Beginning a Blog (after the fact)

It occurs to me that while I have a cute tagline to my blog title, I've never really taken the time to explain what "The Cross and the Sword" really means, and why I think it's such a big deal. To be honest, it's an idea that has been evolving for a few years now and I was afraid, at first, that it would be a passing thing and I would end up changing it a few times. If you've been with me for a while, you know that the tagline itself has changed a bit over time; somehow, though, the spirit of the cross and the sword have stayed with me, so here is an exploration of their roots and what (I hope) I can do with these themes in my life.

The metaphor of a cross and a sword began for me when I was at Miracle Mountain Ranch, 17 years old and newly graduated from high school. It is a long time since I looked like the stereotypical homeschooler, but not so far under my socially adapted exterior is a deeply committed nerd: a devoted Lord of the Rings fan (and fan-fiction/RP writer, she said with a nod to The Plaza), constant reader of 18th and 19th century literature, and a self-fashioned wanderer in search of chivalry, honesty and honor. That year at the Ranch I was the model apprentice, but there were a few people with whom I felt I could be myself. During training demonstrations in the barn we would sit in the loft and I would use graph paper to sketch fantastical coats of arms and brands, mustering all that I knew of heraldry to lend significance to the images and colors used in my creations.

One creation in particular stayed with me, because of its beauty and simplicity. The vertical line was too long to be a cross, the horizontal too plain to be a sword. I wrapped a casual line of color around it, from its arm to the point, then back to the other arm. I attempted to add plumes, to put it on a shield, to incorporate it into the Lion Rampant or some more glorious emblem, to use it as the "l" in my name, but in the end I found that none of the embellishments improved it and I resolved to leave it alone. Besides, the summer was approaching and I was far too busy wrangling my landscaping volunteers to be worried with developing my personal coat of arms any further.

After the Ranch, real life hit abruptly. For lack of a better idea, I found myself enrolled at a little school called Geneva College in Beaver Falls - for all that it was 12 miles from home, I had never heard of the city or the school before my mother suggested them - and I was "undeclared," which was code for: I want to know everything and I have commitment issues. Because of my interests in high school, I took a serious look at History and Creative Writing as majors, with Student Ministry thrown in there as a potential interest because I really wanted to impress a certain person from MMR. The college setting was a shock to my system, but in the honors program I found a few people with whom I felt safe enough to mention my love of imagery, icons and latin mottos. I sometimes wonder if they thought me crazy.

The battle to choose a major (and escape the incessant coddling of those in charge of Undeclared L&T "Focus Group") was intense, but brief; in the end, Terry Thomas's storytelling won me over and in the space of eight weeks I had declared for Student Ministry. I loved every one of my major classes, but I couldn't shake the desire to know everything, especially about the way people work. I have always been a people-watcher, and this tendency was incubated through the time I spent eating alone in the cafeteria and hanging out with Debbie in the Student Min Office.

You didn't know you had signed up for the story of my life, did you?

Contrary to what some people believe, student ministry isn't (all) about campfire songs and ice-breaker games. In addition to "ministry" classes concerned with the history and development of ministry, special studies in specific ministry models and situations, and three unique practicum experiences, we take quite a few Bible classes, along with theology, philosophy, and psychology. On top of this, I was at a liberal arts college with traditional "core" requirements: humanities, social sciences, political science, etc. I will never regret the time or money spent on these, ever. However, as I began to connect the dots of my learning and reflect on my experience as a homeschooler, an apprentice, and now as a college student, some difficulties became apparent.

When I say "difficulties," please know that I mean "things that are profoundly distressing"; so profoundly distressing that I don't really know how to properly express them most of the time; not in person, and not in print. At its heart is the question of Truth; in my Bible classes I was taught that Jesus said "the Truth shall set you free" (John 8), but in my experience Truth has been most associated with right and wrong. Beyond that, right and wrong often demarcate "us" and "them," "in" and "out," "valuable" and "valueless"; these in turn help "us," who are "in" and "valuable," to determine what should be cared about and who should be ignored.

We come to "know" what sin is and we believe it is our duty to preach against it; we come to "know"that sin is an abomination to God and we make it our duty to be appalled by it; we come to "know" that we have been redeemed... and we decide to cast the unredeemed world into hell's fire prematurely. Who made me the judge? What pride is it that rejoices in my personal salvation and then refuses to give that grace to others? I am not saying this of all Christians, or even all American Christians, but the pervasiveness of divisive, ignorant, and ungracious behavior within the church is well documented by recent research (i.e. You Lost Me and UnChristian). This should not surprise us, given the doctrine of the Fall.

