Each year as spring pops up and reminds me of the joy of sunshine and frolicking outdoors, I am also always hit with feelings of wanderlust and restlessness. I want to get out of my current rut and travel- to see the great world, to meet the amazing people, and to be more than the one I am right now.
It is these restless thoughts that I have to push aside whenever I'm asked how I'm doing, how I'm liking my job, how our new house is. Because everything is really good. And yet...the restlessness. I'm ashamed that in all this goodness I should feel restless and want more. That I should feel inside me the echo of all the dreams that have not grown real. That I should wonder what if...What if I had become a missionary? What if I had stayed a teacher? What if I had studied law/medicine/politics/acting?
Spring, for some reason, reminds me of the many paths that I have not taken. And my mind wriggles like a puppy wanting to sniff each one out and know it.
The psalm I wrote about last time- psalm 139- is not only about being fearfully and wonderfully made...it also ends with these two verses:
"Search me out, O God,
and know my heart;
try me
and know my restless thoughts.
Look well
whether there be
any wickedness in me
and lead me in the way
that is everlasting."
Try me and know my restless thoughts. Look well at me. Know me.
I've been reading Loni Collins Pratt's book Radical Hospitality lately and recently came across this passage:
[A waitress took the order of a couple and then turned to their 4 year old son]
"I want a hot dog," he started. His parents barked in union "No hot dog!" The mother scowled at the boy, who fell silent, and said, "Bring him the vegetable and grilled chicken, milk and..."
The waitress ignored the parents as she looked directly at the boy. "What do you want on your hot dog?"
The amazed child said, "Lots of ketchup, and a pickle, too. And could you bring some milk?"
"Coming up," she said and turned from the table, never even looking at the stunned parents. The boy watched her depart with astonished delight and then said to his dismayed parents, "You know what? She thinks I'm real! She thinks I'm real!"
That's how you feel when someone listens to you: Real. (pg 365-366)
I think it is the feeling of realness before God that struck me in this psalm. Search me... and know my restless thoughts. This psalm reminds me that God listens and knows all that is in me. All my joys and sorrows, my restless wonder and my longing to wander. God sees the goodness and the wickedness, and still continues to lead me. God knows who I am and all the paths I hold within me. And God sees me, restlessness and all, and says "This is my beloved child." And I am known. And I am real.
Friday, March 27, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
I am fearfully and wonderfully made (or why I love Zumba)
It is easy in the winter to wrap up in a blanket and sit on the couch, hiding from the grey cloudy skies and filling my mind with Netflix and my stomach with snacks. It is in this manner that I begin to critique my body: to push in the bulge of my stomach, to suck in my cheeks, to feel flab in my arms and legs. Layers of leggings under my jeans and thick sweaters under my puffy coats do not help me to love my body in the winter time. It becomes easy to dislike this grouping of arms and legs and tummy in which I live.
But! This week, as the sun came out to remind us of spring, we finally joined the YWCA and I got to go to Zumba. (For those of you who do not participate in Zumba, it is a dance aerobics class involving salsa, samba, cumbia, hip hop, and other various dance moves). There is something really amazing about Zumba classes that allow women and men of various ages, shapes, sizes, and ethnicities to rock out.
For me, the awesome thing about Zumba is that shaking my hips and waving my arms to the sassy sounds of salsa reminds me how much I love my body. It reminds me that my legs and arms and stomach and butt are the perfect size to break it down on the dance floor. I can't help but smile at myself as I attempt a hip hop dive or perfect the body roll. And, in loving my body and enjoying its movement, I am reminded of the one who made me.
Psalm 139:13-16
For it was you who formed my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
that I know very well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.
For I am fearfully and wonderfully made! I am fearfully and wonderfully made by God, who created the world. There is something magnificent in realizing that the one who knit the heavens, who sculpted the leaves of the trees, who planned out the deep layers of earth- also made me. Made this body for me to inhabit. And calls this body good.
And as I remember the one who made my body, my dance becomes a form of worship and of honoring my Creator.
Of course, not everyone loves Zumba. Some people don't like to dance, some people don't have bodies that let them dance.
And it can be hard to love our bodies- because of the media images of more perfect bodies, because of aches and pains that don't let our bodies work like they use to, because we used to be thinner or curvier or taller or faster, because of injuries or illnesses that leave us feeling weak.
