my family.

I think that, in honor of Greek, we need to have a Greek movie night. Think about it, folks: we could watch My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Spartacus, Zorba the Greek, Animal House (helloooo--togas!). Any suggestions are welcome and appreciated!

Back to "studying..."

Purgatorio

2006-05-30T10:42:00.001-07:00

--or--

What Happens When You're Neither Here nor There?

Home again, home again, jiggity jigg—I write this blog entry not from the comforts of my seminary subsidized housing, but instead from the couch in my parent’s living room. Yes, my friends, I am home yet again, immersed into a mélange of childhood memories, old behavioral patterns, and expected familial roles. Although I am comforted by the familiar surroundings—framed Ansel Adams posters, graduation photographs displayed proudly on the mantel, ancient grade-school citizenship award magnets clinging to the refrigerator by means of grime and not magnetic attraction—a visit home is a visit to Bizarro World.

In Dante’s Divine Comedy, the afterlife is split into three realms: Hell (the Inferno), Purgatory, and Paradise. Obviously, the righteous are rewarded with eternal glory and the wicked are condemned to various circles/levels of hell according to the degree of his or her infraction(s). Purgatory, however, is neither inferno nor paradise. I like to think of Purgatory as an existential “green room”—your soul, not ready for an on-stage appearance, is also no longer relegated to the dressing room, carefully applying Ben Nye theater makeup and wishing the girl sharing your makeup mirror would shut-the-fuck up about her loser ex-boyfriend. Instead, your soul waits in the green room, flipping though magazines, engaging in banal conversation, and nervously glancing at your watch, waiting....waiting....waiting.

At this stage in my life, visiting home feels like Purgatory. What in the hell [pun not intended] am I supposed to do here? I no longer “fit in” with my old social circles. The chasm between me and my association with my hometown widens exponentially the longer I reside in Austin. Home is no longer Sweet, through no fault of my parental units or the home itself. Home is…well…home “is what it is.”

I am, after all, Meredith Kemp, eldest of the Kemp children and wayward West Texan forging a life the “big city” of Austin, Texas. I left a comfortable life here because I, much like Alice during one of her Wonderland adventures, had outgrown my surroundings. Rather than stay and stifle my maturation as a human being, I chose to leave. My departure, though heart-wrenching, was required.

I suppose that all I can do at this point is “keep on keepin’ on,” relax, read, and enjoy the frenetic (and often awkward) ride we call Life. Besides, I’ll be home tomorrow…

***

Another note: I had an opportunity Sunday morning to hear the illustrious Fred Craddock preach at a local church! Truly, Craddock is an amazing orator with a gift for preaching the word of God.

Retreat!

2006-05-27T17:30:00.000-07:00

Classes are over, my birthday is past, and nothing is occupying my "to-do" list until June 05, when Greek begins. Am I resting, delighting in the blissful repose of a slumbering giant?

No...absolutely not! The end of academic obligations liberated the otherwise oppressed arenas of my existence: laundry and other sundry domestic chores, familial duties, etc. A retreat for my Presbytery's Committee on Preparation for Ministry absorbed the past 48 hours, although the foray into the wilderness [and by wilderness, I mean lack of internet acess and cell phone usage] proved a "spiritual shot in the arm. Now I sit in my parent's living room, typing this blog update, desperate for a good night's rest.

...I guess I will sleep when I'm dead...

Grace? Amazing!

2006-05-18T23:14:00.000-07:00

Anne Lamott writes in her book, Traveling Mercies, “I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” Her quote immediately brings to mind the first few lines of the immortal hymn, “Amazing Grace:

“Amazing Grace!
How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.”

A brief stanza, yet I find it accurately sums up the enigma of God’s grace. The first word used to describe grace is “amazing” and then quickly describes grace as a “sweet…sound.” But I think the most humbling and poignant section of the stanza is the phrase “wretch like me.” Even the sound of the word “wretched” is grotesque, harsh, discordant. We all like to think that we are nice, decent, God-fearing people, but the truth is that because of sin, we are wretched and utterly depraved.

All of us are guilty of smug self-righteousness, as if sin is a beast that exists only in dark alleys of inner-city ghettos, crack houses, or dark and dingy taverns. No one wants to think they are a bad person—would that not be a form of self-deprecation? We publicly admit our corporate sin each Sunday in church, but secretly, we believe we are praying on behalf of our most sinful sisters and brothers, rather than ourselves.

I admit that such false feelings of self-righteousness are a twisted web I willingly and diligently spin. Rather than face my own sin firsthand, I shift my focus to the silvery threads of my personal web of depravity, not noticing that the web originally intended to catch the sins of others is instead capturing me. Bound by the threads like an ensnared fly, I cannot move nor can I act without the liberating Grace of God.

Nothing removes overwhelming hubris like a good kick in the spiritual butt, which is why Ash Wednesday is particularly meaningful- as we receive the ashes on our foreheads, we are humbled as we are reminded that we are nothing but soot. I grew up on the windy plains of West Texas where the dirt would blow with hither and yon and a fine casing of dust perpetually lined windowsills and door jams. Though we may spend our days pursuing riches, fame, prestige, and power, eventually we become [as the rock group Kansas reflected] “dust in the wind.” Self-righteousness and hubris become burned and charred when we lament with ashes.

While it is dangerous to become haughty and self-righteous, it is also dangerous to dwell in eternal despair and remorse. God wants us to recognize and acknowledge our iniquity but that does mean spending our days sequestered from the outside world, eternally depressed and plagued by general feelings of unworthiness. We all sin, we all fall short of God’s demands and therefore, we are unworthy of God’s love. But God’s benevolent grace rattles the equation and allows us to escape the despair of sin. God’s grace allows us to recognize our shortcomings and yet, at the same time, overcome the same shortcomings so we may be servants to our neighbors.

Grace is sort of a theological equivalent to a “Get out of Jail Free” card in Monopoly. We do nothing to receive the gift of grace and yet grace is given to us freely. BUT- we must not assume that because grace is free, we are justified in our sin. We cannot behave as rebellious children who continue to disobey their parents even after the children are repeatedly forgiven. Dietrich Bonhoeffer refers to the unwillingness to repent as “cheap grace”. According to Bonhoeffer in his book The Cost of Discipleship, “grace is costly because it calls us to follow and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ.” God forgives us of all our iniquities but expects us to repent and be faithful disciples. The gift of grace is free but cannot be taken for granted. With great power comes a great responsibility; with a great gift come a great responsibility to share our gift with others.

What is “amazing” about grace is that it “meets us” wherever we are on the journey of life, but will never “leave us where it found us”. Grace seeks us though we may be hopelessly lost and will find us and carry us to paths of righteousness. Even when we become blind with sin and our own selfish desires, grace opens our eyes so that we may see the love of God.

Hiatus

2006-05-10T21:04:00.000-07:00

I always found it annoying when certain TV stations place popular shows on hiatus simply because the network execs want to put some more lucrative programming in its place. NBC did it during the Olympics this winter. Now, I realize that curling is exciting and all, but I love My Name is Earl and having to do without it for two weeks just so people can get their winter sport fix tested my patience and Christian good will.

Now, I'm not so selfish to think that nothing should interrupt the regular flow of my favorite television programming. The Olympics come every four years and deserve the manipulation of schedules and what-not in order to honor its presence. I'm not saying its right or wrong, it just is. The fact of the matter is, sometimes certain things take precedence over others. Its a sometimes unfair truth of life that priorities have to shift and routines must be broken.

Thus, this blog is officially on hiatus. Well, I suppose that it has been on hiatus for well over a week now, but I thought I might explain its lack of activity. Until I get a few of these papers under my belt, I cannot muster superflous creative energy.

Back to my exegesis paper...

Why I Walk to Church: a Brief Discourse

2006-04-30T21:50:00.000-07:00

Most Sunday mornings, if I get ready in time and the weather is conducive to being outdoors, I walk to church. Lest you become impressed with my aerobic fortitude, I need to quickly mention that my walk is not reminiscent of a Waltons episode and I do not have to hike several miles to go to some little brown church in the wildwood; rather, my walk is fairly brief and my path is errant and cracked sidewalk, rather than naked and well-worn earth.

I walk from my apartment, cut through the seminary parking lot, past an Episcopal church, a private girls dormitory, a fraternity house. With the aid of a traffic light, I cross Guadalupe Street and continue for a few blocks or so until I reach the University Presbyterian Church. Assuming I catch the lights at a favorable time and I don’t window shop for too long, this entire jaunt takes approximately 14 minutes.

I absolutely adore walking—in my humble opinion, it’s unfortunate that American society is more automobile oriented than pedestrian. Walking is good for the “soul” (pun not intended). A good-old fashioned perambulation is counter-intuitive in a world where the mantra is “faster is better.” I find that when I am walking, I do not have to pay attention to my route, as one does when one is driving. I can meander and mosey to my heart’s desire, without worrying about running a red light or grazing the bumper of another vehicle.

Another great facet of walking is that it is a perfect excuse to window-gaze and people watch. Guadalupe street happens to be one of the greatest places in the world to people watch. On my way to church, I do not see many people as it is still fairly early and most of the shops, save for a few breakfast-oriented ones, are closed. That’s when I gaze through the windows and marvel and the shiny wares, stylish clothes, outlandish University of Texas themed accoutrements that I would never buy.

On the way home from church, however, the sleepy street turns into a bustling thoroughfare. I pass by an outdoor market, where today I saw an evolutionary hold-over from the Summer of Love strumming an acoustic guitar, peddling jewelry and tie-dyed t-shirts. I pass by families—most likely University Texas Dynasties where the parents anxiously await the day when their offspring will matriculate into the collegiate behemoth. You can tell where their loyalty lies by their burnt orange and white apparel.

And for every UT Dynastic family, there are hippies; for every pony-tailed sorority girl, there is a homeless street urchin; for every marauding church-goer, there are cynics and atheists. There are Baptists, Presbyterians, Scientologists, rich people, poor people, college students, young professionals—and not a single person is out of place. Guadalupe is certainly a cross-section of modern American life. No one pays any mind to the garb and actions of others, they just simply slip in and out the eclectic shops, lost in their perspective universes.

Sunday morning walks are more than a voyeuristic sociological experiment; they also serve as my weekly update with God. I like to call it my “Theological Meet the Press,” without the monitoring of Tim Russert, of course. I talk to God and discuss the previous week’s goings on, cares, concerns, and plans for the upcoming day(s). Admittedly, the conversation seems a little one-sided at times, but I am certain that God is listening.

It’s these [sometimes one-sided] conversations that center my heart for worship. Typically, the moment I walk into the choir room at UPC, any tranquility I have obtained is shattered by the fumbling around for folders, hymn sheets, robes, stoles, and last minute liturgical instruction. If I drive to church, I seem to go immediately from rushing to get to church to rushing around in the choir room; how can the Holy Spirit enter in when my thoughts are not centered on Christ? However, if I take the initiative to spend a few extra minutes to walk to church, I seem to construct a force-field around my sub-conscious. Choir chaos ensues, but it doesn’t impede my readiness to worship.

I realize that not everyone has the luxury to walk to church. Some of you may despise walking and all this waxing poetic about my Sunday morning sojourns may be extremely dull for you to read. But the point—the REAL point—is that we all must find those rituals that draw us into the heart of God. What are rituals in your life? Is there a specific action on your behalf that induces a prayerful atmosphere? Some points to ponder as this stressful semester comes to a close.

***
On another note: last week of classes—praise Jesus!

Mere's Summer BookList Extravaganza!

2006-04-29T15:27:00.000-07:00

As audacious and ambitious as it may seem, I plan to do a lot of reading this summer. In an effort to organize my thoughts, here is my proposed book list thus far. Paps and I are going to see who can read the most books this summer--wish me luck!

Dogmatics in Outline, Karl Barth

Letters and Papers from Prison, Dietrich Bonhoeffer

On the Road, Jack Kerouac [which I will read when I go home]

The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis [time to read them all, not just my three "favorites"]

The Crucified God, Jurgen Moltmann

...something by Chuck Palahniuk...[perhaps Fight Club?]

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig

The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck [it's a summer tradition for me to read this book]

The Preaching Life, Barbara Brown Taylor

The New Being, Paul Tillich

The Courage to Be, Tillich [which I sorta-kinda read this semester, but I want to read it straight through this time]

Elegy

2006-04-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

I'm not a Joni Mitchell fan per se, but this week, I am finding the lyrics of this song to be painfully true.

...You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone....

Big Yellow Taxi

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot
With a pink hotel, a boutique
And a swinging hot spot

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They took all the trees
Put 'em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see 'em

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Hey farmer farmer
Put away the D.D.T. now
Give me spots on my apples
But leave me the birds and the bees Please!

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Late last nightI heard my screen door slamand
a big yellow taxi
Took away my old man

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

I said don't it always seem to go
That you dont know what you've got
Till it's gone

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

Ctrl + Alt + Delete

2006-04-23T17:33:00.000-07:00

We’ve all been there: you’re at your trusty laptop or desktop computer, groovin’ along as you surf the internet superhighway, only to have your computer “freeze up.” Windows will no longer close, the word processor is no longer processing, and your cyber-life, much like Buck Rogers, exists in suspended animation. However, you are not alarmed because restarting your computer, and thus erasing any malfunction, can happen with the stroke of a simple combination of keys: Ctrl + Alt + Delete. Suddenly, your computer shuts down, reboots, and any past infraction is forgotten—all with a simple command.

