my soul in silence waits

Lent 2, Tuesday

Readings: Genesis 42:1-17; Psalm 62, 1 Corinthians 5:1-8, Mark 3:19b-35.

"For God alone my soul in silence waits; *
    from him comes my salvation." (Psalm 62:1)

Sometimes words are not good enough. Sometimes they get in the way. So for today's post, I'm going to post a link to a video that reflects a motif from Psalm 62, because I feel it more adequately sums up the feeling behind the verse. The song is entitled Mon âme se repose, or In God alone. This song comes from Songs & Prayers from Taizé. Since I am leaving for my pilgrimage to Taizé a week from tomorrow, I thought it would be fitting (especially since I'm starting to get anxious in my preparation for the trip). Enjoy!

The English lyrics are:
"In God alone my soul can find rest and peace, in God my peace and joy. 
Only in God my soul can find its rest, find its rest and peace."  


From the French they translate closer to:
"My soul rests in the peace of God alone: from him comes my peace.
Yes, only in God my soul rests, it rests in peace." 

 

http://sallysjourney.typepad.com/.a/6a00d8341c7a9f53ef0134897de722970c-800wi

put your money where your mouth is...

Lent 2, Monday

Readings: Genesis 41:46-57, Psalm 56, 1 Corinthians 4:8-21, Mark 3:7-19a

In the reading from Genesis, we find that Joseph begins working for Pharaoh at age 30. He travels across Egypt, organizing the storage of the abundance of food in preparation for the famine. During this time of preparation he has two children. He becomes the second most powerful person in the kingdom of Egypt, and perhaps the world: "all the world came to Joseph...because the famine became severe throughout the world" (v. 57). And he achieves all of this as a young adult.

Jesus, in today's passage from the Gospel according to Mark, is beginning his ministry in Galilee. It is commonly held that this was taking place when he was in his 30s. Jesus appoints twelve apostles "to be with him," and some suggest that these men were also in their 30s or even younger.

The past few years I have seen many articles saying that my generation (Generation Y or the Millennials) is growing up to be lazy, self-involved, and apathetic. Of course, there are young adults (and adults in general) that fit this description, but the majority of young adults I know do not. Most of the ones I know are passionate, involved, and inspirational. Several of them have done Peace Corps, AmeriCorps, or other amazing internships (like Resurrection House, an Episcopal Service Corps internship in Omaha, NE). They are teachers, nurses, music therapists, social workers, therapists, musicians, youth ministers, priests, and work in non-profit organizations. They are passionate about changing the world for the better: some have donated their hair or shaved it to raise awareness, others have run races to raise money for disease research, still others dedicated summers to mission work in underprivileged communities, and some held quilt raffles to raise money for people affected by national disasters. Findings by the PewResearchCenter characterize the Millennials as "confident, self-expressive, liberal, upbeat and receptive to new ideas and ways of living."

In my completely humble and non-biased point of view (read: sarcasm), young adults are awesome. If they are so passionate and involved in their communities, why aren't many of them in the church? Maybe they feel that the church is out-of-touch with them. That the church doesn't have what it takes to get them involved (or not lose them in the first place). Perhaps even that they don't practice what they preach. I'm not exactly sure why; as a young adult seminarian, I'm somewhat of an anomaly. But recently some of my friends have shared a blog that suggests that the Episcopal Church is out-of-touch with young adults, or at least does not consider them a priority. The proposed budget for the Episcopal Church was recently released, and it has some pretty stunning omissions. They have drastically reduced the amount of money for young adult ministry: from ~$3million to $286,000. They have completely eliminated the seminarian scholarship. Although they have increased the budget for Young Adult Service Corps (from $321,000 to $381,000), they have cut funding for many local and overseas missions.

What does this say about our Church's priorities?*

*Stay tuned for opportunities to comment on the proposed budget here (it also has a link to the actual proposed budget). If you feel that the Church should make some changes, make your voice heard!

Ladies and gentlemen, here is the future of the Episcopal Church. Look out! 

(and yes, I have on a mustache)

say my name

2 Lent, Sunday

Readings for today (Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16, Psalm 22:22-30, Romans 4:13-25, Mark 8:31-38).

