sheep in the midst of wolves

One week from today will be my first day as Assistant Rector for Mission and Youth at All Saints. While I'm excited to go back and see and work with/for people I know and love, I must admit that I'm a little nervous. It's not so much about having to get used to wearing professional clothing again or trying to figure out what to wear with a collar (somehow I don't think my usual outfit of jeans will be acceptable anymore). It's also not worrying about how badly I'm going to mess up reading the Gospel or preparing the table for the Eucharist (though the thought has crossed my mind at least once...every time I'm serving). No, what I'm really worried about is that I don't have what it takes. 

Now, before you react, hear me out.

Two nights ago I watched an episode of "Rev.", the British comedy about an Anglican priest in an urban London parish. In this particular episode, the rector is having a crisis of faith. I won't tell you how the episode goes, but I will say that it brought to mind some of the really difficult things a priest has to deal with on a pretty regular basis. Being ordained is not simply about preparing sermons, organizing youth lock-ins, and baptizing cute little gurgling babies. We also have the awesome privilege of being present with people at some really intense times, like when a parishioner is put on hospice, when a family loses their house in a fire, and when a disaster (natural or otherwise) pays the town a visit. What do you say when these things happen? 

I'm not implying that I haven't had excellent training in seminary or CPE or personal experiences of pain that I can draw from to help. What I'm saying is that I don't have what it takes to face these situations on my own. I constantly act as if I'm on my own, forgetting that God is present as well. 

In the Gospel reading for today Jesus said these words before sending his disciples out into the world: 

"When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you" (Matthew 10:19-20).

Sometimes it can feel like we have been sent out as "sheep in the midst of wolves" (Matthew 10:16). But even in the most difficult of times, we can take comfort in knowing that we are never truly on our own, for God is with us.

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"go ye into all the world..."

Since the 8th of July I've been in Toronto, Canada, participating in the Orientation for Global Ministry Conference, sponsored by the Canadian Churches' Forum for Global Ministries. I'm here because I am partnering with the Episcopal program called the Young Adult Service Corps (YASC). Since I am under 30, YASC is helping me participate in global mission, which is part of my position as Assistant for Mission and Youth at my church.

I will admit that I initially was not looking forward to the training, but now that it is almost done, I can honestly say that I am really glad that I came here. I have appreciated meeting people from all over the states (and Canada!) with different backgrounds, ages, life experiences, and denominations (Lutherans and United Church of Canada), while learning about what it means to be a missionary. But the most amazing thing for me has been to meet people my age who are intentionally embarking on transformational experiences. Pretty much everyone else in the conference (other than me) is going for at least one year, which is a huge commitment (how many of us would be willing to do the same?). I've written about this before, but I feel that it needs to be mentioned again: I continue to meet young adults who do not display the stereotypical attributes of laziness, apathy, and entitlement that are so often associated with my generation. Perhaps I'm merely surrounding myself with incredible people, but maybe (just maybe) the stereotype does not fit. I'm honored and humbled to be among incredible people who are discrediting the single story and adding new chapters to what it means to be a young adult today.

candid shot of YASC and other Episcopal missionaries

(photo by Jason Sierra)

a house of prayer for all nations

Probably all of you reading this are aware that I spent two weeks out of the country, visiting family in Germany and exploring the ecumenical monastic community of Taizé, in a small town in central-east France. Because so much happened within that short week and I had such a great experience, I will probably be using any excuse I can to write about Taizé. That’s just how it’s gonna be.

In today’s reading from the Gospel according to Mark (11:12-25), we find the familiar story of Jesus’ “temple tantrum” (really wish I could claim that phrase as my own, but I know I read it somewhere—almost certainly on facebook). I know I’ve heard this story many times before, but in reading the passage a few times, I zeroed in on Jesus’ words, “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayers for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers” (v. 17). In the past, my focus has been on imagining Jesus’ anger and disappointment at the way things had progressed in the Temple. But I never really attempted to picture what I thought his vision of the Temple as it should be would actually look like.

Thanks to my trip, this has changed. I have witnessed “a house of prayer for all nations,” every time I went to a service at Taizé. The prayers, readings, and songs were in different languages (because we sang songs in so many different languages, everyone ended up singing in a language they had difficulty pronouncing. So at some level, we were all on the same level). The people who came to the service, as well as the brothers, were from around the world. I met people from Germany, France, the Netherlands, England, Russia, South Korea, the US, and New Zealand. And that’s just the people I met personally. When I first got there, there were about 100 people. By the end of the week we had grown to 400 (last week they had 800, and this week they were expected to have 4,000!). With each service, I knew more and more people, so that by the end of the week, even with the growth, I was no longer worshipping in a room full of strangers, but with friends.

We had become a congregation.

Despite the large amount of work and energy it must take to host so many people, I hope the brothers realize what a gift they are giving us pilgrims. I’m not saying that the prayer services were better than any other service I’ve been to, but there was certainly something special, something holy about that place. 

 

out there

Lent 3, Wednesday

Getting ready to leave for Taize!! Won't be back until the evening of the 27th, and won't have internet access most likely, so look for the next post on the 28th!