Unfortunately, real-life does not mirror technology. Restarting a computer: easy. Restarting life: well, that’s an entirely more complicated and delicate matter. Imagine how wonderful life would be if we could erase, reboot, restart when the going gets tough. Scathing words, careless deeds, heartache, sins of human behavior, all gone and erased from existence with a few simple keys, rather than years of resentment, guilt, and therapy.

If life were like an Etch-A-Sketch, where we could shake the screen and remove a previous picture and start afresh, would we be a happier people?

My answer: Yes.

However—this is where God’s Grace enters the proverbial picture. The sad, painful truth [of which I am learning more about each passing day] is that we cannot erase the past. We cannot reboot, shake the Etch-A-Sketch, wave a magic wand, etc. in order to remove pain from our lives. Intentionally (and unintentionally), I have sinned in my life. I have made some bad choices and have wrestled with more than a few demons. Facing these demons is proving to be the hardest thing I have ever done, but facing such demons is necessary in order to conqueror them. I pray for guidance and grace from God and also for patience from my sisters and brothers. Most of all, I wish with the greatest strength and fervor of my heart that some of my past infractions could, in fact, be erased from memory and existence. I am sure that I am not alone in these thoughts.

But my sins are there, etched into a permanent collective of the sinfulness of humanity. I can do nothing to alter the past, nor can I erase the memories of my sins from the consciousness of others. And I also realize that when it comes to apologies, actions are indeed louder than the din of any words. I can type about grace and forgiveness until the cows come home, but without application, all of it is utter and total bullshit. Period.

Ergo, it is time for me and time for you to live into the reality of Grace. Grace is what lets us wake up in the morning. Grace is the small pocket of light in my soul that leads me out of darkness; grace is the “still, small voice” which whispers that all is not lost. Grace is what motivates me to keep on living, keep on loving, keep on learning. Grace cannot erase, but grace is capable of transforming. Like the Phoenix rises from the ashes, so does Grace allow us to rise out of the ashes of our sin.

On this second Sunday of Easter, most churches focus on the account of “Doubting” Thomas, the apostle who demanded to see the risen Lord first hand, rather than believe in apostolic “hearsay.” I find it interesting that when Thomas sees the risen Lord, he sees the scars in Jesus’ hand, the scars from the wounds in his side. Although Jesus is resurrected, his body still bears the mark of human sin. Jesus was not simply “rebooted” when he resurrected; he still bears the evidence of the crucifixion. However, Jesus’ body is newly transformed and although the evidence of sin still exists, through the grace, miracle, and power of the resurrection, the Sin itself is transformed.

So may we all be transformed through this overwhelming love.

Happy Earth Day!

2006-04-22T10:16:00.000-07:00

Happy Earth Day, one and all!

A poem from my favorite pre-hippie hippie poet,William Wordsworth:

My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky;
So was it when my life began
So is it now I am a man
So be it when I shall grow old, or let me die!

The child is father to the man
and I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each, by natural piety.

***

A lovely day here in the great city of Austin-- I encourage all to spend at least a few moments outside, breathing in the lush greenery of the verdent Hill Country.

We are blessed by this "Good Creation" and therefore are called to be good stewards of the Earth. Wordsworth calls his reverence for creation "natural piety" and I feel that all of us should strive for natural piety-- without going too far, of course [no need to worship trees or anything]. Environmentalism is not a four-letter-word, nor should it be resigned only for crunchy-granola, Nader-votin', tofu-eatin' vegans. All of us, regardless of political party association and theological leanings, can respect the Earth and participate in environmentally friendly practices.

...a word from Pappy McVulgar, Fuck the earth, let it rot, let it burn, let it overpopulate, love it, like it, do it. It is what Bono would want...now back to Mere.

Sorry for the vulgarity from Pappy McVulgar. He hijacked my laptop from me and proceeded to write vitrolic comments. See that kids??! That's the kind of devolved, uninformed attitude I'm addressing-- and nobody fucks with my Bono!

Hug the World!

God is Dead...well, maybe

2006-04-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

I’m beginning to wonder if God might be dead.

Perhaps my statement may seem odd and the antithesis of all that we are encountering in this “Bright Week,” the holy week wherein we observe the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Christ is Risen—he is risen indeed! O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?

Surely God is not dead; so much beauty in the world serves as a testament to the God’s eternal creating spirit. I look out the window and see the earth renewed by gentle evening rains. Trees worshipfully extend leafy branches to the sky, as if to shout eternal “Hosannas!” Without extending too much into natural theology (I’m trying to avoid at least some heresy), I know that, to quote G.M. Hopkins [again]: “the world is charged with the grandeur of God.”

Surely God is not dead; in this age of mass-media, God has never been more accessible. We are blessed to live in a society where books no longer exist in musty chained libraries but are inexpensive and bountiful. God is, literally, everywhere.

Yet, I am beginning to suspect that American [specifically, United States] popular culture is precipitating the slow, stifled death of God. Religion in this country is the proverbial “hot commodity;” Jesus not only saves--he sells. Christians across the country have historically been an untapped resource and major corporations have now realized that Christians will snap-up Jesus themed t-shirts, household accoutrements, and what-not faster than a greased snake on a slip-n-slide. Forgive me for sounding a little harsh, but I equate the selling of Jesus merchandise with the archaic practice of selling indulgences. Buying christo-religiocentric merchandise is a way for good, God-fearin’ folks to satiate a consumerist appetite while mitigating guilt.

I suspect God is dead when we no longer believe in the actual God, but instead place our faith in the impotent God of commercial consumerism. If we believe in and worship “false gods” [whatever these may be], does our one true God, the Holy One of Israel, cease to exist? Most of us in Western culture are familiar and well indoctrinated with Arthurian legends, all of which are set within the cultural context of the schism between the ancient Pagan world and the birth of Medieval Christianity. During this era of ancient myth, many of the kings and peoples in Britain have converted from paganism and have begun to embrace monotheism and the Christian God, a change which serves as a powerful contrapuntal theme throughout the legend. This schism was addressed in a fairly recent television mini-series, Merlin. The dark-sorceress, Queen Mab, is dealing with an inevitable fact that human beings no longer worship and revere the “old ways,” the ways of pagan ritual and belief in magic. Subsequently, as increasing numbers of human beings begin to worship the Christ rather than Mab and her minions, the figures of the pagan religion begin to fade out of existence. Because human beings no longer believe, the old ways cease to exist.

Once again, I find that an archetypal story continues to resonate with the modern world. If we put our faith in human strength and human constructs, will God, like other ancient Gods, fade into oblivion?

As a good reformed theologian who believes in the full-sovereignty of God, I would have to answer that regardless of human actions and interactions, God will always exists. We call this divine aseity—God did not create because God has low self-esteem and needed creation to justify God’s existence. Because God is the “ground of all being,” according to theologian Paul Tillich, the very fact that we exist is proof that God exists. God, after all, is not “a being,” but rather “being itself.” God is different from the self-centered and self-serving ancient gods, sorcerers, and supernatural beings because God’s existence is not contingent on human response.

Still, I am concerned with the state of religion in America. Ours is a nation suffering deep hurt, resentment, cynicism, and superficial spirituality. A deep pain permeates our national psyche, a pain that continues to motivate senseless consumerism, ego-centrism, and blatant disregard for the global community. Assuredly, God is not dead—but God may be dead in our lives.

I intend to further investigate this matter in future posts. Until then, peace unto all.

Requiem

2006-04-14T14:17:00.000-07:00

In honor of Good Friday and in keeping in line with National Poetry Month, I offer the words of one more eloquent than I.

Oh, where, in this hurtful, hateful, Good Friday World is the promise of the risen Christ? How can we find hope when all is lost, when all is a "cold and broken hallelujah?"

***

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-- W. H. Auden

A Moment of Zen

2006-04-06T15:23:00.000-07:00

Baseball season is nigh!

Here's a moment of Zen for all you sports fans [and even those who aren't].

"You see the ball, you hit the ball. They hit the ball, you catch the ball. You catch the ball, you throw the ball. That's it."

-Kirby Puckett's Zen of Baseball

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy!

2006-04-05T08:56:00.000-07:00

A quick joke for your enjoyment: A fish is swimming in a lake, hits a wall, and says, “Dam!”

I, much like my fishy friend in the above “joke,” feel as if I have hit the proverbial “wall.” Though I keep swimming with the aspirations and tenacity of the Incredible Mr. Limpett, I continually hit walls and no amount of effort on my behalf can assuauge my headaches (and aching ego).

I’m exhausted, frustrated, mentally and emotionally bankrupt. I even had a “slight” nervous breakdown yesterday, which, admittedly, was rather cathartic. Unfortunately, my friends were present for said breakdown and are [most likely] convinced I’m either psychotic, hopelessly neurotic, or a combination of the two.

Summer cannot come fast enough!

Bloggy Goodness

2006-04-03T21:15:00.000-07:00

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you..."

-- from Mrs. Robinson

A poet, you know it

2006-04-02T22:32:00.000-07:00

Can you believe that it is already April 2006? My, how time doth flies...

April, besides being the "cruelest month," as penned by T.S. Eliot, is also National Poetry Month. Therefore, I am encouraging all to read a little poetry this "cruel month." Spend an hour with Auden, a day Donne, seconds with Shakespeare, a week with Wordsworth--whatever you can spare to pay homage to this literary art form.

Need help getting started? I suggest you visit the Shel Silverstein website, www.shelsilverstein.com. Shel Silverstein was one of my favorite writers when I was in elementary school and I must admit that my "heart leaps up" when I hear verses from Where the Sidewalk Ends and A Light in the Attic. If you have any favorite poets or poetry websites, I encourage you to comment on them and I will include the suggestions in future posts.

Therefore, I leave you all with some words from one of my favorite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins:

"God's Grandeur"

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like the shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and share man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Comfort, Comfort

2006-03-31T10:53:00.000-08:00

A[nother] confession for my sisters and brothers:

I hate Contemporary Worship Services. Well, maybe “hate” is not the appropriate word, as it maintains a strong negative polarity and I do not consider myself to be a “hateful” person. How about “I dislike greatly Contemporary Worship Services…” that sounds a little more polite and less confrontational. [my momma, ever a proper southern lady, would be proud of me!]

Perhaps this confession may come as a surprise; by now, I would imagine that my readers have inferred that I am “Neo-Progressive” in my doctrinal leanings. But whereas my personal beliefs are sometimes liberal to the point of heresy, I am very traditional when it comes to worship. Organs? The bigger the better! [no sexual innuendo applied here]. Music? If it’s composed after 1850, I am highly suspicious of its merit. I prefer a good, old-fashioned German chorale tune any day over more upbeat and contemporary melodies. Yes my friends, I am a liturgical traditionalist. Hundreds of years of tradition should not be set aside simply for a worship format that is more pertinent to contemporary society; rather, society should conform to worship. Here endeth the sermon.

Which is why you might be shocked to know that last night, at approximately 6:05 P.M. C.S.T., I was, for the first time in years, present at a Contemporary Service being held at our Seminary. No, I was not gagged, drugged, and beaten into submission. Nor was I duped into attending the service, nor was I in the chapel to escape unfavorable weather conditions. I attended the service freely, of my own accord and own free will.

My good friend had earlier asked me to attend. “Mere,” she said. “I’d like you to come to our contemporary service. I know you hate that kind of stuff, and you will probably hate the music...but please come anyway.” So out of love and support for the effort of my friends, I laid aside my misgivings and went to worship.

For the next 45 minutes, I sat in the back of the church, feeling like a “stranger in a strange land.” Whereas everyone else new the tunes to the Praise Songs, I sat more-or-less silent, trying to discern the harmonic movement. I have not felt that uncomfortable in worship since I visited the African-American Seventh Day Adventist Church last semester. Indeed, I was the proverbial, “fish out of water.”

Of course, it was then that I realized how important it is for all of us to periodically leave our comfort zones, how essential it is to our growth as human beings to participate in the unfamiliar, even participate in activities that, under normal circumstance, we would never do. I am reminded of a fabulous television program called “30 Days” which was on the FX channel this past summer and I hoped was renewed for another season. The show, which is the brain-child of director Morgan Spurlock (of Super-Size Me fame) places people in unfamiliar situations for 30 days and documents the struggle of their “old reality” versus their “new reality.” For instance, one episode centered around an Evangelical Christian living with a Muslim family; another followed the life of conservative heterosexual male living with a gay man in San Francisco. In both episodes, the person who was once intolerant became tolerant; each month began in discomfort and ended in comfort. The theme of the show was not for people to change who they fundamentally are but rather to learn to acknowledge and appreciate another person’s ideology by literally “walking in another person’s shoes.”

Yes, I dislike contemporary worship, but I appreciate it and realize that it is a legitimate way for the people of God to lift their hearts in praise to the Creator. Just as no one can possess all-encompassing theological truth, no can possess the only way to worship God. Many voices, many songs, many ways to offer our glory to God-- for this, I am eternally grateful.

Thursday Morning, 12:15 A.M.

2006-03-29T22:15:00.000-08:00

Hopped up on caffeine, I sit here alone in the dining hall, anxiously awaiting divine intervention/inspiration for my Tillich paper, the rough draft of which is due tomorrow.

The Lady is in need of her Muse!

All Hail to the Coffee Gods

2006-03-26T12:53:00.000-08:00

If there is something I love more than [or at least as much as] beer, it's coffee. Fo' shizzle...