In the reading from Genesis, God gives Sarai and Abram new names: Sarah and Abraham. In the Gospel for today, Jesus calls Peter Satan. This got me to thinking about names.

Names hold such power. I think the first place I really recognized the power of names was when I read Ursula K. Le Guin's fantasy novel, A Wizard of Earthsea. In this fictional world, people go by their nicknames and don't tell anyone their real names, because that gives the other person power over them (it's a really awesome book; I highly recommend it). 

Most parents I have talked to have said that one of the most difficult things they have ever had to do is pick out their children's names. If you stop to think about it, most of us have several names. There is your birth name, usually reserved for when you have misbehaved or when you have achieved something great, like graduation (if you were wondering, mine's Lara Christina, which means either "famous" or "cheerful" daughter of Christ, depending on which site you check). There are the names your family calls you (in my case, Punkin', Dirlie, Wawa, Rara, Lala--FYI some of those were because siblings could not pronounce my name). There are the names certain circles of friends call you (Sunshine, Shiner). Then, of course, there are names that people use to make fun of you (someone in 8th grade tried to make fun of me by calling me "moonshine" but it wasn't really effective--"Really? That's the best you could come up with?" Oh yeah, then there's the name we use for my mom when we're trying to get her attention. One time one of us kids was trying to get her attention and went through various names, "Mama! Mommy! Mother!" until finally they said "Nurse!" Well, my mom turned around at that and said, "I am not a nurse. I am a doctor." Now, every time we need to get her attention we just call out, "Nurse!"). Oh, and let's not forget pet names, one of my favorites. In Germany you call your sweetheart schatz, which means treasure. In France it's mon petite chou chou ("my little cabbage cabbage"). In the states I've heard people use many: sweetie, honey, darlin', muffin, gorgeous, love.

It makes a difference what people call you. Sometimes people misspell names (in my case, by adding a "u." One time my mom received a letter addressed to "Sufan." Her name is Susanne. The only explanation I can come up with is that they heard her name wrong or maybe they were listening to Sufjan while doing their work and subconsciously wrote it down--I don't know). Every time someone mispronounces my name (pronouncing it Lair-ah rather than Lah-rah) I cringe. That's not my name!!! The funniest name I've been called so far was when I was in the airport in El Salvador on my way back to the states. On the tickets they distinguished between males and females, so they put a Ms. after my name. Except that they didn't put a space in between my name and the Ms., so the officer saw my ticket and read, "Shee-nay, Larams." Not wanting to cause any problems, I smiled at the officer and said, "Yep, that's me!" So if you ever hear anyone call me Larams, that's where that comes from. 

Then, of course, there are names that happen after transitions. My dad got to choose a saint name when he was confirmed in the Catholic church (he chose Timothy because it was the name of one of his friends. But also because when he added it to his name, James William, he could go by "Jim Bill Tim"). When people get married, they have to make the decision of whether to keep their own names, take their spouse's name, both take each other's names, hyphenate, or come up with a new one (i.e. Slane + Jianakoplos = Slaneakoplos).

I have some big changes coming up this year. Next month, God willing and the people consenting, I will be ordained a Transitional Deacon, at which point I will add the title "Reverend" to my name. Then, in the fall, God willing and the people consenting, I will be ordained a priest, at which point I have to decide if I want to be called "Mother" or "Pastor" or "Reverend" or something along those lines (my friend Christine, who graduated from VTS 2 years ago, is called "Father" by some people in her parish). I'm not quite sure what I want to be called, yet. Mother Lara? (I feel too young for that one) Reverend Shine? (too formal?) What I choose to go by potentially says something about who I think I am, and could make a difference in how people interact with me. It doesn't necessarily need to define me forever, though. Thank goodness I've got a little while longer to think about it!

What are your names? What names do you like? Which ones are embarrassing? Funny? Weird? Have you ever changed your name? Do people view you differently after the change?

http://laughingsquid.com/wp-content/uploads/inigo-montoya1.gif*

 

*this is a reference to The Princess Bride, one of the all-time best movies. Ever. You should check it out if you haven't seen it!

what dreams may come?