The Bible calls the Word of God a "double-edged sword" (Heb 4:12), and I think we can agree that the simplest statements have been as destructive as a broadsword when used in the wrong place or time, or with the wrong attitude. Never in opposition, but certainly in contrast, Jesus tells us that knowing the Truth sets us free - and a few short chapter later he announces exactly what he means: Jesus said to him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the father except through me" (John 14:6).

What is the truth that we are commanded to know? What did the Word of God (John 1:1) do with ultimate power? He loved. He sacrificed. He redeemed.

Redemption cost all of him. How can I do less?

In the last few years, this has been the story of my life. I believe in truth. I believe that there are such things as right and wrong. I believe that it is vitally important to preach against sin, to teach what is right, to avoid what is wrong. However, my studies and experiences almost daily remind me that I was redeemed in spite of my sin, and it is not for me to withhold that redemption from others; in fact, it is my responsibility to share redemption with the world.

For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12

Tempting as it is, I cannot run into the world waving a bright sword and pretending that all things said in truth are just. This kind of power cannot be wielded by a child like me, unless its every move is constrained also by the love of Christ, the love that willingly approached the cross. And so, once in a while I practice drawing my childish talisman, a reminder to me that God has been weaving his plans into the fabric of my life since the beginning and will continue doing so until the end. I approach life with a cross and a sword... and every day I learn more of who I am between the two.

Who are you voting for? Some conversational advice

I will add to my previous comments about political conversations that this way of talking and thinking is very hard. I wrote that post on a happy afternoon after a long conversation with people whose thought processes are similar to my own, although their conclusions differ wildly. I am quite aware that this is not always the case, and that there are people who make these conversations painful no matter how hard you try. I name no names.

I don't want to seem naive on this point; I interact with enough people every day, even on a small campus, that I know how difficult it is to have hard conversations graciously when the other person seems dead set against that very thing. Even when they are on board with your approach, basic cultural and vocabulary differences sometimes make meaningful conversation practically impossible. So here are a few quick tips on talking with people who disagree with you on politics - or any other sensitive topic:

1. Remember humanity
I do mean that you should remember that you are human and they are human, and for that very reason you will both be wrong about something. However, I also mean that everyone should remember that our conversations have implications for the rest of humanity, for the great questions of life and death, poverty and wealth. If you are in a position to talk about these things, you are probably in a position to do something about them. It's really not about you at all.

2. Benefit of the doubt
I tend to think that I am better at this than your average grad student - why do we immediately assume that because someone believes x, they will also affirm r, e and m? Just because someone thinks differently does not mean that they have sold their souls or that they would affirm the agenda of a totalitarian regime. As you can see, these other letters simply do not follow, except in the word extreme.* 

3. Practice
This may seem callous of me, but at some point conversations have to come down to personal integrity. You're probably not going to convince "the other guy," whoever they are, that you are right and their entire cognitive framework is skewed, unless you have unwittingly stumbled on a great work of the Holy Spirit. Which is possible. In most cases, however, you can talk until you're blue in the face only to discover that they weren't listening to you at all, but instead assuming that you affirm r, e and m as well as x. So do this instead of asphyxiating: get in the habit of communicating what you want to say clearly, concisely, and respectfully. Even if that person never gets it, perhaps the practice you have in this conversation will help you be more graceful and persuasive in your next encounter with disagreement.

I hope to soon write a response to my own question: who am I voting for? Hopefully it will be done before election day, but as I said... if an election is the end of the conversation, then we're doing it wrong.

*see what I did there? 

Whosetory

I was never allowed to celebrate Halloween. Tragic, right? I don't think that I missed much, honestly, and every year was an adventure, hanging dark blankets over the windows and playing very quiet games so that Trick'r'Treaters wouldn't know we were home. Apparently our neighborhood took the "trick" part literally, and they were handy with egg-throwing.

In college I discovered a new tradition. For six years now I have sat in Bible 200 (How to Read the Bible) on October 31 to celebrate Reformation Day. I wish my parents were aware of this tradition when we were growing up - it would have been a lovely counterpoint to the blue velvet drapes. More than that, Reformation Day and events like it have been vital to my faith formation.