You Are an Espresso

At your best, you are: straight shooting, ambitious, and energetic

At your worst, you are: anxious and high strung

You drink coffee when: anytime you're not sleeping (amen...those who know me know this to be true)

Your caffeine addiction level: high

What Kind of Coffee Are You?

Look, it's Barney!

2006-03-26T12:48:00.000-08:00

I'm not as upset about this as you might think. Perhaps, my life is an homage to beer...

You Are Barney

You could have been an intellectual leader...

Instead, your whole life is an homage to beer

You will be remembered for: your beautiful singing voice and your burps

Your life philosophy: "There's nothing like beer to give you that inflated sense of self-esteem."

The Simpsons Personality Test

Oh, the Overwhelming Irony!

2006-03-24T08:39:00.000-08:00

Meredith Kemp

Now with cognitive thought processes

'What" will your business card say?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Forgive...As We Forgive

2006-03-21T21:00:00.000-08:00

The hardest facet of my seminary education has not been deciphering the ramblings of German theologians, my feeble attempts at memorizing countless ancient church councils, or even performing basic exegetical work (which, at least for me, is always an exercise in futility). Though trying to succeed academically while perpetually discerning God’s call all while juggling various ordination requirements certainly is daunting, I would not say that these challenges are what constitute the hardest part of my seminary education.

The hardest part, my friends, is living in community with fellow seminarians.

Sometimes I wonder if, because most of us are incipient pastors, we expect ourselves to be constantly pious and holy, much like saints in religious iconography. Because we are called by God to preach the Word, we feel that we must always be perfect, that this Seminary community should always be a shiny, happy place, where "troubles melt like lemon-drops," and all can hold hands and sing Kum Ba Yah. In this fabled Seminary-land, the denizens should not swear, nor should they be crabby, or rude to their sisters and brothers in Christ, or have doubts, or be stressed, or gossip, or hurt other people’s feelings.

Of course, we are sometimes crabby, even hateful. We gossip. We have doubts and are stressed and sometimes feel unloved and excluded, perhaps even out of God’s grace and the grace of this community.

Therefore, I am hereby swearing to be more mindful of always participating in the “Circle of Grace.” I am [surprisingly] not always perfect; therefore, I must rely on the grace of my sisters and brothers to forgive me when I am not exactly living into the reality of the Kingdom of God. However—I must also extend this grace to others. As God has forgiven us, so shall we forgive others.

So—to all whom I may have hurt, let down, or wronged in any fashion, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I apologize for being petty, catty, and two-faced. During this season of Lent, I am in a phase of serious self-reflection and am attempting to discern the areas of my life that are spiritually lacking. I pray that we all may become more patient with ourselves and each other; this spiritual journey is not easy, and we need to support ourselves with the love and Grace we have been given by God.

Peace.

Morning has broken

2006-03-19T07:39:00.000-08:00

This morning, I woke up not only feeling rejuvenated from a restful nights sleep, but I feel resurrected, reformed, as if with the dawning of a new day, a new person has dawned as well.

Perhaps everything old has died away. Perhaps, from the bondage of the chrysalis, a butterfly is emerging. Or perhaps this feeling will be, at best, fleeting.

No matter. All one can do is revel in that which is present.

Blessings to all this Lord's Day.

O Mother, Where Art Thou?

2006-03-18T06:02:00.000-08:00

And there we were, three generations of Wucher women, sitting in a booth inside at the Crown & Anchor, my mother sandwiched between my grandmother and me. The “surreality” of the situation did not escape me—the Crown is my inner-sanctum, my cradle of life, my safety net. To have my mother, not to mention my grandmother, entreat on this sacred space was simultaneously fulfilling and uncomfortable, sorta like Vicky Vale visiting the Bat Cave.

We ordered the standard Crown fare—cheeseburgers all around—and I listened (well, half-listened) to my grandmother’s updates on various relatives, most of which I have never met. I feigned interest, grateful when Paps brought out our food, which, in addition to supplying my recommended daily allowance of grease and cheese, also provided a welcome distraction from the gut-wrenching awkwardness.

Such was my glorious Spring Break in the year of our Lord 2006. While many of my more affluent collegiate and post-collegiate brethren and sisteren (word?) of Austin traveled to various exotic locales, I found myself not at South Padre or the Rocky Mountains, but rather here in my seminary-subsidized housing, entertaining my mother and grandmother.

My mother, in a rare display of spontaneity, had called a week earlier to inform me that she would (most likely) brave the long trek from the flat, damn-near barren Texas Panhandle to the bustling, cosmopolitan hill-country oasis of Austin. To say I was dreading this visit would be untrue, as I have been somewhat homesick lately. The more shallow facets of my personality also knew that a visit from my mother, much like a visit from the Magi, would bring many gifts of untold value, mostly my mother’s possession of numerous credit cards.

So we enjoyed multiple days of shopping, of eating lunch with my grandmother, of catching up on news from school and news from back home. For once, I didn’t have to share attention with my younger brother; rather, this trip was (most of the time) “all about me.” I suppose that one of the perks of flying away from the nest is that when Mama and/or Papa Bird come to visit, you, the child, will most likely be showered with affection and gifts, be it the monetary or food variety. And trust me, I played the “poor grad student” card as frequently as possible, although this did not require much effort—my fridge contains coffee, a beer, and a few slices of American cheese.

There were times, especially because my mother was staying in my tiny seminary subsidized apartment, that the line between parent and child became somewhat blurred. My mother, naturally, wished to exert her maternal instincts whereas I, her oldest child, was desperate to prove that I could fend for myself in the oh-so-scary and overwhelming wide world yonder. And thus, she commented on my dirty carpet and subsequently vacuumed it. She made my bed every morning. She constantly loaded and unloaded my dishwasher. Though I accepted these actions with grace and gratitude, a fraction of my psyche felt as if my mother was commenting on my domestic abilities (which are, admittedly, lacking).

My mother loaded up her car and left yesterday morning. I miss her terribly. But I feel that I proved to both her and myself that I am a grown-up, one who is exploring the world of possiblities which lay outside her doorstep. I realized that somehow, between reading theology, writing papers, and learning the in's and out's of highways 183 and Mo-Pac, I have managed to create a life of my own, a life that is uniquely Meredith. I will always have a place for my family in this life, but it is MY life, founded upon my relationship with God, my relationships with my family and friends, and my continual exploration of the call to discipleship.

And there we were at the Crown...it was important for me to show my mother my new Life here in Austin and where else to take her but the Crown, the place where I have wiled away numerous hours discussing theology, love, sharing both joys and sorrows. Now she, too, is part of that chorus of voices echoing from the Crown, voices that form the chorus of my own life. I will spend my entire life composing a Song of Myself, integrating the voices of the past and present. I know that if I listen to voices, I will hear the reedy timbre of my mother's soprano, and know that she will always have a place in in life and a part in my song.

Three Cheers for the Trinity!

2006-03-09T05:31:00.000-08:00

Wednesday afternoon, I had an opportunity to attend a lecture concerning one of my favorite theological doctrines, the doctrine of the Trinity. Yes, my sisters and brothers, I am a Trinity "nerd," in part because I am a Cindy Rigby disciple and also because I feel that renewed understanding of the Trinity can and will revolutionize the church. [For all non-APTS readers: Cindy is one our kick-ass theology professors. I want to be Cindy when I grow up! I worship at the feet of Cindy! Oh, that I could touch the hem of her garment...ok, that's going a little to far. ]

Without going into a lengthy Trinitarian discourse, which you won't want to read and I am too lazy to write, I would like to give a brief "Shout Out" to my dear friend, the Trinity:

Have you noticed how all things Cool come in Three's?

* Three Amigos
* Three Dog Night
* Three's Company
* Three Stooges
* Three Caballeros
* Three Blind Mice
* [Goldilocks and the] Three Bears
* Three Billy Goats Gruff
* Three Musketeers, which has an added bonus of being my favorite manifestation of the candy bar
... and an infinite array of other examples...

Therefore, let be known throughout the land that the Trinity is not simply a character from the popular Matrix movie franchise (of where there are three movies...coincidence?) nor should meditation on the Trinity be consigned to one Sunday per year. Let us embrace and explore this doctrine..this "God in three Persons," "one ousia in three hypostases:" Blessed Trinity!

Dreaming Innocence

2006-03-05T23:52:00.000-08:00

More pictures!

Here's a perfect example of what it means to remain in "dreaming innocence," for all you Tillich fans out there. This is a picture of me with my beloved cat, Patch, when I was six years old.
Sigh-- to be that young (and cute) again, to not carry the weight of the world. Sometimes, ignorance, is, in fact, bliss!

Chaotic Good Elf Bard Ranger

2006-03-05T11:21:00.000-08:00

Ok, I don't know anything about D&D, but this quiz was scarily accurate...

***

I Am A: Chaotic Good Elf Bard Ranger

Alignment:
Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.

Race:
Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.

Primary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.

Secondary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.

Deity:
Hanali Cenanil is the Chaotic Good elven goddess of love, beauty, and art. She is also known as the Heart of Gold and Lady Goldheart. Her followers delight in creation and youth, and work to spread happiness, love, and beauty. Their preferred weapon is the dagger.

Find out What D&D Character Are You?, courtesy ofNeppyMan (e-mail)

My Little Corner of the World

2006-03-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon Lyric du jour:

"All lies and jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest."

-- from "The Boxer"

***
A beautiful evening here in the bustling metropolis of Austin, Texas. I have just returned to my humble abode after an evening of imbibing a few beers at our "home away from home," the Crown & Anchor Pub, and, while I was walking home, reveling in the glow of good conversation and equally good beers, I silently gave thanks that I have been lucky enough to live in the best part of Austin.

My last living situation was radically different. When I lived in West Texas, I shared a house with my best friend. Small town Texas is about as far removed from living in Austin as one can get. For example, I could go to the post office, pay my water bill, and stop by at the bank in the timespan of listening to "Stairway to Heaven." Trust me--I've done it and I know it to be true. At most of the businesses I frequented, the employees, and sometimes the owner, knew me by name. At Hil's burgers, this even granted me special privileges, such as extra onion rings or a discounted burger. When I was employed at the coffee shop, I knew all of my "regulars" and their stories became woven into my own life.

In Austin, none of the above could happen. Running errands takes abundantly more time, mostly due to traffic and crowds. A trek to the HEB can take as long as 45 minutes if you go during peak shopping hours. But although living in "big city" can have its frustrations, the excitement is unparalleled. Tonight at the bar, I people watched and enjoyed seeing the extreme diversity--everyone from hippies to frat boys and sorority girls to nerds to lesbians to seminarians.

As the saying goes in the real estate biz: "Location is everything." My location here in Austin, is, in fact, everything, as the Crown is literally across the street from my apartment. In Canyon, Texas where I was previously located, city ordinances prohibited the sale of alcohol within city limits. So, if one was to drink, one had to drive 20 minutes to Amarillo to purchase alcohol, which meant, ultimately, that spontaneous drinking was out of the question. I am not much of a planner [IMFP on the Myers-Briggs], you can understand how living in a dry town was maddening.

My little of the corner of the world is also conveniently located to a coffee shop, a hip Brazilian restaurant, other various and sundry eateries, the UT campus, and, obviously, the Seminary. I am finally beginning to take root and I know that here, I shall flourish. So without further discourse, I shall now go to bed with a thankful and content heart...Cheers!

Addendum

2006-03-03T07:08:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"I was 21 years when I wrote this song,
I'm 22 now but I won't be for long,
Time hurries on
and the leaves that are green turn to brown."

-- from "Leaves that are Green"

I honor of this Lenten season, I decided to give up something sacred and precious to my being, something that has been the reason for my rising in the morning and solace on dark and lonesome nights.

O! Coffee! How I miss thee! You have to understand that coffee is one of my many vices, but unlike beer, I need coffee to wake up in the morning. I need coffee to kick start my neural network, to form the synapses critical to healthy mental functioning. If I could walk around all day with coffee in an IV, I probably would. Coffee is the sweet nectar of the gods, the heavenly ambrosia which I crave.

And this is part of the reason why my last post was so gloomy. Sorry... I'm really jonesing for a cuppa joe and its beginning to permeate my psyche. O Lord, grant me strength!

The Winter of my Discontent

2006-03-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

A Lenten reflection from Henri Nouwen:

“The deep truth is that our human suffering need not be an obstacle to the joy and peace we so desire, but can become, instead, the means to it. The great secret of the spiritual life, the life of the Beloved Sons and Daughters of God, is that everything we live, be it gladness or sadness, joy or pain, health or illness, can all be part of the journey toward the full realization of our humanity. It is not hard to say to one another: ‘All that is good and beautiful leads us to the glory of the children of God.’ But it is very hard to say ‘But didn’t you know that we all have to suffer and thus enter into our glory?’ Nonetheless, real care means the willingness to help each other in making our brokenness into the gateway to joy.

***
Leonard Cohen once described love as a “cold and broken hallelujah.” For the past couple weeks, I, too, have felt cold and broken, uninspired, restless: such is the “winter of my discontent.” But I am strangely at peace with this phase of my life, for I know that life is cyclic and that joy and sorrow will ebb and flow until the Eschaton.