But we all have bodies and all of our bodies were made by God. So what do you love about your body? Do you love the way that your skin feels under the glow of the warm sun or the soft feel of a fuzzy sweater? Do you love the touch of a child's hand in your own? Do you love the way your fingers fly along piano keys or the way your body reverberates with a drum? Do you love the way your body stretches and moves to run or swim or dance?
What about your body and your senses makes you smile?
Then do that! And smile as you enjoy the body that God fearfully and wonderfully made for you.
Friday, February 27, 2015
All Things New
Revelation 21:5 And the one on the throne said, "See, I am making all things new."
There are times when new is necessary. At the end of the year a new year arrives, in the deep darkness of the end of the day a new day is dawning, in the depths of winter a new spring is waiting to bloom. As this year changed from 2014 to 2015, it brought with it great newness for my family. I took a new job, my wife was called as a new pastor, and we moved to a new house. In this whirlwind of newness and change, I could only smile a big smile and think how much we needed this change, this newness.
And now, after a couple of months have passed and the dust has begun to settle I can see clearly that new, however much it might be needed, is terrifyingly difficult.
It's terrifying and difficult because being new means that we aren't used to it, that we haven't done it before, and that sometimes we don't even know what to do. New is driving ten miles out of your way because that freeway doesn't actually connect to this one. New is spending half an hour waiting for a meeting in the wrong room. New is accidentally taking the express bus and ending up way past your stop. New is spending an hour figuring out a tax document that someone else already did for you. New is introducing yourself to someone who you forgot was in your interview and helped hire you. New is awkward and embarrassing and hard.
Nobody likes to be the new kid, to start the new job, to be in the new place- because its impossible to do "new" right. New is uncomfortable, it's guesswork, it's trying and failing and having to try again.
But, God is making all things new.
God is leaning into this newness, meeting us in this newness, pushing us into this newness. Because there is something magical in the newness, in the moment of trying, in the difficulty. Because in the new times, we remember that we are fragile creatures who don't know what we're doing and also that we are far stronger than we imagined as we do things we didn't know we could.
Jesus talks about how "no one puts new wine into old wineskins...one puts new wine into new wineskins" (Mark 2:22). As we do new things and stretch ourselves with each awkward and time-consuming task, we become new ourselves. We are made new.
As I continue to grow into this new time, I can only pray that when faced with newness we may have patience with ourselves and allow God to make us anew.
Blessings, G
There are times when new is necessary. At the end of the year a new year arrives, in the deep darkness of the end of the day a new day is dawning, in the depths of winter a new spring is waiting to bloom. As this year changed from 2014 to 2015, it brought with it great newness for my family. I took a new job, my wife was called as a new pastor, and we moved to a new house. In this whirlwind of newness and change, I could only smile a big smile and think how much we needed this change, this newness.
And now, after a couple of months have passed and the dust has begun to settle I can see clearly that new, however much it might be needed, is terrifyingly difficult.
It's terrifying and difficult because being new means that we aren't used to it, that we haven't done it before, and that sometimes we don't even know what to do. New is driving ten miles out of your way because that freeway doesn't actually connect to this one. New is spending half an hour waiting for a meeting in the wrong room. New is accidentally taking the express bus and ending up way past your stop. New is spending an hour figuring out a tax document that someone else already did for you. New is introducing yourself to someone who you forgot was in your interview and helped hire you. New is awkward and embarrassing and hard.
Nobody likes to be the new kid, to start the new job, to be in the new place- because its impossible to do "new" right. New is uncomfortable, it's guesswork, it's trying and failing and having to try again.
But, God is making all things new.
God is leaning into this newness, meeting us in this newness, pushing us into this newness. Because there is something magical in the newness, in the moment of trying, in the difficulty. Because in the new times, we remember that we are fragile creatures who don't know what we're doing and also that we are far stronger than we imagined as we do things we didn't know we could.
Jesus talks about how "no one puts new wine into old wineskins...one puts new wine into new wineskins" (Mark 2:22). As we do new things and stretch ourselves with each awkward and time-consuming task, we become new ourselves. We are made new.
As I continue to grow into this new time, I can only pray that when faced with newness we may have patience with ourselves and allow God to make us anew.