That's a strange thing to hear, and sometimes to say. How is a silly party where we dress like we stepped out of the 16th century, eat symbolic foods, and share ridiculous poems about Calvin and Luther helpful for faith formation? The best way I can describe it is history. You know, that subject that you all loved in high school. History gets a bad rap, I think, because we treat it as just that - a subject, no more or less important than learning where commas go in a sentence or how to measure the velocity of a falling object, when it really is much more than that.

Not that English and Physics aren't important areas of study, and more than "subjects" themselves, but History is domething special. Even cultures without written language, where the people are more concerned with survival than with explaining gravity, share stories about where they come from. So why don't we?

Hearing stories about the Reformation never gets old for me, because they help me understand and take heart. Why do we so easily dismiss the faithful men and women who came before us? How audacious of us to assume that our life and times are so much more important than theirs, that we can't spare the time to hear and tell their stories... Maybe it's our individualism that tells us that each life is a free and unfettered start, but we need to get over that. Their stories are our stories, because they are our family, and I, for one, would like to make a habit of learning from their examples instead of making my own mistakes.

Who are you voting for?

Election Season is coming down to the wire, and I hear that tensions over it are running high. On the small college campus of a Christian school, however, it is easy to be insulated from the outside world and the concerns of the nation. For some students, this begins (or perpetuates) a spirit of apathy; between school, clubs, sports and complaining about the food, there is plenty here to occupy young minds. When someone asks our generation to care, don't we normally ask, what difference does our caring make anyway? "It feels like a lesser-of-two-evils decision," and "voting third party is voting for [insert candidate] anyway" are more thoughtful, but express the same sentiment.

A smaller group of students choose to care - intensely. Much like their parents before them, these students know where they stand, who they should vote for, and often what the Bible says about it. The Geneva College Republicans have meetings and t-shirts and an informational table once in a while. There is a quieter, but no less dedicated, group of Democrats furthering their cause on campus. It would be unfair to say that their devotion does no good, but the polarization of their views often lends itself to intimidation rather than honest conversation.

Honest conversation is something that our campus desperately needs, but sometimes the election conversation is ended before it begins because of our fatalistic - or pugilistic - attitudes. This election season, however, I have a new perspective to offer you; new to me, although I can hope that it is not new to you.

Although it sometimes seems that Christians have more to learn about suspending judgment than the rest of the world, there IS something unique about having these conversations at a Christian school, or even more specifically, at Geneva. To summarize the Reformed perspective, we understand the Bible to be God's story which tells us of the good creation of all things, the brokenness of all things, the redemption of all things, and the hope (promise!) of restoration for all things. We, as Christians, are part of the redemption: who we are and what we do, after we have encountered Christ, is inexorably linked to God's love for his creation. It is our duty to represent God well and work toward that final restoration (Romans 8:18-30).

Thinking of the world in this way, therefore, leads me to believe that the real question in our conversations is not, "what do you think about [insert party or candidate]?" It is, "Who and what do you care about?" It is, "How does the current political climate, or a particular election or candidate, impact that thing or those people that you care about?" In the student ministry office we have been drawing attention to the election as often as we can. We frequently disagree - and we know when the conversation starts that we will disagree - but that doesn't stop us from talking about it. None of us questions the others' salvation when we discover that they are registered Democrat, or that they might support a pro-choice candidate, or that they are okay with rich people remaining rich. The discussion is about more than a "position" that can be summarized in one sentence on a political poll. I find it impossible to dismiss the input of a friend when I know that their position, like mine, is driven by a deep love for the poor and the oppressed; our political disagreement grows out of that love, but does not change it.

I find hope in having conversations about politics that end with hope rather than anger, and in having conversations that recognize that one election - or even all elections of all time - will neither fix nor damn the world. Life is bigger than that, and God is certainly bigger than that. In the end, whether there is a Republican, Democrat, or cartoon character in the White House, the things we care about will not change, the people we love will have no less need. Political discussions are important, laws are important, deciding how to vote and discovering the issues is important... but never forget that they are not the most important things.

The conversations that start because of politics cannot end with an election. If we really care about these things, there is no "win" or "lose" for us, only more or less difficult work for us to do as we move forward, with hope, to the work that God has given us:

He has told you, O man, what is good,
     and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
     and to walk humbly with your God? 

                     Micah 6:8