When I was reading today’s Lenten meditation from my Henri Nouwen Lenten devotional booklet, I found it providential [how Presbyterian!] that he is referring to the very brokenness that I am currently experiencing in my own life. Brokenness is not teleological. Our brokenness is a fundamental facet of our humanity. Therefore, we must embrace the good with the bad, the joy and the sorrow, the yin and the yang. We must also embrace each other and be mindful of each other’s struggles, always remembering that brokenness is often the beginning of joy, rather than the death of it.

Preach it, Sister!

2006-02-27T21:03:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon lyric of the day:

"They say losing love is like a window in your heart--
Everybody sees you're blown apart."

-- from "Graceland"

***
The following is my sermon [homily] for tomorrow. It is my first one for preaching class and only needed to be 4-6 minutes long. The text is Romans 8:22-27. Enjoy, and feel free to comment.

One of the first lessons we learn as children, in addition to basic reading and mathematical skills, is how to wait in line. Mastering the art of waiting in line, at least in an Elementary school setting, was important; our teachers desired for us to learn how to wait patiently, maturely, and (hopefully) quietly. The goal behind this pedagogy was to prepare us for was a lifetime filled with waiting- a lifetime of waiting in line, waiting in traffic, waiting for the arrival of special occasions, Waiting for Guffman….you get the picture.

I decided to investigate how long an average person spends waiting during their lifetime and statistics say that a typical 70 year old spends about 3-5 years out of their life waiting. That number goes higher up depending on if you live in Austin and have been subject to rush hour traffic on I-35 or MoPac. Human life could certainly be defined as simply waiting sandwiched between brief periods of productivity.

Christianity is a religion characterized by waiting. During the liturgical season of Advent, we anxiously await the birth of the Christ child. On Good Friday, we bear witness to the crucifixion and wait for the joy of Easter Morning. All the while, we await God’s new heaven and new Earth.

In this section of Paul’s letter to the Romans, Paul is addressing the Early Christians who are waiting—waiting for the return of Jesus Christ and the realization of the Kingdom of God. As modern readers, we must understand that the Early Christians were absolutely certain that the Kingdom of God was eminent, that Jesus was going to return in glory “any day now.” They thought that if they worked diligently to usher in the Kingdom of God, surely Christ’s return would be around the proverbial corner.

Waiting, however, soon becomes wearisome. Paul is addressing his reader’s frustration, for although they had been blessed with the “first fruits of the spirit,” they could not see these fruits become manifest throughout God’s creation. As time passed and there was no sign of the Kingdom of God, many were becoming discouraged. Perpetual waiting, after all, can fester and grow into feelings of frustration, of futility, of apathy.

Do we, too, not become discouraged, just as our ancestors once were? How can we continue to preach and live out a gospel of hope and grace where world is seemingly absent of such hope and grace? I am reminded of the denizens of Narnia, who, while under the curse of the White Witch, lamented that it was always winter in Narnia, and never Christmas. The Narnians, too, were growing weary of waiting without any sign of redemption.

Paul uses the analogy of labor pains because it is often only through pain that a new life is grown. Renewal, growth, change does not occur without pain, loss, and even despair. In the darkness of winter, it is often easy to forget that spring will soon return, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. When it is always winter and never Christmas, it can feel as if we have been abandoned by God.

But my friends, we must remember that even when all is desolate and the world is groaning with the burden of sin, new life lays dormant, incubating, waiting for the sunshine of burgeoning spring! It can be easy to lose hope when all appears lost. But as seminarians, we must be resolved to fight against hopelessness, both in our own lives as well as the lives of our sisters and brothers in Christ. Seminary can, at times, seem hopeless, especially when there are pages of Barth to decipher, passages of Hebrew to exegete, and sermons to write.

All of this work can seem futile if we do not experience immediate results. But we must have hope. We have hope in what is not seen. We have hope that spring will return, that under the surface of the cold, dead earth lies life waiting to surface.

God will not abandon us.

So we shall wait…and wait….and wait….all the while, continuing to nurture ourselves and others, continuing to nurture the new life that longs to be born. As children, we learned how to wait. Now as adults, we must re-learn these lessons of our youth. Waiting, coupled with faith brings Hope. May we always have the courage to wait, the courage to have faith. May we live in the hope of the Kingdom that is, and is to come. Amen.

Here I stand..I can do no other

2006-02-26T15:12:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon lyric of the day:

"So you see, I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs;
the only truth I know is you."

-- from "Kathy's Song"

***

The events of the past week have led me to ask the the following question: How far is too far? How far are you willing to go, how far are you willing to push the proverbial envelope when it comes to love, your beliefs, your relationship with God?

I recently watched a documentary on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German theologian who was involved in an assasination attempt against Adolph Hitler and was subsequently executed by the Nazis. Bonhoeffer was willing to risk everything he had because he felt that the perversion of the German church by the Nazis was fundamentally wrong; he believed that Christians should not stand idle while their Jewish sisters and brothers were suffering at the hands of an oppressive regime. Bonhoeffer was a brilliant theologian, clearly destined for a prosperous future. He was engaged to be married and was only 39 years old when he was executed. Why, then, did he condemn himself by becoming involved in a resistance against a stronger power? I can only answer that he was a man of such strong conviction that to not risk himself for his faith would be incongruent with his understanding of what is means to be a member of the body of Christ.

I have witnessed friends take, in my humble opinion, foolish risks for the sake of romance. It is a common social paradigm that love often causes one to take a flying leap off the Cliff of Common Sense into the sea of Passion, wherein lies the currents of spontaneity and impetuous behavior. We often laugh at such foolish lovers, but perhaps our laughter is misguided. For the lovesick fool, there is no risk too great and anyone who has ever been such a lovesick fool can admit honesty that when love is involved, you can never go too far.

In the not-too-recent past, I have sacrificed and risked much for the sake of romance; for love, I know that I am capable of taking risks. However, my greatest fear is that I will not honor my convictions surrounding my faith. I fear that if/when my convictions are tested, I will bend with the status quo rather than staying true to myself. How far am I willing to go when it comes to proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom of God? How far am I willing to go to defend and support my sisters and brothers? Is it possible to go too far when it comes to the church? I fear that I will be like the Protestant church leaders who were silent during the Holocaust, I fear that I will be like the white church leaders in the South who were sympathetic to the Civil Rights cause but remained ever taciturn. I am a passionate supporter of GLBT rights and a fully inclusive church, yet am afraid that my own-self interest will silence my conviction.

These are questions which haunt my subconscious...I pray that in the face of adversity, I will not falter but rather stay strong. I pray that I will never forget that when love, hope, peace, and Grace are involved, you can never go too far. Sometimes much has to be risked, even lost, for much to be gained.

The Dude Abides...

2006-02-25T12:31:00.000-08:00

I am so completely and utterly stoked that Lebowskifest, a festival celebrating one of my favorite movies The Big Lebowski, is coming to the great city of Austin. [and on my birthday, no less!]

In looking for links to material pertaining to this apex of cinematic achievement, I actually found a website wherein you can read the script to the movie. Oh what joy to follow along with the dialogue! Now the truly anal-retentative among us , or those with simply too much time on their hands, can memorize the entire movie (and subsequently annoy us by saying the dialogue while the movie is in play).

2006-02-25T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"My life seems unreal,
My crime, an illusion,
a scene badly written in which I must play."

--from "Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M." This was during Paul's colloboration with Art Garfunkel and he tends to be a little overdramatic in his writing. Such is the angst of youth!

Sometimes you're up, Sometimes you're down

2006-02-24T21:09:00.000-08:00

Some of you may remember the children's book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day from library storytimes or re-runs of the television program "Reading Rainbow." In the book, the title character, Alexander, describes a day filled with the great misfortunes of childhood. No longer desiring to contend with the woes of his "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day," Alexander contemplates moving to Australia, where he is certain such misfortunes do not exist.

If I were to sum up my adventures of this week, I would title it, Meredith and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week. Now it is Friday, on the cusp of Saturday and I anxiously await the dawn of Sunday morning, which, besides being the day of the Christian Sabbath, is also a symbol of the renewal of the calendar week.

At this point, my readers may inquire, "What in the hell was so awful about this week? What is causing me [Meredith] to dwell in a quagmire of self-pity?" To be honest with my sisters and brothers, I cannot tell you specific events that were particulary loathsome. And, admittedly, there was nothing about my week that was completely dispicable, as I still have a roof over my head, access to food, and am blessed with a an exceedingly caring, if sometimes overbearing, community of friends. However, as bad days and weeks typically evolve, numerous small annoyances and "set-backs" eventually culminated into what I have deemed a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week."

In the spirit of the main character from one of my favorite television shows, "My Name is Earl," I have even searched for situations in recent memory where I posssibly committed ethical faux-pas. Earl, the title charcter of the above mentioned sitcom, is convinced that Karma punishes him for his misdeeds; as a result of his revelation, Earl spends each episode attempting to reconcile previous sins. The show, therefore, is a thinly veiled metaphor for sin and redemption and the use of "Karma," in my opinion, is merely a way for the shows producers to discuss theology while maintaining a modicum of political correctness.

I, along with Earl, have also wondered if sometimes life bites you in the ass as a way of saying, "straighten up and fly right, or else!" So, as a result of this week's overall prevalent shittiness, I have been introspective, contemplative, and perhaps even a bit moody (sorry everybody!). Therefore, I acknowledge that sometimes life is crappy. Sometimes, it seems as if nothing is going your way and that your only option is to abort your current situation and simply move to another continent, be it Australia (like Alexander) or someplace else, such as Tahiti (like me).

Of course...bad days happen in Australia and Tahiti and everywhere else in the world. Bad weeks happen. Bad years happen--read the Old Testament and you will understanding what I mean. What's important is to "keep on keepin' on," to never give up and remember that (to steal an idea from Tony Compolo) even in a good Friday world, Sunday is always coming.

2006-02-24T14:44:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

"God only knows, God makes his plan;
the information's unavailable to the mortal man.
We're working our jobs, collect our pay
believe we're gliding down the highway,
but in fact, we're slip sliding away."

-- from "Slip Slidin' Away," which is the song I like to listen to when I'm feeling a little melancholy (like today)

2006-02-23T06:29:00.000-08:00

The Paul Simon Lyric du jour:

"When I think back to all the crap I learned in high school,
It's a wonder I can think at all..."

from "Kodachrome"

Announcing...

2006-02-22T11:55:00.000-08:00

Announcing a new service of this blog: the Paul Simon lyric of the day! Now you, too, can meditate and ponder the lyrics of my favorite singer/songwriter. [I realize, of course, that if you are not already a Paul Simon afficionado, the meaning behind these lyrics may seem lost, to which, I respond: Get over it! Go out, now....no, NOW and purchase a Paul Simon CD. Your life will be all the better for it!. Ok, sermon ends here]

The Paul Simon lyric du jour:

Some people never say the words, "I love you:"
It's not their style to be so bold.
Some people never say the words, "I love you,"
but like a child, they're longing to be told.

--from "Something So Right"

A little adiaphora

2006-02-21T09:37:00.000-08:00

Le quote du jour:

"If you ask me anything I don't know, I'm not going to answer."
-Yogi Berra

Rescue Me!

2006-02-19T21:48:00.000-08:00

Holy Sonnet XIV

Batter my heart three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit to, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

-- John Donne (1573-1631)

[This post is a response to a recent post by a dear friend...]

I was first introduced to John Donne, one of the great English poets, during a poetry unit in my high school senior English class. In fact, I wrote a major paper that was a analysis of the literary forms used in this very sonnet; specifically, how Donne utilizes alliteration and metaphor to communicate the desperation of a man who longs to be closer to God. I remember my paper still, for I was quite proud of it. Of course, back then I was but a mere 17 year-old, still quite innocent and fresh to the aches of the world. If I were to write that paper again, I would pay more attention to the theological nuances, especially since I am now 23 years old and am in my second semester at theological seminary.

I long for God to “batter my heart,” for the walls of my heart are rigid with depravity. My thoughts wander immediately to a phrase from another favorite poet, Paul Simon, who once admitted painfully, “I’ve built walls, a fortress deep and mighty, that none may penetrate.” Just as castle and fortress walls are composed of layers of brick and mortar, in an effort to both contain those who dwell within and deflect those who might assail, sin, too, forms walls that contain depravity and deflect love.

Donne admits, and rightfully so, that only God has the power and capacity to break down the walls of sin and instead build walls of love. A careful examination of the above poem reveals that Donne is not communicating that God will merely knock down walls of a sinful heart and leave the heart to fend for itself; on the contrary, Donne entreats God to not only “batter his heart,” but also to transform his heart by “break[ing], blow[ing], and burn[ing] his heart to “make [it] new.” God is not only a powerful force who rescues those who cry for deliverance; God also becomes a blacksmith who, through heat and force and immense patience, can hammer out our iniquity and form us anew.

Donne admits that reason alone is not enough for him to be faithful—pretty amazing concept for a guy who is Pre-Post-Modern (that is, pre-Enlightenment, pre-Kant, Pre-Schliermacher). Although Reason plays an important role in our discernment between good and evil, it is not enough to fend off the temptation of sin. Eventually, only faith in God has the capacity to transform us. Just as the power of God caused the walls of Jericho to “come a tumblin’ down,” so shall the walls of sin “come a tumblin’ down” when we beg God for mercy.