This song came to mind when I was taking a shower this morning. I thought it summed up my feelings before leaving on this journey pretty well (plus it takes place in France). Hope you enjoy!

See you on the other side...

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preparation

Lent 3, Tuesday

Readings: Genesis 45:1-15; Psalm 78:1-39; 1 Corinthians 7:32-40; Mark 6:1-13.

Ok, so maybe it's just because it's on my mind, but it seems like all the readings today apply to my impending travels. I'll stick with Genesis and 1 Corinthians for tonight.

In Genesis, Joseph finally reveals himself to his brothers and has an idea that they should move to be closer to him. This will require lots of preparation, as they will have to bring their kids, servants, wives, possessions--their livelihood--with them. As I write I have yet to begin packing for my trip to Taize. I have been trying to catch up with paperwork, schoolwork, and other odds and ends so that I can truly leave everything behind for a bit. Tomorrow I'll need to do laundry, make a run to a few stores, go to two meetings, and finish packing, all before 4:45pm. Whew! Preparation is difficult!

In Paul's letter to the people of Corinth, the very first verse is something I need to take to heart on this trip: "I want you to be free from anxieties" (v. 32). If you know me, then you know that I am quite an anxious person. I think that, for the most part, I am able to hide it pretty well, but people who are close to me can attest that many times I'm wound tighter than a tether ball wrapped around a pole. It's almost like I breathe anxiety--I'm always thinking of what could go wrong and how I could fix (or get out of) the situation. But Paul reminds us that we are tempted to be so engrossed in our earthly lives, worrying about everything--that we fail to see the big picture. We fail to see God at work in the world around us. I know that, for me, when I do not make time to relax or address things, my anxiety builds until I either become paralyzed or lackadaisical. I told my adviser about this anxiety, and she told me to think of the things that could go wrong, write them down, and then think of how I could address the issues. This actually was really helpful, and when my mind was cleared of this worry, there was a sense of stillness as my inner dialogue was temporarily silenced. My adviser suggested that in the liminal stage of preparing for my journey, I had essentially already begun my journey; I should, therefore, try to act as if I was already on my pilgrimage. In that case, I should take a deep breath and focus on gratitude for having the opportunity to travel to such an amazing place.

My journey--and yours--has already begun. How are we going to live differently with that knowledge?

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suspense

Lent 3, Monday

Readings: Genesis 44:18-34; Psalm 80; 1 Corinthians 7:25-31; Mark 5:21-43.

The story about Joseph and his brothers has been building in intensity this Lent. Each day, as a little bit more is revealed, it seems that the story gets more and more interesting. So far we have seen Joseph's bratty attitude in the beginning, heard his brothers plot his death, waited with Joseph in prison, and bit our nails when he interpreted Pharaoh's dreams. Now, the tables have turned, Joseph has been elevated to second-in-command, and his brothers have come because of the famine. We wait with baited breath to see if this is the time where he gets his revenge on them for all those years away from home--years he can never get back. But we only get a bit of the story, and if you don't know how it ends, then it can be pretty suspenseful.  

I don't always do well with suspense; I am impatient and want to know what happens. If you've been watching the TV show Walking Dead recently, then you probably have been experiencing some of the frustration that happens when things go unresolved. Will they make it alive? Which character is going to die this episode? The same is true with music; we want things to resolve. For example, just try going to a piano one day and playing a melody. When you get to the penultimate chord, stop and walk away. Even if you are able to leave the final chord unplayed, I bet you will be silently humming it in your head.

Suspense can be frustrating, but it also makes things interesting. Walking Dead wouldn't be nearly as good if we knew exactly what was going to happen. And music is made richer when a little dissonance is added (they are called suspended chords for a reason).

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The same is true for our faith. Sometimes I get so frustrated that I don't know all of the answers to questions and problems that arise. "It would be so much easier if I just knew what was going to happen" I sometimes catch myself thinking. But if I really think about it, a life of complete certainty--no surprises, no suspense--would be boring.

I don't know exactly what my life is going to look like. I don't know exactly what is going to happen when I die. I don't always know if I am making the right choices. But I will take this life of suspense over monotony any day. We have been given a sneak preview of what the kingdom of God looks like in the person of Jesus Christ. Jesus taught us to expect the unexpected: that leaders will have to be servants, enemies are to be treated as friends, and the poor will inherit the kingdom. Nope, not what they were expecting. But it's so worth it.

So, I say, bring on the suspense.

siblings

Lent 3, Sunday

Readings: Genesis 44:1-17; Psalm 93; Romans 8:1-10; John 5:25-29.

Reading Joseph's story in Genesis this Lent has made me think a lot about sibling relationships. His actions seem so childish and dramatic (hiding his silver cup in Benjamin's sack to frame him). But then I have to remind myself that his brothers did plot to kill him before selling him into slavery, and he's had a lot of years to think about that. I'm surprised he didn't throw them all in jail, permanently. But, then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised.