Lent 1, Saturday

Readings: Genesis 41:1-13, Psalm 55, 1 Corinthians 4:1-7, Mark 2:23-3:6.

http://trcs.wikispaces.com/file/view/sweetdreams.jpg/49750253/sweetdreams.jpg

"Pharaoh awoke, and it was a dream. In the morning his spirit was troubled; so he sent and called for all the magicians of Egypt and all its wise men. Pharaoh told them his dreams, but there was no one who could interpret them to Pharaoh" (Genesis 41:7-8).

Dreams. They are such strange things. I usually don't remember mine, but almost all the ones I do remember are very weird, violent, bizarre, and/or scary. For example: I dreamt I was a secret agent, plotting revenge on my partner (who in real life was a fellow seminarian) because my partner had murdered my son. To make it even weirder, one of my seminarian church history professors then entered the dream, trying to convince me not to kill my partner by saying, "You really ought to forgive him, Lara." See what I mean? Weird.

Most of my dreams are in color, but I remember one that was completely black and white--because of the checkerboard tiled floor. Every once in a while my dreams are in German. Very few of my dreams are happy, and actually those end up being worse than the bad ones, because when I wake up I become disappointed that they weren't true. Most recently I had a dream about zombies (thanks a lot, Walking Dead).

Part of me wants someone to be able to interpret these dreams, but part of me is content not knowing. One dream I had in college disturbed me. I dreamt that I had given birth to a baby, except that the baby was really two babies connected by their legs (their legs ran into each other so that they were facing each other). One baby was black, and the other was white. The dream confused me, so I went to the head of my music therapy department because she was experienced in dream interpretation. After I described the dream, she had me draw the baby. She turned the paper on its side and it looked like a person with a shadow. We had been discussing Jungian philosophy recently, so I must have subconsciously internalized what we had been learning. Let me just say that it was really creepy.

Experiences like that make me not want to explore my dreams. But if I had recurring dreams like the Pharaoh, I probably would want to figure out what they were trying to tell me--curiosity would win out in the end.

What about you? Have any of you done any dream work? If so, what kinds of experiences have you had?

 http://images.mylot.com/userImages/images/postphotos/2524197.png

broken and contrite heart

Lent 1, Friday

Readings for today: Genesis 40:1-23, Psalm 51, 1 Corinthians 3:16-23, Mark 2:13-22

"The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise" Psalm 51:17

 http://media.photobucket.com/image/recent/gjsdana/brkenheart.jpg

When I first came to seminary, one of the first things we had to do was share our faith journeys with each other. As juniors (first years), we participated in a class entitled Introduction to the Theology and Practice of Ministry (TPM). One of the assignments we did was called the "River of Life" exercise. This consisted of pairing off with a pre-determined partner to share our faith journeys following the model of a river: the twists and turns and bends marked significant points in those journeys. After my partner spoke I realized that mine was not the only story that held pain. I felt a close connection with my partner; we had both been through some tough times, and somehow had made it through.

Last year (middler year, or second year), one of the assignments for my first homiletics (preaching) class was to talk about what compelled us to stand up there and preach about the Word of God in the first place. I gave a safe answer initially, going first so that I wouldn't have time to get too nervous (we were doing this without notes). But when my classmates began sharing their stories, I got more and more uncomfortable. They had far more profound things to say, or at least they were taking risks in what they shared with the class. As a result, I felt that I had been dishonest, or at least hadn't told the whole truth. After everyone had gone, my professor asked us how we felt about sharing. Instead of letting it slide and just waiting until class was over, I said that I was dissatisfied with what I had said, upset that I hadn't been willing to be as open with my classmates. The professor asked if I wanted to try it again. Stupidly, I said yes. So, I got up in front of the room and spoke again. I'm not sure exactly what I ended up saying, but I know it resulted in me sobbing and needing several tissues; it seems I had a lot to say, after all. I'm not sure what my classmates thought about my verbal vomiting, but I felt much better after it was over. I hadn't realized how much pain I was carrying, how broken I felt.

This year, my senior year, I learned something about a person whom I hadn't really taken the time to get to know. Learning of the pain that this person had been carrying around made me see them in a different light.