What comprises our own personal fortresses, our personal prisons of iniquity? What themes of depravity and its subsequent derivitives are responsible for the impenetrable layers of sin around our hearts? I know what mine are and lately, I feel like John Donne, that nothing short of falling to my knees and begging God to divorce me from a marriage to sin will save me from my enslavement to it. We are powerless to rescue ourselves, but through the grace of God, the love of Christ, and power of the Holy Spirit, we will never have to rely on our own merit for our own salvation. Alleluia! Praise be to God!

It's Valentine's Day!

2006-02-14T22:27:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentine’s Day!

I don’t care how fashionable it may be for people to loathe this candy-filled, Hallmark-sponsored, commerically-hijacked holiday—the fact is that I absolutely and fundamentally love Valentine’s Day.

My love for Valentine’s Day is not contingent on whether or not I have a date or if I am in a committed relationship. I honestly could care less about receiving the standard fare of chocolates, flowers, or spangly jewels. I do not require fancy dinners or lavish displays of affection (so at this point, I am probably every man’s dream woman!). Valentine’s Day, in its pure, unadulterated form, is not about the crass commercialism of love but is rather a day set aside to remember God’s gift of interpersonal relationships, romantic and otherwise.

Perhaps my affinity towards this day is deeply rooted in childhood. I remember in elementary school, Valentine’s was easily the best day of the year. For starters, we made our own Valentine’s “mail boxes,” either out of a literal box (generally of the shoebox variety), or a metaphorical “box” constructed cheaply out of public school sanctioned brown paper lunch sacks and construction paper. The best part was playing postman/postwoman and delivering Valentines into each student’s personal mailboxes. I used to spend a large portion of Valentine’s Day Eve painstainkingly filling out names on my Garfield Valentines, making sure that my friends/crushes received the “cool” Valentines. At a young age, I already displayed universalist tendencies, as I made sure every child in my class received a valentine from me and not just the children who ran in my social circle. In the afternoon, we would dump our Valentines on our desks, and sort through the cards and candy, occassionally delighting in special Valentine from a dear friend or unrequited love.

I used to (and still do!) dress accordingly for Valentine’s Day, wearing the appropriate colors for the day (red and pink) and, when I was still in the single digits, the white tights with little hearts patterned on them. Let it never be said that I lacked enthusiasm or style! In 1st grade, I took it even further, when I begged my mother to purchase a pair of red patent leather shoes, for the express purpose of wearing them on Valentine’s Day. She obliged and I cannot recall feeling that steeped in couture until my high school prom.

To this day, I honor Valentines by continuing to pass out cheesy little Valentines—this year, I chose a Simpsons theme, hoping that the thinly veiled cynicism and irony would mollify even my most jaded and love-lorn of friends. I also consumed a fair quantity of chocolate, candy hearts, and imbibed many drinks containing that most potent of passion-inducing elixers, alcohol. Valentine's Day should not be a day for cynicism, but should be a day of celebration of the love we have and a day of hope for the love we may yet find. With this in mind, plus the providence of free candy, what is not to like?

Happy Happy, Joy Joy

2006-02-13T18:09:00.000-08:00

What music I am listening to : American Beauty, Grateful Dead. My new favorite song is "Ripple."

I used to be a big fan of the cartoon “Ren & Stimpy.” If you were a child in the 1990’s, then you will most likely have caught this cartoon on Saturday night programming on the Nickelodeon network. My father, brother, and I used to crowd around the television set in order to enjoy the outlandish antics of the Ren, the Chihuahua, and Stimpy, his feline companion. (My mother, incidentally, used to believe this show to be extremely sophomoric and somewhat vulgar. As my taste palate has matured with my old age, I tend to concur with my mother’s judgement…)

My two favorite Ren & Stimpy moments revolve around two clever songs that became the crowning achievements during the show’s television tenure. One was the anthem for the Canadian Kilted Yaksman, the words of which, out of space consideration, I will not currently offer for your perusal. The other song, my personal favorite, was, of course, the “Happy Happy, Joy Joy” song. The chorus is simply the words, “Happy happy, joy joy," repeated continually throughout a normal chord progression. During the rousing refrain, the singer of the song, obviously a send-up of childhood songsters such as Raffi, asks, “I don’t think your happy enough! That’s right, I’ll teach you to be happy!” Naturally, the humor lies in the irony behind a gruff, semi-irate children’s “entertainer” encouraging youngsters to be happy.

We, as human beings, are programmed with an innate desire to be happy. But what is happiness, anyway? The constitution of the United States declares that all men [people] have a right to pursue happiness, whatever the hell that means. Lately, my companions in this journey through the rocky roads of seminary have been wrestling with this idea of happiness. For some, happiness lies in the finding of great romance; for others, happiness is self-acceptance. When we are but small children, happiness is certainly less elusive. But as we age, happiness becomes fickle, transient, and down-right frustratin.’ As our hearts become afflicted with the stings of hurt that life can sometimes assail on us, happiness is but an impracticality, the fodder of musicals and children’s programming.

I find it interesting that the constitution does not guarantee happiness, but rather gives us a “license to hunt,” metaphorically speaking (well, unless you are Dick Cheney). We are all driven to seek out that which will make us happy. We are instructed from the earliest of ages to make good “life choices” that will secure our life’s happiness; we are socialized by parents, churches, friends, the media, etc. to pursue options that will ultimately lead to happiness. For example, my parents instilled in me a yearning for higher education, because, according to their experience, higher education will ultimately lead to success which our society equates with happiness. Successful people are happy people—according to American societal constructs.

I had a close friend ask me yesterday, “When will I ever be happy?” You can’t fault a person for asking, “when will this ongoing pursuit for happiness come to an end?” and I can’t offer any sage advice without sounding maudlin or hackneyed.

So I won’t.

Instead, I am going to leave you with the lyrics from a portion of the musical You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown. And yes, I realize the non-sequiter of referencing both Ren & Stimpy and Charlie Brown in the same blog post. And yes, these lyrics, might, at first, seem to be just the maudlin response I was trying to avoid. However, I find these words, echoed in the innocent voices of childhood, to be poignant and honest.

“Happiness” From “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown”

HAPPINESS IS FINDING A PENCIL.
PIZZA WITH SAUSAGE, TELLING THE TIME.
HAPPINESS IS LEARNING TO WHISTLE.
TYING YOUR SHOE FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME.
HAPPINESS IS PLAYING THE DRUM IN YOUR OWN SCHOOL BAND.
AND HAPPINESS IS WALKING HAND IN HAND.

HAPPINESS IS TWO KINDS OF ICE CREAM.
KNOWING A SECRET, CLIMBING A TREE.
HAPPINESS IS FIVE DIFFERENT CRAYONS.
CATCHING A FIREFLY, SETTING HIM FREE.
HAPPINESS IS BEING ALONE EVERY NOW AND THEN.
AND HAPPINESS IS COMING HOME AGAIN.

HAPPINESS IS MORNING AND EVENING,
DAY TIME AND NIGHT TIME TOO.
FOR HAPPINESS IS ANYONE AND ANYTHING AT ALL
THAT'S LOVED BY YOU.

HAPPINESS IS HAVING A SISTER.
SHARING A SANDWICH, GETTING ALONG.
HAPPINESS IS SINGING TOGETHER WHEN DAY IS THROUGH,
AND HAPPINESS IS THOSE WHO SING WITH YOU.
HAPPINESS IS MORNING AND EVENING,
DAYTIME AND NIGHTTIME TOO.
FOR HAPPINESS IS ANYONE AND ANYTHING AT ALL
THAT'S LOVED BY YOU.

And so it goes....

2006-02-09T22:49:00.000-08:00

A new semester is upon us!

The next few months will be filled with the translation of ancient biblical Hebrew, attempts at preaching, deciphering the New Testament, and further forays into the theological writings of Karl Barth, John Wesley, and others. All this, of course, will transpire simultaneously with my continued search for romance, self-acceptance, and the best meat-loaf in Austin, Texas.

***

I feel nostalgic this evening. My soul is restless, tumultuous and though the hour is late, I do not foresee going to bed any time soon. I admit that I have had a few (ha!) drinks this evening, in an attempt to soothe my aching psyche, but the alcohol, as always, has failed to produce any permanent solutions to the problems which weigh heavy on my heart.

***

Why is that certain songs have the capacity to recollect dozens of memories of people, places, emotions? I once read that our sense of smell has the strongest ties to memory and I believe that this makes sense. Everytime I casually catch a whiff of a cigar, I am immediatly reminded of my grandfather; everytime I smell Ralph Lauren Safari, I am reminded of my first boyfriend-the one who granted me my first kiss and my first heartache. However, I would say that our sense of hearing, specifically, our association with certain songs, has an even greater capacity to recall the memories of loved ones, of circumstances and events long buried within the passage of time.

A favorite artist or composer loved by a former boyfriend/girlfriend forever associates that boyfriend/girlfriend with that artist. I was once semi-romantically involved with a guy who was a big Duran Duran afficiando; now when I hear Duran Duran, I automatically think of this guy who I was once enamored with but who also spurned my affections. Thus, whenever I hear Duran Duran, I am always filled with a "mixed drink" of emotions--the joy of remembering our brief romantic interlude, the sorrow of my ultimate rejection.

The danger lies in this feeling of nostalgia. Sometimes, when I desire to feel particulary nostalgic, I will play certain CD's or songs that I know will produce a specific emotional frame of mind. Other times, I will listen to certain CD's/songs, knowing full well that the songs will open the door to a myriad of emotional "flashbacks," but I choose to listen to the CD simply because I love that particular artist(s) and it would be silly to avoid the music for the sake of avoiding confrontation with emotional baggage. Some days, a song will innocently blare through my clock radio, and, through no fault of the radio or the DJ, my psyche will be immediately transported to a distant past filled with unrequited love and thus, my morning will be spent in melancholy reflection.

Of course, certain songs recall times filled with ecstatic joy; music is not limited to the recollection of bittersweet memories, although I would venture to say that pain and suffering are often stronger emotions than joy. Nostalgia, after all, is inherently bittersweet, regardless of how joyous the memory. Events in the past can never be revisited; therefore, recalling even the most happy of occassions is bittersweet because one has to also acknowledge that the joyous occasion will never be repeated or revisited.

I say these things not to ultimately condemn nostalgia, but rather to be honest with my sisters and brothers who happen to read this blog. Honesty, my friends, is the true and ultimate liberator!

With Apologies to Isaiah 7:1-3

2006-02-07T19:06:00.000-08:00

And it came to pass in the days of Meredith, daughter of David, son of William, that she left her people in the land of Amarillo and went down to Austin, city of the Capital of the state of Texas. And Meredith enrolled in Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and enrolled in Beginning Hebrew Exegesis but she did not prevail.

And the LORD spoke to Meredith saying, "Meredith, daughter of David, son of William take heed and fear not. Go forth and meet thy friends in the Library of the Seminary of which thou attendest, for therein you shall find the answer to the passages of which you are attempting to exegete."

And Meredith did the will of the LORD and Lo! she found a book of Hebrew wherein lay the answers to that of which she was seeking. From that day forth she failed not to rely on the books of the reference section of the library of the Seminary, nor did she fail to remember the providence of her friends.

Typhoid Mary

2006-02-02T20:08:00.000-08:00

Day two of the illness rages on...as I write this, I am a little doped up on some serious over-the-counter meds, so I am sorry if this post is semi-incoherent.

Feel a little better today, but not much. I was feeling a little stir-crazy this morning, so I happily visited the neighborhood CVS Pharmacy to 1) pick up medicine 2) engage in some contact with the outside world. I'm sure that the employees thought I was a nutcase because I kept wandering aimlessly around the store. In all honesty, it felt so good to be out in a public place, pharmacy or not, that I was delaying my return trip to my entropy-ridden apartment.

Pharmacies are truly wonderful places. Where else can one purchase lipstick, condoms, medications, crayons, and orange juice, all in one convenient location? Ok, ok, plenty of places...but you get my point. Hooray for pharmacies!

In my period of illness, I have grown more appreciative of many things, which include (but are not limited to)
* canned soup
* kleenexes
* Freaks and Geeks- props to my friend Paps for introducing me to this wonderful, albeit short-lived program
* my cat- always an endless source of company
* breathing- I long for the days of breathing unhindered by severe congestion
* pajama pants
* all my friends here at this school, without which I would be lacking in soups, cat, and Freaks and Geeks
* Phone conversations- my connection with the outside world prevented me from becoming Jack Torrence (and props to you if you caught this movie reference!)

Time for bed, as my Tylenol Cold & Flu PM is starting to kick in. I have a test tomorrow, believe it or not, and it will be a miracle if I don't cough through the damn thing...

Sick Day!

2006-02-01T06:28:00.000-08:00

Today marks the beginning of February and time for one of Meredith's annual traditions. No, I'm not referring to "groundhog day," which is tomorrow and which I will observe by watching the Bill Murray movie of the same name.

Alas, I, Meredith Kemp, am sick!

I'm not the kind of person who gets sick frequently; generally speaking, I have an immune system that could kill a small horse. Nay, it's an annual event, usually in late January or early February and usually the denoument after a stressful activity (in this case, Hebrew). Precisely one year ago, I got sick during a run of "Sweeney Todd," so I am thankful that there is nothing substantial going on in my life at the moment. [Pause here for a coughing fit]. Uggh. I feel gross. I just want some soup, a little Sprite, and a man to spoon with. On the second thought, I'll settle for just the man...