Blessings, G
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
A Prayer of Thanksgiving
As we find ourselves in this time of Thanksgiving, our hearts and minds (and TVs, radios, and billboards) have been filled for weeks with visions of feasts, gathered friends and family, and the idea of thankfulness.
But, now that we are actually here, ready to celebrate the day of Thanksgiving, I can feel my body hesitate. I can feel my heels digging in and the little voice screaming out in the back of my mind, "But, wait!" Wait! What about the children who will go hungry this week, here in the United States, as they are surrounded by visions of feasts? Wait! What about the people of St. Louis and Ferguson who continue to rage and wail and fight for justice that will not come? Wait! What about the thousands of immigrants who wonder what this executive order from President Obama might mean for them, if it's really safe to come out of the shadows? And (because I, like many, am stuck in my own head and self and worldview), wait! What about how I wanted things to be this November? What about the job I wanted? The home I wanted? The dreams I have that haven't yet come true?
How can we give thanks when all these things are going on? What does giving thanks mean in a broken world?
The Bible certainly holds many passages about giving thanks: from the laws about ways to give thanks to God, to Jesus breaking bread and giving thanks as he shares food with his disciples and the crowds, to the apostles reenacting Jesus' last supper. As I looked through the many biblical references to "thanksgiving," my mind kept returning to this e.e. cummings poem:
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
--e.e. cummings
This poem never stops bringing tears into my eyes. And, for me this thanksgiving, it reminds me what it means to give thanks. Because it doesn't ignore what is going on around us and in us- it names it as the "no" of the world- the "no of nothing at all" from which we all need to be lifted. And it reminds us that in this hubbub of a broken world full of unachieved dreams, we are also citizens of the God-made world which is "everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes."
This reminds me that giving thanks isn't ignoring the disappointments or the hurts around me, but being able to see, amongst the brokenness, the joy in the now. And not just to see it, but to taste it, touch it, hear it, see it, imagine it. As some of you pointed out after my last post, yes, God is in this moment waiting for us, as God is in every moment and everything, trying to pull us out of this world's "NO!" into God's every moment "YES!"
This poem urges us to take a deep breath, close our eyes and open them again, and notice. Notice the soft grasp of that child's hand around yours. Notice the yellow-blue-pink-all faceted gleam of sunshine on cold snow. Notice the pulse of the neighbor's music urging your hips to move. Notice the laughter bubbling up from the crowded room, the warmth that rises up from the conversation.
This is God, pulsing through every moment and hour. Reminding us when our hearts are heavy, that we are a people of YES.
May we live this YES for ourselves and attempt to create a world where God's YES is a YES for everyone.
May the ears of my ears awaken and the eyes of my eyes be opened.
Blessings on your Thanksgiving, G
But, now that we are actually here, ready to celebrate the day of Thanksgiving, I can feel my body hesitate. I can feel my heels digging in and the little voice screaming out in the back of my mind, "But, wait!" Wait! What about the children who will go hungry this week, here in the United States, as they are surrounded by visions of feasts? Wait! What about the people of St. Louis and Ferguson who continue to rage and wail and fight for justice that will not come? Wait! What about the thousands of immigrants who wonder what this executive order from President Obama might mean for them, if it's really safe to come out of the shadows? And (because I, like many, am stuck in my own head and self and worldview), wait! What about how I wanted things to be this November? What about the job I wanted? The home I wanted? The dreams I have that haven't yet come true?
How can we give thanks when all these things are going on? What does giving thanks mean in a broken world?
The Bible certainly holds many passages about giving thanks: from the laws about ways to give thanks to God, to Jesus breaking bread and giving thanks as he shares food with his disciples and the crowds, to the apostles reenacting Jesus' last supper. As I looked through the many biblical references to "thanksgiving," my mind kept returning to this e.e. cummings poem:
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any–lifted from the no
of all nothing–human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
--e.e. cummings
This poem never stops bringing tears into my eyes. And, for me this thanksgiving, it reminds me what it means to give thanks. Because it doesn't ignore what is going on around us and in us- it names it as the "no" of the world- the "no of nothing at all" from which we all need to be lifted. And it reminds us that in this hubbub of a broken world full of unachieved dreams, we are also citizens of the God-made world which is "everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes."