Each year, the people I have met who have shared their stories with me have talked of difficult times, of being broken. The one thing that has been in common in all of these cases is that in the midst of the pain, they felt God's love surrounding them. It was only after they had been through these painful experiences that their relationship with God had strengthened. Maybe it's because when we are at our very lowest, we realize that God (through Christ) is the only one who truly knows what it's like to feel abandoned, to feel alone. It really is amazing that God loves us so much that God was willing to experience all of the emotions, all of the pain and suffering of humanity, followed by a horrible death, in order to reconcile us to God. What wondrous love is this?

Recently, several of my friends have had illnesses and deaths within their families. Others are going through emotionally rough times. I wish I could be there to give every one of them a hug, wish I could help take some of that pain away. There is so much brokenness in the world. So much pain, hunger, desolation. I don't have an answer for all of that. I can't make any of it better, not really. But I can tell you that I truly believe with everything I am that God really is with us through it all. 

and also with you

Lent 1, Thursday

Today's readings: Genesis 39:1-23; Psalms 19, 46; 1 Corinthians 2:14-3:15; Mark 2:1-12.

I find it interesting that God never prevents any of the bad stuff from happening to Joseph. First, his brothers plot to kill him. Then, he is sold by his brothers into slavery. After that, once he gets on his master's good side, he is falsely accused of having an affair with his master's wife, which lands him in jail. Things aren't exactly going Joseph's way. But throughout all of these ordeals, "the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love" (v. 21).

Thinking of all the times in the past when I have felt stressed or sad or angry, this passage brings me comfort. No matter what is going on, we are never truly alone, because God is with us. As Psalm 46 assures us, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble...The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge" (vv. 1...7, 11).

I wonder if this is why we greet one another during church by saying, "The Lord be with you" and responding, "and also with you"?

Joseph in prison by D. Roselli

http://images.artnet.com/WebServices/picture.aspx?date=20041102&catalog=69432&gallery=111531&lot=00242&filetype=2

even if your voice shakes

Lent 1, Wednesday

Readings for today: Genesis 37-25-36, Psalm 49, 1 Corinthians 2:1-13, Mark 1:29-45.

These words of 1 Corinthians struck me tonight:
"And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom..." (vv. 3-4).

Since beginning my internship with the Episcopal Church, one of the most challenging and yet rewarding things for me has been preaching. It is scary to stand up in front of people and attempt to "break open the Word" (a common phrase in seminarian-speak). Seeing all those faces looking at me expectantly (or not looking, as the case may be) can be very intimidating. If I didn't have my sermon printed and placed in front of me, I'm not sure that I would be able to do it--I'd probably freeze up or pass out. Seriously.

The year that my family decided to home school (note that it was only a single year), we joined a 4-H club for home schoolers. My sister and I had prepared speeches for one of the meetings, complete with note cards in case we got nervous. When it came time for people to get up there, I didn't go up--I was terrified. My sister, 4 years younger, got up there and wowed everyone, but even my super-competitive nature was not enough to give me the courage to do it. I decided I would rather be embarrassed for wimping out than get up there and fail in front of everyone. I'll never forget how disappointed my parents were and how disappointed I was in myself.

For some reason, preaching is a totally different experience. Yes, I'm still terrified, and I know that I stumble over words and that there are much more qualified people out there who could do it more effectively. All I can do is try my best to be honest to Scripture and my own experience of God and hope that people are able to get something out of it. As a button I own states, "Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes." Please know that if I ever say something that is of value, it is only because the Spirit has interceded and helped you to hear what you needed to hear. I know it sounds cheesy, but sometimes when I get up there to preach, it's almost as if there's something magical going on--I get this energy and time seems to move in and out of existence. I'd like to think it's the Holy Spirit, but maybe I'm just narcissistic and enjoy the sound of my own voice (I have always enjoyed reading aloud). Regardless, somehow preaching is different for me than saying a speech. There is a sense of vulnerability when laying your struggles with the text before the people gathered. It's a great privilege, and a humbling experience.

All the same, it makes me feel better to know that even with all of his training and experience, Paul also felt inadequate at times.

 https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EAiKvmN8P-FWJAX8y0nvVKmGgJKZ4XsagguW2NVTPsrAfCcbu41-l4NzE8yyksRwnwakgbrGFJ8MaIPFyQDBU19Zn65rZKCTyuGDdaMLjzBvzaaAoUY58DzxZdu6jxmA0bwG2CLTTBkz/s1600/truthful.jpeg