***
So last night, I was suppossed to help usher at the evening worship service for Midwinter lectures which are taking place at the seminary this week. I say "suppossed to" because it turns out that we were not, in fact, needed to help usher, so I got all dressed up for no good reason. There were so many people in the chapel that I ended up standing up most of the time and I did not get a chance to sing any of the hymns since a hymnal was not available. Normally, I would be somewhat miffed, as singing is my favorite part of a church service. But I was glad to be forced to actually listen to the singing [pause for coughing] of the congregation. Our chapel, normally half to one-fourth full for daily chapel services, was packed to the gills and the singing was glorious, resonating throughout the stone walls and vaulted ceilings. I realized that occassionally, there is much value in taking a step back and absorbing all which is around you.

I also would like to add a shout-out to my fellas in their suits. Mmm....few things are sexier than men in suits. Que guapo!

Sigh of Relief

2006-01-31T13:48:00.000-08:00

O, Captain, my Captain, our fearful trip is done...

At long last, the goal once though impossible has been accomplished: we have navigated our little Protestant selves through the Basics of Biblical Hebrew. We can now quasi-coherently discuss the more salient aspects of Hebrew, whether it be a heated argument over the use of a direct-object marker or whether that mem-shewa is a preposition or-horrors!-a participle!

Today my heart rejoices in the beauty of winter in Austin (70 degrees!) and the simple joy of driving with my windows down, listening to the musical stylings of my personal poet-laureate, Paul Simon. I enjoyed lunch with one of my mentors and am thankful that I have such a wise, noble man to guide me as I continue this journey towards ordained ministry.

On another note: I have decided to temporarily give up the 'brew...and we're not talking Hebrew. We're talking the REAL brew,booze, because after a few days of partying like it's 1999, the thought of drinking another beer turns my stomach. So I shall give it up, albeit temporarily, and allow my body to detox. Besides, the Spring semester is looming on the horizon and I need to be in good form if I am going to last through the semester without having a nervous breakdown.

I am Weary, Let me Rest

2006-01-29T19:26:00.000-08:00

A conversation today shared over a glorious Crown burger (thanks, Ryan!) with one of my closest friends reflected on the occassional need to de-tox our lives. Now that the 'brew is "pert-near" (that's West Texan for 'almost') over, we are beginning to turn our faces towards other horizons.

I am tired- nay, exhausted! The stress and the rigamorole surrounding the 'brew has worn me down to one tired pulp of a seminarian. This week will be an ideal time to de-tox, de-stress, and prepare for a new semester.

I am finding an increasing urge to simplify my life. So much of my energy is spent in needless activity that I grow weary of my life being "frittered away by detail," to borrow a phrase from H.D. Thoreau. I attended a Taize worship service this evening at my church and I was moved how such a simple, serene service can draw me into the heart of God. If you ever have the means or oppertunity, I encourage you to attend a Taize service...just a personal endorsement.

So this week, and the weeks to come, are hereby dedicated to living in simplicity, to focusing on keeping still and silencing my mind, allowing the beauty and serenity of creation to fully permeate my being.

She's Makin' a List...(or two, or three)

2006-01-26T11:12:00.000-08:00

Saw these lists on one of Pappan's latest blogs, so I thought I would copy the format and post my own lists.

Four jobs that I've had:

Grocery Sacker
Librarian
Cast member in an outdoor musical drama
Barista (that's a person who makes coffee in a coffeehouse, for those who don't know)

Four movies that I can watch over and over again:

Tombstone
Dead Poet's Society
The Muppet Movie (everytime I hear "Rainbow Connection," I tear up just a little)
The Big Lebowski

Four places I've lived:

El Paso, TX
Amarillo, TX
Canyon, TX
Austin, TX (current) (not very many places--my parents are not nomadic folk)

Four TV shows I love to watch:

Gilmore Girls
My Name is Earl
Nip/Tuck (on rare occassion)
The Simpsons

Four websites I read daily:

Amarillo.com (hometown newspaper)
Cnn.com
Various and sundry blogs
Theonion.com

Four places I've been on vacation:

Port Aransas, Texas
Red River, New Mexico
Las Vegas, Nevada
Various Locations around New Mexico...(Ok, this is not a very in-depth list. My family never had much money when I was growing up and thus we never took any exciting vacations.)

Four favorite foods:

Coffee! (Is coffee technically a food? It is now!)
Mashed potatoes
Meatloaf (especially when enjoyed with the above)
My grandma's spinich casserole (seriously...it has so much cheese and garlic that you don't even notice the taste of the spinich)

Four places I'd rather be:

On the beach in Tahiti
In bed, spooning with a handsome man
Driving through the Tuscan countryside (yes, I am a cheeseball. Just call me Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun)
Hiking in the beautiful Palo Duro Canyon

If you read this, consider yourself tagged! Copy the text and list your own four. Get on it!

Another Pleasant Austin Sunday

2006-01-22T18:35:00.000-08:00

Sunday afternoons are little packets of goodness from God, a time of stillness before the wacky entropy of the workweek ensues. Perhaps this is why I am somewhat cranky if I have a commitment on Sunday afternoon; I value the luxurious freedom of Sunday and I want to do what I want to do, dammit!

Which is why, when my good friends called and invited me on an excursion to ToyJoy and BookPeople, I accepted, even though it meant blowing off a prior (and admittedly, less fun) commitment.

Bookstores are the Sunday afternoons of the retail world. I love the sensory experience of meandering through bookstores, how the lingering scents of incense, coffee, ink, and paper comingle in a perichoretical dance (to borrow/steal a phrase from theologian Karl Barth). Books, once considered a luxury because of their rarity, are no longer a precious commodity. Rather, in today's society, books and the stores which peddle them are a symbol of the luxury of free time, symbols of glorious "Sunday afternoon." In our frantic, frenetic American lives, we often do not prioritize reading time. I lament this loss

I picked up an interesting book from the bargain bin at BookPeople and I am convinced that my finding it was no coincidence. The book is a Zen inspired re-interpretation of the psalms and I was most intrigued as I am both fascinated and inspired by Eastern thought and philosophy. To see if the book would be worth buying, I turned to my favorite Psalm (no. 121) and was moved profoundly by its message. Now, I have read Psalm 121 dozens of times, but it is always a blessing to hear scripture in a fresh voice. For your own perusal, I have copied the Psalm below:

Psalm 121

I lift my eyes to the mountain peak--
Where does my help come from?
It comes from you
Maker of heaven and earth
Who holds my foot firm on the path up
Who's constantly present
Everywhere aware

Look!
With you there's no obscurity
Nothing is dim, asleep, inert
To those who question and struggle
You respond, keep hold, give cover
So that by day the sun won't burn
Nor by night the moon mesmerize

You guard against evil
Enfold and reveal the soul

Guard my arrival
Secure my departure--
Now:

Always

I was particulary moved by the section that was interpreted as thus: "To those who question and struggle, You [God] respond, keep hold, cover." Lately I have been struggling, with Hebrew, as well as other issues, personal and otherwise. And I think this is why Psalm 121 will always be my favorite, because it reminds me that when we question and struggle, God will always respond. God "guides [our] arrival" and "secures our departure," therefore, we shall not fear! Naturally, it is not easy to keep the faith, but the wonder behind God's grace is that God will continue to watch, guard, keep, regardless if we have faith in God or not.

So my charge to my brothers and sisters who are struggling: Look to the mountain! See that help comes from the one who made heaven and earth! We will be kept, we will be guarded, for our God is constantly present and everywhere aware.

The Grass Ain't Always Greener

2006-01-18T21:18:00.000-08:00

"I Don't Want to Live on the Moon"
(courtesy Sesame Street)

I'd like to visit the moon
On a rocketship high in the air.
Yes, I'd like to visit the moon,
But I don't think I'd like to live there.
Though I'd like to look down at the earth From above,
I'd miss all the places and people I love,
So although I might like it for one afternoon,
I don't want to live on the moon.

I'd like to travel under the sea.
I could meet all the fish everywhere.
Yes, I'd travel under the sea,
But I don't think I'd like to live there.
I might stay for a day there If i had my wish,
But there's not much to do
When your friends are all fish,
And an oyster and clam aren't real family,
So I don't want to live under the sea.

I'd like to visit the jungle,
Hear the lion's roar;
Go back and meet a dinosaur.
There's so many strange places I'd like to be
But none of them permanently.

So if I should visit the moon,
Well, I'll dance on a moonbeam, and then
I will make a wish on a star,
And I'll wish I was home once again.
Though I'd like to look down at the earth from above,
I would miss all the places And people I love
So although I may go, I'll be coming home soon,
'Cause I don't want to live on the moon.
No, I don't want to live on the moon.

Please forgive me for being a bit sappy, but I this is one of my favorite songs from childhood. I remember Ernie singing this song on Sesame Street and I can vividly recall the brightly colored moonbeams and muppet fish. Songs and poems we learn in childhood fuse into our adult psyche. Tonight, I find this song increasingly poingnant.

I wrestle often with various degrees of homesickness and general feelings of self-doubt, especially concerning academic and ecclesiastical affairs. Like Ernie, I sometimes dream of abandoning my life in Austin and embark on a mad-cap odyssey to exotic locations. Nothing is inherently wrong with a desire, as they say in Star Trek, "to seek out new life and new civilizations," but we must never forget the beauty of home, the beauty of the faces and places we love.

As I sometimes become impatient with my life and jealous of others' perceived good fortune, I must remind myself that the "grass isn't greener on the other side of the fence." It's just grass, same as my grass, same as anybody's grass. And though it might be tempting to live on the moon, I would miss my family and friends that continue to humble and inspire me. So glory be to God for all that is seen and unseen which blesses my life! I pray that I, too, will never take my blessings for granted and that I may be a blessing to others.

Playin' Hooky

2006-01-18T10:20:00.000-08:00

What is more glorious than playing hooky from school (or work, whatever your case may be)?

"Calling in sick," "taking a mental health day," "playing hooky"-- all are euphemisms for the simple joy of deflecting life's responsibilities for a single day. The weekends are typically free from school or work but are instead saddled with the weight of menial weekend chores. A weekend, then, isn't really about total freedom; however, playing hooky allows a person for one day to be totally and absolutely free.

The single greatest depicition of the single greatest day of freedom is the movie "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." I'm sure that anybody who grew up in the 1980's can quote this movie verbatim. But out of the myriad of lines that are certainly more memorable and more quotable, one of my favorites occurs at the beginning of the movie, when Ferris looks at the beautiful sky of a blissful spring morning, and asks, "how can I be expected to handle school on a day like today?" I can't recall how many times I have walked or driven to school or work thinking these exact words. [Side note: I've actually met Ben Stein! Well, I didn't technically meet him, but I did make him a tea, which, incidentally, he sent back. Another story for another time...]

Today was such a day.

After a night of drinking at another great little hole in the wall (named, appropriately, The Hole in the Wall), I decided to enjoy the morning and play hooky from Hebrew. I was not the only one who had similar sentiments, as my other drinking companions also did not show up for class this morning. I slept in ridiculously late, ate breakfast, played with the cat, and am now simultaneously drinking coffee, watching Indecent Proposal, and writing this blog. (Who said that I can't multitask?) At some point, I shall "get back to work," but I intend to delay the ineveitable as long as possible. Indeed, it has been a glorious morning!

Weekend Update

2006-01-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

Another pleasant, if slightly bizarre weekend.

Friday night, I attended the world-famous Salt Lick Barbeque outfit. If you are in the Austin Area, I highly recommend you take a slight detour to the Salt Lick. I believe that the Kingdom of Heaven will be much like the 'Lick: an eternal feast of all-you-can-eat barbeque ribs, brisket, sausage. In Heaven, the Shiner Bock flows from an eternal stream and beer bottles are never empty. If there is no beer in heaven, I will not go! (Of course, if there is no beer in heaven, then it isn't heaven, but that is another discussion for another time.)

I also enjoyed amazing fellowship with my fellow seminarians and endured several games of Trivial Pursuit. Now, I don't mean to brag, but I tend to be one heck of a Trivial Pursuit Player, and my skills are apparently augmented after I have imbibed a few Shiner Bocks.

Today I had an opportunity to go to the opera, Shostakovich's Lady MacBeth of Mtensk, which I recommend everyone seeing at least once, simply because it was the most risque opera I have ever seen. If you want to see some gratuitious sex and violence on stage, and you don't have a strong aversion to Russian opera, then this is the opera for you.

Cat is doing well. She likes to follow me around the house, mostly because she usually wants food, but I would like to believe she follows me out of some sort feline reverence for my existence. The other day, I journeyed to the pet store, to buy kitty litter, and I ended up purchasing a couple of extraneous feline accoutrements. One of said accoutrements were these kitty treats that I purchased on a whim, only to discover that the damned things were $5.99. $5.99?!?!? I don't spend that on my own damn treats, let alone on a stupid cat. Oh, what mother I have become!

Little Miss Perfect

2006-01-11T21:19:00.000-08:00

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people…I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The true is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”
-- Anne Lamott

Lately, I have wrestled with perfectionism, although my neurotic obsession with attaining perfection has not been isolated solely to this week, but rather is a behavioral pattern throughout my entire life. Today, however, I finally realized how crippling perfectionism is to my overall level of happiness. During our Hebrew study group, our TA called on me to say the opening prayer for our class. Immediately, my heart began to palpitate wildly and my mind began to race and I began to panic about what “right” words I should say. I desperately wanted to spout out a prayer that would put St. Francis of Assisi to shame, but instead, I mumbled and fumbled a few trite sentences.