This reminds me that giving thanks isn't ignoring the disappointments or the hurts around me, but being able to see, amongst the brokenness, the joy in the now. And not just to see it, but to taste it, touch it, hear it, see it, imagine it. As some of you pointed out after my last post, yes, God is in this moment waiting for us, as God is in every moment and everything, trying to pull us out of this world's "NO!" into God's every moment "YES!"
This poem urges us to take a deep breath, close our eyes and open them again, and notice. Notice the soft grasp of that child's hand around yours. Notice the yellow-blue-pink-all faceted gleam of sunshine on cold snow. Notice the pulse of the neighbor's music urging your hips to move. Notice the laughter bubbling up from the crowded room, the warmth that rises up from the conversation.
This is God, pulsing through every moment and hour. Reminding us when our hearts are heavy, that we are a people of YES.
May we live this YES for ourselves and attempt to create a world where God's YES is a YES for everyone.
May the ears of my ears awaken and the eyes of my eyes be opened.
Blessings on your Thanksgiving, G
Monday, November 17, 2014
Waiting for God...
Waiting. It's something I find myself doing far more often than I'd like. Sometimes I can be patient- I don't mind the red lights, the bank lines, or the commercial breaks like some people do. It's more the waiting for my shift to be done, or for the phone to ring, or for a church to finally choose me as their pastor. That's the waiting that gets under my skin, makes me feel like my blood is pulsing too fast, and makes me suspicious that the world has somehow been turned onto slow motion. That's the waiting that reminds me how impatient I can be and makes me see how different my life is from how I dreamed it would be. I feel like I'm waiting for my real life to start.
As I searched for Bible verses about waiting, I found this verse of Psalm 69:
I am weary with my crying;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God.
While my waiting does seem to dim my eyes and weary my parched throat (my current waiting includes a headcold), reading this verse it struck me how interesting it is to think about this waiting I'm doing as waiting for God.
In our busy lives, we're used to waiting for things to happen: babies to be born, jobs to be gotten, holidays to arrive. But, usually that waiting is something we can measure or control. We can count the days, or increase our effort, or find something to do in the meantime. But, waiting for God. That's something that feels uncomfortable. It's unmeasurable, it's uncontrollable, and it's unpredictable.
Yet, here I am waiting for God. I'm waiting for God to show me what to do next, which church is the right one for me, whether this is even the correct path. And this waiting for God feels...anxious. Like I should be doing more to make something happen. I feel like I'm not doing all I could be doing, like I'm giving up and letting someone else be in charge.
Knowing this, though, I have to recognize that waiting for God does mean letting go. Waiting for God doesn't have a time limit and I don't know what the result will be. Worse, it means I don't get to control the result. Of course I can choose what to do with what comes, but I don't get to choose which door will open, which invitation will come, which phone call will be the one. I don't know even know WHAT exactly I'm waiting for (though I know what I WANT to be waiting for), I just know who.
The Taize community in France has worship songs that are repetitive in words and meditative in sound. One came to mind as I was thinking on this topic of waiting.
Taize Song
Wait for the Lord, whose day is near
Wait for the Lord, be strong take heart
And so I wait. And this repetitive song becomes my mantra. Be strong, take heart. And I hope that God's day is near.
May we all be filled with strength in our waiting.
Blessings, G
As I searched for Bible verses about waiting, I found this verse of Psalm 69:
I am weary with my crying;
my throat is parched.
My eyes grow dim
with waiting for my God.
While my waiting does seem to dim my eyes and weary my parched throat (my current waiting includes a headcold), reading this verse it struck me how interesting it is to think about this waiting I'm doing as waiting for God.
In our busy lives, we're used to waiting for things to happen: babies to be born, jobs to be gotten, holidays to arrive. But, usually that waiting is something we can measure or control. We can count the days, or increase our effort, or find something to do in the meantime. But, waiting for God. That's something that feels uncomfortable. It's unmeasurable, it's uncontrollable, and it's unpredictable.
Yet, here I am waiting for God. I'm waiting for God to show me what to do next, which church is the right one for me, whether this is even the correct path. And this waiting for God feels...anxious. Like I should be doing more to make something happen. I feel like I'm not doing all I could be doing, like I'm giving up and letting someone else be in charge.