Sibling relationships are complicated. Each sibling, regardless of birth order, thinks that they are the victim. Siblings get into some pretty horrible fights--I've been in my fair share. But if you think about it, all relationships that are worthwhile come with some challenges. Your perspective changes when you grow up sharing your parents' attention, and I think that's a good thing.

The Shine siblings on top of the Empire State Building (2005)

Two particular sibling relationships I've been thinking about recently are the relationship between Moses and Aaron and the relationship between Moses and Pharaoh. One of the classes I'm taking this spring is a midrash class taught by a local Jewish rabbi. The best way I've heard midrash described is that it's "a true story that never happened" (click here for more information). Well, for one of my assignments, I wrote a midrash on two verses from Exodus (this is the assignment that kept me from posting on Wednesday night). It reads, “Afterwards Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh and said, ‘Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, “Let my people go, so that they may celebrate a festival to me in the wilderness.” ’ But Pharaoh said, ‘Who is the Lord, that I should heed him and let Israel go? I do not know the Lord, and I will not let Israel go’ ” (Exodus 5:1-2). Since we're on the topic of siblings, I thought I'd include the midrash in today's reflection:

Nothing ever changes. That’s what my life taught me to believe, anyway. Our people have been here for generations, slaves in a foreign land. But it’s the only home I’ve known.

After years of suffering and torture you have to put your feelings aside, submerge them, because if they resurface you will drown in all the pain. “Don’t let your hearts get hardened, now,” mother used to say. She stopped saying that when she made the choice to feed my little brother to the waters of the Nile rather than watch him be murdered.

Growing up I used to love listening to the old men tell stories of our people and their relationship with Adonai, blessed be His Name. They were exciting stories: evil snakes, murderous brothers, epic floods, towers reaching to the sky…I could sit at their feet listening for hours. Sometimes I made Miriam play ancestor with me. For example, I would be Abel and she would be Cain. I would be Noah and she would be the people left behind (since she was so good at wailing and complaining). If I was feeling particularly generous that day I’d let her be the animals on the ark. But of all the ancestors I played, the one that intrigued me the most was Enoch. What did it mean that he walked with the Lord? I wanted to walk with the Lord. I had about a bazillion questions for him. Like why he invented smells. Why all the Egyptian kids didn’t have to work. And why the heck he made belly buttons. On these imaginary walks with the Lord I let Miriam play God. Before you think I was being kind, let me assure you that I grilled her.

Once I got older, the situation didn’t change, and so the questions never went away. As I moved into my role as a religious leader of Israel, I thought that if I prayed hard enough or cared hard enough, the Lord would come and save us. After a while it felt like he was either refusing to listen or was deaf. I didn’t know which was worse.

And then one day I heard it: a voice, calling my name. “Aaron” the voice said in rich, rumbling tones that for some reason made me think of a fatherly lion. “Aaron, go into the wilderness to meet Moses.” After I picked myself up from the ground following the shock of hearing a voice without a body (which, come to think of it, God must either really get a kick out of or be completely fed up with watching people fall down every time he speaks)…but anyway, after I picked myself up, all of my questions moved to the background and I felt like it would probably be good if I listened to him. You don’t argue with the Big Guy, after all. Well, that’s not entirely true, but you know what I mean.

I found my brother at the mountain. So many emotions were going through my head; for the first time I understood what Esau must have felt when he saw Jacob in the wilderness. This person was a stranger, had been dead to me for most of my life, and yet here he was, my little brother, standing awkwardly before me. How could I not run and embrace him?

We talked all the way back from the wilderness; we had a lot to catch up on. He recounted his years growing up in Pharaoh’s palace with servants obeying his every whim, and I told him how much it sucked being a religious leader of oppressed people. Good times. Then he began explaining to me exactly what our task was. We were supposed to convince the Israelites that the Lord had finally listened to us. And then we were to go to Pharaoh—the king of Egypt—and ask to be given a short vacation so we could celebrate a festival in the wilderness. I started laughing when he told me that, but then stopped when I saw by his face that he was serious. “You know he’s not going to buy that excuse, right?” Moses looked nervous but said that the Lord had it under control. He even had a script ready for me.

We got back to the Israelites and my speech went really well; turns out the Lord knew exactly what to say and do to get them on board. I felt pretty good after that, even felt optimistic that our efforts with Pharaoh would go well.

I was wrong. We got to the palace and did our little spiel, “let my people go” and so forth. But he wasn’t buying our reason for leaving. “Holiday? You people haven’t had a holiday in…wait a minute, you’ve never had a holiday. Your entire existence is to serve me. Plus, who is this Lord you speak of? I’ve never heard of this Lord. I think you’re making it all up. I’m not giving up free labor. You may not go.”

I looked at Pharaoh, a man who for a time was brother to my brother. I felt no brotherly feelings toward him, except that I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he didn’t know the Lord. When you have been treated like a god your entire life, groomed for this purpose, why would you look anywhere else for authority? I was reminded of my mother saying, “Don’t let your hearts get hardened, now.” Pharaoh’s heart was definitely hardened. But with all that had gone on recently, I had the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this time everything would change.