I wanted my prayer, my words to be perfect. But this desire to deliver a perfect offering to God is not the only area of my life where perfectionism rears its ugly head. I also strive to be a perfect student, a perfect friend, a perfect daughter, granddaugher, sister. I desire physical as well as emotional perfection and I spend a lot of excess time and energy working, albeit futilely, towards this unattainable goal.

The truth is, of course, that none of us are perfect and we all die anyway so why bother trying to be something we’re not? I heard a wonderful sermon the other day that discussed how all of creation praises God. Trees, animals, the wind, the ocean, etc.—all praise God, simply by being trees, animals, the wind the ocean…. My friend, the great and profound Ryan P. (had to give him a citation for this idea!) said that we, as human beings, praise God simply by being our true selves. Therefore, the way I glorify and praise God is not by being perfect or praying perfect prayers but rather by being Meredith. God does not expect us to be perfect; such is the depraved state of fallen humanity. But God does expect us to be true to ourselves. The great mystery of God’s everlasting mercy is that if/when God decides to look to perfection, God looks at the perfection of humanity that was manifested in Jesus Christ. With Jesus Christ as the model for the true, perfect humanity, there is truly hope for us all- even silly, neurotic, semi-vapid cat owners such as myself.

The main problem with perfectionism is that, when we focus too much on keeping our heads down in order to avoid stepping on cracks, we miss the world surrounding us. And if everyone dies in the end, perfect of not, it seems ridiculous to obsess over unachievable goals. So my goal for this year of our Lord 2006 is to learn to simply be the best Meredith I can be. I am what I am ; we are what we are. For God, that is good enough.

Tower of Babble

2006-01-05T20:37:00.000-08:00

So here I am, 10:00 P.M. on my fourth day of Biblical Hebrew and I am finding myself not studying diligently for our first Hebrew exam tomorrow morning, but rather driving around the city of Austin, Texas, desperately looking for today’s paper.

“Why a paper?” you may ask. It just so happens that I am the offspring of a genuine, bona fide, die-hard, burnt-orange bleedin’ University of Texas alumnus—my mother. There was a small, rather insignificant football game last night that resulted in a National Championship title for said university and it goes without saying that the humble city of Austin is in a bit of an uproar. I called my mother and told her I would save her today’s Austin Paper commemorating UT’s win, but, alas! I have waited too long and it seems that there are no more newspapers in this godforsaken town.

Even the most jaded curmudgeon can admit to being somewhat moved by the enthusiasm of University of Texas fans. I would wager, though, that the greatest of enthusiasm belongs not to the valiant Vince Young and his family, but rather to my mother. I even drove by the fabled UT Tower in honor of my mother and gazed at its luminous burnt-orange splendor. I drove and gazed and searched not on my own accord, but in the place of the one who does not have the luxury of Austin to gaze and drive herself.

Personally, I do not give a flying rat’s ass for most sports. A liberal arts major, I have never been truly enamored with any kind of physical competition. In PE classes, I was always the stereotypical bespectacled skinny nerd who was picked last for the team-- not that I cared, of course. My goal was to make it though each PE period without getting my ass kicked by a vicious upper-classman and, by the grace of God, I was successful. Yet, despite my strong aversion to sports, I found myself more or less highly engaged in the activity of last night’s Rose Bowl.

I watched the game in honor of my mother. For her, the University of Texas is not merely her and my father’s alma mater, but rather is a symbol of home. The famed University of Texas tower is, to my mother, not a merely a sentimental city landmark, but rather a symbol of the perseverance of the human spirit. Through the tumult of my mother’s childhood, the tower stood tall and imposing, stalwart in the face of adversity. Her love for the University of Texas is a love and pride for her home. My mother did not grow up in the most favorable of circumstances and she turned to other sources to provide the reassurance that was lacking in her home life.

My mother, in many ways, is like that tower: tall, intimidating, comforting, tenacious. My mother is also a source of strength, of support, of reassurance to others. Many depend on her just as she depends on the University of Texas. And this is why I watched the Rose Bowl, wore burnt orange, and performed a futile search for an Austin paper. I do these things because my mother does these things. She is my Tower, my symbol of home; therefore, my participation in various UT rituals are not for the honor of UT, but for the honor of someone greater.

A Year in Revue

2006-01-02T18:26:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! The end of the old year and the birth of a new one presents with an ideal time for reflection. So, without further delay, here is Meredith's End of the Year wrap-up Extravaganza for 2005!

January: Moved in with my best friend, Roland. My apartment in Canyon was plagued with horrible plumbing problems, so I decided to cut my losses and move out. Coincidentally, Rolando was looking for a new living situation as well and we decided since we already were practically living together, we should bite the bullet and move into a little house in Canyon.

February: I co-starred in a production of “Sweeney Todd” at our local community theater. I had a nifty role as a beggar-woman/prostitute who gets her throat cut towards the end of the show. I learned that I am capable of anything, as this role was the most challenging thing I have attempted both theatrically and musically. I also learned that stage blood will stain your bra and not even the strongest stain removers will get it out!

March: Came in like a lion and out like a lamb! Received my acceptance letter for Austin Seminary, which was exciting, seeing as how it was the only seminary I applied to.

April: The great T.S. Eliot once said, “April is the cruelest month.” April was not exact a hotbed of activity, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was cruel. Just boring.

May: The month of my birth (Woo-Hoo!). The highlight of my year, thus far, was my opportunity to be in the cast of “Jesus Christ Superstar” at our local community theater (the same one where I was in “Sweeney Todd.”) Call me a sentimental, sappy fool, but JCS is without a doubt my favorite musical.

June: I won an ALTA (Amarillo Little Theatre Award) for “Best Supporting Actress in a Musical” for my role as “Beggar Woman” in “Sweeney Todd.” An ALTA is sort of like winning an Oscar, only without the Oscar de la Renta formalwear.

July: I threw my annual Fourth of July Picnic. Fun times. I wore my bikini that looks like the American Flag and drank a lot of Bud Light.

August: The most bittersweet month of the year, the 23rd of August marked the end of my tenure in the Panhandle. My leaving Canyon was the end of an era. But I also believed in the words of the Mother Superior from "The Sound of Music:" 'When God closes a door, God always opens a window.' Wise words, Reverend Mother. Wise words indeed.

September: Classes at APTS began! Began to meet the crazy seminarians who quickly became my friends. Learned that the Crown & Anchor is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.

October: Took my first road trip home, with mixed results. Dressed up as a princess for Halloween. Began blogging!

November: Wrote a barrage of papers for school. Celebrated the day upon which we give Thanks with my grandparents.

December: Finals! My wacky trip home! My equally wacky Christmas here in Austin! New Year's Eve with my friends which resulted in some entertaining drunken escapades...

Ah, 2005...so much done and yet, much left undone. I promise to enjoy 2006 to its fullest capacity and if my life continues on its current track, 2006 will be most exciting, indeed.

Merry Texas Christmas, Ya'll

2005-12-25T22:08:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas one and all! Yes, I realize it is the 29th, but Christmas is still upon us, lest we forget the popular tune that reminds us repeatedly of the 12 Days belonging to Christmas. [A Side Note: I always found the gifts to be somewhat strange. As I am enticed by bright, shiny objects, the '5 golden rings' always excited me. Men, take note! What I would do with five golden rings, I don't know...perhaps wear one on each of my fingers? But I have always been mystified by the gifts for people: 10 Lords 'a Leaping, 9 Ladies dancing, etc. Seems a little extravagant, if you ask me, although I can't deny the lure of having 10 Lords at my disposal, leaping or otherwise...]

Christmas in the year of our Lord 2005 was most perplexing, indeed. Not only was it one of my busiest Christmases on record (hence the lack of blog entries), but it also produced numerous philosophical quandries.

My Christmas vacation began, as many archetypal journies do, with an trip to my homeland. As the plane touched down on the runway, my Spider Sense told me I was about to become locked in a tempestuous whirlpool of surreality. A visit to my hometown in the Panhandle will forever be a proverbial rest-stop on the Road to Wackiness. A wise man once said, "you can never go home again," and as much as I hate to put much creedence in oft-quoted, quasi-philosophical "wisdom," these words continue to ring true each time I visit home

Going home this Christmas was a lesson in learning to let go. If you have read my blog entry titled, "Homeward Bound-less," then you already know that my previous trip home this semster did not live up to any of my pre-conceived expectations. I thought my Yule Tide journey as "Meredith's Homecoming: Part Deux," except this time, the sequal was better than the original. My life has changed drastically in the four months I have lived in Austin, but change is universal and unilateral; as I have evolved during this past semester, so have my friends and family.

I realized that it is time to let go of old habits, bad feelings, and unrequited love. I realized that my place will always be with my family, regardless of the ebb and flow of my friendships and relationships with others. I am fortunate to be blessed with firm foundation of supporters who ceaselessely encourage me as I trudge through seminary. Their love both humbles and inspires me. When I am drowning in a sea of self-doubt, I pray that the memory of kind, encouraging words from my family, friends, and church, will buoy me to the surface.

Free at last, free at last

2005-12-16T20:26:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah and Praise Jesus- Finals are over! After our last final this morning, we celebrated in our usual demeanor: by heading over to our beloved Crown & Anchor and drinking ourselves into a stupor. Nothing erases the memory of arduous finals like a good drinking binge with dear friends. Of course, halfway through our merriment we realized that our “celebrating” at the Crown was not really anything out of the ordinary, since we frequent the Crown on a near-daily basis.

[Note: some of the bartenders at the Crown actually know my name! You know how long it’s been since I’ve been to a restaurant where they new my name? Ok, in truth, not long, since I moved to Austin from a small town. I used to go to this burger joint in Canyon called Hil’s Burgers on a weekly basis, and Hil knew my name and even gave me extra curly fries. I’m not at that “extra curly fries” level at the Crown, but maybe someday…it’s a goal worth striving for.]

What is more amazing is that my first semester of seminary is over. My first fucking semester! I have mornings when I still wake up and cannot believe that I live in fucking Austin and attend the Presbyterian Seminary here. As one who does not always adjust well to change, I am both relieved and saddened to be done with classes. The semester went by at a blazing pace and I wonder if this is indicative to the rest of my seminary career. If school continues to race along at this breakneck speed, graduation will soon be on the horizon. Then what? As I discern my call here at school, I still find it somewhat mystifying as to what God’s purpose is for me. I have faith that I am being led to fulfill some “destiny,” for lack of a better term, but I remain clueless to what that “destiny” may be.

Tonight as I type this blog, I find it alien that I do not have classwork hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles. Not that I was Hermione Granger this semester (my approach to school, was, admittedly, lackadaisical), but I did (occasionally) study. Tonight, there are no more finals, no more John Calvin or Karl Barth to read, no theology terms to memorize. My mind is restless without the chaos of school; the chaos of school stresses-out my mind. Such is the dichotomy of Meredith...

And then there was one...

2005-12-14T12:35:00.000-08:00

Three, count ‘em, three finals down and only one more remains!

My theology final this morning was fairly successful. I learned that much can be accomplished if you drink enough coffee to kill a lab rat and consume multiple Krispy Kreme donuts. The sugar and caffeine alone were enough to let my mind race for approximately 85% of my test this morning. I was able to pull 11 ¼ pages (double-spaced) of theological “knowledge” out of my ass, which, I must admit, is a new Meredith record.

My exam was coherent and, at times, slightly humorous. I attempted to weave together sound theological thought with levity, although there was probably more levity than brevity, if you understand my meaning. If Cindy Rigby is going to have to grade a million Systematic Theology I exams, then the least I can do is make sure my test is enjoyable for her to read. Various examples I used to illustrate complex theological concepts include, but are not limited to: references to Zeppo of the Marx brothers, Spiderman, the theology of Meredith as a 5 year-old, a quote from my mother, and several vague references to the book of Ecclesiastes.

If there is one thing I enjoy doing, it is pontificating. If there is anything else I could possibly enjoy more than pontificating, then it is using eclectic examples to illustrate a point.

One more hurdle awaits: the dreaded history final. Kyrie Eleison!

Sheer Randomness

2005-12-09T22:39:00.000-08:00

No classes this week: the school calls it “Reading Week,” which, in theory, is the week dedicated to reading and writing papers before finals begin next week. I wish that I could admit proudly that the week was spent in disciplined, dedicated, and diligent study, but, as result of this lack of structure, I managed to piss all of my time away. Oh sure, I did do some work on my damn worship paper, as well as some minimal studying for various and sundry classes, but it is now early Saturday morning and I have very little to show for my week of theoretical “work.”

However, also in true Meredith fashion, this week was very much an exercise in what I would call “surreality.” Some of the randomness that occurred:

* It was, as my mother put it, “Colder than a well-digger’s ass” here in Austin this week. Cold! In Austin! I moved away from the Panhandle to escape bullshit cold weather, not be enveloped in it! And, to add further insult to injury, I left most of my sweaters and what-not at home. [Note: why is that well-diggers have cold asses? Do they not wear long-underwear or other protection that would act as a barrier against the elements? Poor diggers of wells!]

* I got to hold a baby the other day. Happiness is holding a tiny-squirmy infant, if you ignore that funky baby smell.