Knowing this, though, I have to recognize that waiting for God does mean letting go. Waiting for God doesn't have a time limit and I don't know what the result will be. Worse, it means I don't get to control the result. Of course I can choose what to do with what comes, but I don't get to choose which door will open, which invitation will come, which phone call will be the one. I don't know even know WHAT exactly I'm waiting for (though I know what I WANT to be waiting for), I just know who.
The Taize community in France has worship songs that are repetitive in words and meditative in sound. One came to mind as I was thinking on this topic of waiting.
Taize Song
Wait for the Lord, whose day is near
Wait for the Lord, be strong take heart
And so I wait. And this repetitive song becomes my mantra. Be strong, take heart. And I hope that God's day is near.
May we all be filled with strength in our waiting.
Blessings, G
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Rushing Around
"I wish I had time to go to church." "We'd love to find a church..." "I'm not really...churchy."
These are all things people say to me when I talk about being a pastor. And, I get it.
I remember in college, feeling so stressed with all the things I had to do. I remember the struggle of deciding on Sunday morning whether to tough it up and climb out of bed to join my friend's carpool to church or to give myself a free pass and take the morning to sleep in. Church became just one more thing on my to-do list, something I felt guilty about not doing.
I do not want this blog to be like that.
I remember, too, when I was teaching middle schoolers in Oakland and I would count down the days until I got to go to church. Church was the place where I could hear about God in our world, where I could sing and pray, where I could meet people and laugh, where I could just be me- not a struggling teacher, a lonely young person in a new city- just me, a child of God, beloved by a community. I loved connecting with people and having time to think about the Bible or wonder how God was reaching out to me. It was my place; a true rest from the difficult days of the week.
That's what I want this blog to be: a space of rest and a place to wonder about God.
What will that look like? My plan is each week to look at a different topic through the lens of the Bible and spirituality. How does God meet us in our daily lives? Sometimes I will look at the Bible text for the week (most mainline churches follow the same texts throughout the year- it's called the Revised Common Lectionary), sometimes I will look at a topic that's come up in the news and let that dictate the Bible readings we look at, and sometimes I will just go with what's on my mind.
It won't be a sermon, or a thesis...just some thoughts and ideas about things going on in this world and where God might be in them.
I hope that as I write about things on my mind, you will feel free to start up conversation, respond to ideas, or bring up issues on your mind. You're welcome to join in whether you are a pastor, an avid church goer, someone who hasn't been to church in forever or someone who has never been in a church. I hope that we can challenge one another in love, remembering that each and every day we are beloved children of God.
Blessings on your week, G
These are all things people say to me when I talk about being a pastor. And, I get it.
I remember in college, feeling so stressed with all the things I had to do. I remember the struggle of deciding on Sunday morning whether to tough it up and climb out of bed to join my friend's carpool to church or to give myself a free pass and take the morning to sleep in. Church became just one more thing on my to-do list, something I felt guilty about not doing.
I do not want this blog to be like that.
I remember, too, when I was teaching middle schoolers in Oakland and I would count down the days until I got to go to church. Church was the place where I could hear about God in our world, where I could sing and pray, where I could meet people and laugh, where I could just be me- not a struggling teacher, a lonely young person in a new city- just me, a child of God, beloved by a community. I loved connecting with people and having time to think about the Bible or wonder how God was reaching out to me. It was my place; a true rest from the difficult days of the week.
That's what I want this blog to be: a space of rest and a place to wonder about God.
What will that look like? My plan is each week to look at a different topic through the lens of the Bible and spirituality. How does God meet us in our daily lives? Sometimes I will look at the Bible text for the week (most mainline churches follow the same texts throughout the year- it's called the Revised Common Lectionary), sometimes I will look at a topic that's come up in the news and let that dictate the Bible readings we look at, and sometimes I will just go with what's on my mind.
It won't be a sermon, or a thesis...just some thoughts and ideas about things going on in this world and where God might be in them.
I hope that as I write about things on my mind, you will feel free to start up conversation, respond to ideas, or bring up issues on your mind. You're welcome to join in whether you are a pastor, an avid church goer, someone who hasn't been to church in forever or someone who has never been in a church. I hope that we can challenge one another in love, remembering that each and every day we are beloved children of God.
Blessings on your week, G
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