* I learned how to knit! I can finally cross it off the list of “Stuff I want to learn before I die.” Knitting is hard, harder than crochet, in my opinion, but I find it appeals to my anal-retentative side (the one that earlier this week, alphabetized my CD’s). I am attempting to make a scarf…mostly, my “scarf” looks like severely mutated rectangle, but I am slowly learning the subtle craft of knitting. Patience, patience!

* I made fudge. Although making fudge may not, at first glance, seem random, you must understand that I do not consider myself much of a cook. Oh, I have a basic understanding of the culinary arts, but I am more an “eater” than a “cooker.” The very fact that I am a certified fudge artisan is pretty random.

* Hung out with friends a lot more than usual. I learned much about my peers this week and I was reminded constantly of how blessed I am to be amongst such wonderful people here at school. Awww….group hug!

* The other morning, I was cold and made homemade cranberry sauce and ate all of it in one sitting. Cranberries kick ass! Plus, cooking the cranberries on the stove heated my kitchen and my window to the outside world was became fogged up with residual steam from the stove. Nothing is cozier than fogged-up windows…(heh- reminds me a little of making out in cars, which, I may add, I have not done in quite a long time)

* Last Saturday, our school played against the Episcopalians in an annual football game we call “The Polity Bowl.” The Presbyterians were victorious- hurrah! Afterwards, we celebrated with a barbeque at school. In an unprecedented turn of events, the school even purchased a keg of Shiner Bock! I have never in my life attended an event with a school-sanctioned keg. The greatest beer in the world, my friend, is the beer you do not have to pay for!

I am a Rock

2005-12-07T14:18:00.000-08:00

Words from the immortal Paul Simon:

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December
I am alone
Gazing from my window
To the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow

I am a rock
I am an island

I've built walls
A fortress deep and mighty
That none may penetrate
I have no need for friendship
Friendship causes pain
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.

I am a rock
I am an island

Don't talk of love
Well, I've heard the word before
It's sleeping in my memory
I won't disturb the slumber
Of feelings that have died
If I'd never loved, I never would have cried

I am a rock
I am an island

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me
I am shielded in my armor
Hiding in my room
Safe within my womb
I touch no-one and no-one touches me

I am a rock
I am an island

And the rock feels no pain
And an island never cries

Today is cold. It is December and deep and dark here in Austin. I am alone, struggling to write this damn worship paper! My heart is surrounded by walls; I am a mighty fortress! O, that someone would come and break down my walls of solitude!

I Must Confess...

2005-12-06T22:14:00.000-08:00

The Days of Finals are Nigh! And, true to procrastinating fashion, I am attempting to cram a whole semester's worth of work into one week. Curse my rock and roll lifestyle!

So tonight, in an effort to avoid studying yet still remain productive, I reorganized my CD's so that they are all organized by genre and alphabetized by Artist's last name. [Yes, I too, have the capacity for far-reaching anal retentativeness] As I was going through my CD's, I realized that I own several that would be classified as somewhat embarrassing. In case I get hit by a truck sometime in the near future, I have decided to personally disclose said embarrassing CD's, just so that you have an explanation, rather than believe I am either crazy or totally lacking in musical taste.

Meredith's List of Embarrassing CD's:

Cherry Poppin’ Daddies Zoot Suit Riot- Purchased during the swing music revival of the late 1990’s. A decent CD, despite the vulgar band name.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Album- This is the CD that is the soundtrack to the television show of which I was a loyal, diehard fan of. On the surface, it seems nerdy to own such a CD, but it has a nice collection of dark pop and Goth music.

Soundtrack, Fiddler on the Roof- It’s my favorite musical, so fuck off! “Sunrise, Sunset…”

Weird Al Yankovic Dare to be Stupid and Poodle Hat- Yes, I am girl who owns 2 Weird Al CD’s. I’ve even seen him in concert (and it was a freakin’ sweet show!) I am a nerd. I am the queen of nerds!

Kenny G At Last: the Duets Album- Ok, I used to work at a music store, and this one was a promo. I actually kind of like it…

Josh Groban- I have a confession: I, the quintessential music snob like Josh Groban. Nay, I LOVE Josh Groban! I own two of his CD’s and listening to him sing is the ultimate guilty pleasure.

And Last, but Not Least….

Backstreet Boys Millennium- I offer no explanation. But, to my defense, I bought it used, so the Backstreet Boys did not collect any royalties from me.

So there ya have it. Don’t judge me, because I know that you have Ace of Base The Sign hidden in the bottom of you sock drawer!

Pray to God, but Row to Shore

2005-12-04T14:32:00.000-08:00

Holy shit- it’s December! Where in the name of all things good and holy did this semester go? I suppose time doth fly when you are having fun, but time also flies when life is shitty, crazy, joyful, melancholy…

We, like the flowers of the field, are temporal and transient. We grow and flourish and wither and perish according to the natural order of creation. However much we would like to “go out in a blaze of glory,” we die and the world remarkably continues to rotate on its axis. Like the wooden metronome on my great aunt’s piano, the life cycle continues its steady pulse. The pace may quicken or slacken, but the beats--the rhythm--of life are ever constant.

Though it is somewhat somber and is not often fodder for high-profit, charismatic Christian evangelists, the book of Ecclesiastes is my favorite book in the Bible. I find it profound and honest; Ecclesiastes is very much a “no bullshitting, check your ego at the door” portion of the Biblical witness. One of the more profound lines: “A generation goes and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever” [Ecclesiastes 1:4]. Our deaths do not impede the eternal creation and re-creation of the world. “Yea, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death” [Psalm 23], we are also surrounded by new life being brought into the world daily.

The themes of Ecclesiastes resonate with the last line of T.S. Eliot’s poem, The Hollow Men: “This is the way the world ends- not with a bang, but with a whimper.” The writer of Ecclesiastes laments “Behold the tears of the oppressed, and they had no one to comfort them!” [Ecc. 4:1] Both are contrary to the doctrine of Eschatology (end-times) where Jesus will come back and assauge our suffering, wiping tears from every eye. Is it practical to hope for the world ending with a “bang,” that is, the triumph of Jesus (Good) over evil (Pain and Suffering) when we live in a world of moaning, wailing, whimpering for justice and freedom from oppression?

Christian Hope looks into the face of the trials of this world and decides that “we shall overcome.” We can direct our eyes to heaven and have hope that during the Eschaton, Jesus will triumph and inaugurate a new world in which all of the Children of God coexist peacefully. But we cannot look the future and ignore the present! Placing our faith in Jesus who will redeem the world does not mean we should ignore the world as we know it! People are hungry NOW, dammit! People are being oppressed NOW. We can hope and pray our smug little Christian hearts out and self-righteously attend our comfortable churches, but we need to remember that we are also responsible for bringing the Kingdom of God at hand. We will not succeed entirely, but we can positively impact the present.

As my mother says, “You gotta pray to God, but row to shore.” Faith without action is impotent. Faith coupled with action, theory coupled with praxis, will ensure this world ends, not with a whimper, but with a bang.

Crowned & Anchored

2005-11-28T22:14:00.000-08:00

A tribute to my favorite place here in Austin: The Crown and Anchor Pub

(sung to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas”)

There’s a little pub in Austin, I’m going for to see,
The other students love her, almost as much as me.
We go there almost daily—for the “Crown” is always near;
We love our Crown & Anchor, her burgers, fries, and beer!

She’s the greatest little beer pub this Texan ever knew;
I’ll always stop on by there, to fetch myself a brew.
You can talk about the fancy bars on 6th Street you may see,
But the dear old Crown & Anchor is the only pub for me!

Kudos if you were able to make it through my song without laughing or navigating to another blog. I feel like waxing a bit poetic this evening, so please indulge my effusive declarations of love towards our local beer joint.

The Crown is probably the greatest pub in the universe. The size is perfect, although I sometimes wish it had more indoor seating. But the weather in Austin is so ideal for sitting outside that most places have extensive patios. You can even bring your dog to the Crown; on a typical afternoon, you have to dodge a few dogs on leashes as you make your way from the picnic tables to the bar. My friend Daisy even brings his cat on a leash, which may be the perfect ruse to pick-up women. (“Wow, what a cute kitty! What’s her name?" And so on…) Men, take note: cute pet = chance to meet chicks.

My friends and I are Crown “regulars” and the bar is also an unofficial seminary hang-out. Sit at the Crown for an length of time, and you will most likely see other seminarians, stopping by for a quick meal or a chance to decompress after a rigorous day of Hebrew exegesis. The Crown is sacred space where the conversation can range from dirty jokes to heated discussion over various atonement theories. The picnic tables are symbols of community and fellowship. I sometimes believe that I have gained more spiritual insight from conversations at the Crown & Anchor than I have from worship in Church.

Spiritual enlightenment is not limited to neo-Gothic cathedrals or religious institutions. Rather, the Holy Spirit can breathe, speak, and move within the most unorthodox and humble of locations-- even a small beer pub on the corner of Speedway and San Jacinto.

Nun Danket Alle Gott

2005-11-27T21:21:00.000-08:00

What music I am listening to: “La Boheme.” And not that crappy Baz Luhrman “La Boheme Gone Broadway" bullshit. I’m talking the real, Pavarotti-loving, Mirella Freni-singing opera by Giacomo Puccini.

“Now thank we all our God with heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things hath done, In whom this world rejoices;
Who, from our mothers’ arms, Hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love, And still is ours today."

I love Thanksgiving. Forgive me for sounding like a lost citizen from Mayberry, but there’s something about turkey, dressing, and Grandma’s spinach casserole that makes a gal down-right thankful.

Thanksgiving may be the last holiday unadulterated by crass-consumerism, which is why it has my vote as “favorite holiday.” Thanksgiving is a simple, almost Zen-like holiday. No, or very few cards, are purchased or exchanged. No presents to buy. No Thanksgiving-novelty tunes, except for the annual playing of Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant” on my family’s record player. Thanksgiving seems to creep up somewhere between Halloween and Christmas, lacking fanfare or rigmarole. Without weeks of build-up and anticipation, Thanksgiving has very little denouement and our eyes turn immediately to Christmas.

The other reason I am enamored with this holiday is that Thanksgiving effuses optimism. For a single day, we are called to remember the blessings bestowed upon us by our benevolent God. Ideally, everyday should be a Thanksgiving day but I will admit freely that I am rarely cognizant of the blessings in my life. I tend to bitch—a LOT. I bitch about not being pretty enough, thin enough, being single, not having enough money, etc. When all is said and done, what do I have to bitch about? I live in a country where I, a woman, can pursue higher education. And what’s more, I am member of a denomination that supports female ordination. I have a roof over my head, food to eat, and friends and family to love. Thanksgiving reminds us that, “hey, maybe things aren’t so bad after all.”

Food is very much synonymous with love and this belief is not exclusive to American culture. Human beings have been gathering around tables for food and fellowship since our evolution from apes (or since Adam and Eve, depending on your beliefs). In Judeo-Christian traditions, the table is very much a symbol of community with others as well as community with God. Jews celebrate a Passover seder to commemorate God’s deliverance of the Hebrews from slavery. Christians celebrate the Eucharist (Lord’s Supper/Holy Communion) to commemorate the Last Supper of Jesus Christ. Thanksgiving commemorates the “ties that bind our hearts in human love.” We gather around food, give thanks for blessings, and by sharing the food, symbolically share our blessings with each other.

As we brace ourselves for the frenetic pace of the Holiday Season, let us not forget the simplistic meaning of Thanksgiving. Let us count blessings, give thanks, give hugs and words of kind reassurance. The world may be cruel, but that does not mean that we should become purveyors of its cruelty.

20/20 Hindsight

2005-11-22T22:16:00.000-08:00

Writing a paper at the last minute, again. I have a paper due for theology tomorrow, and I, in typical Meredith fashion, have managed to cram two and a half weeks worth of research into 24 hours.

I take a small amount of pride in my ability to procrastinate; despite overwhelming time constraints, I usually complete tasks with a frantic flourish. Generally I get good grades and I always wonder, well, what would happen if I didn’t wait until the last minute? And inevitably, halfway through the process, I wonder, “Why, oh why, did I procrastinate? I’m 23 years old, I have a college degree, shouldn’t I know better?” But then again, I was always the child who repeatedly touched the hot stove, never learning that it would burn me. I suppose that deep down, I vehemently believed that that next time my finger touched the stove, I would have somehow changed the fundamental properties of the stove and it would no longer be hot.

I often wonder if I am doomed to repeat the same mistakes. Like my inner child, I often “keep touching the stove” when it comes to certain people and situations in my life. For example, when I look back at the failed relationships in my life, I notice the same destructive behavioral patterns. Generally with men, my history tends to repeat itself. I tend to follow my “standard operating procedures” and then am devastated when the relationship doesn’t work out. It’s like that Pete Seeger song, “Where have all the flowers gone?” which laments after each verse: “when will they ever learn? Oh, when will they ever learn?”

When will I ever learn? Is my behavior the result of a stubborn resistance to change? (I’m a Taurus—we be stubborn folk!) Or is it genetically hard-wired into me and thus is instinct? And if so, can a person overcome instinct? I sometimes doubt that human beings can truly conquer their innate animal instincts. You can argue with me all you want, but no matter how evolved our society becomes, human beings will continue to pursue basic animal desires: sex, shelter, food, water.

I doubt that my relationship mistakes are actually instinct. Most likely, they are the result of years of emotional baggage and neurotic tendencies. With prayer, persistence, and the guidance of my peers, I can someday change some of my skewed relationship paradigms…but not overnight. Patience, Meredith. Patience!