4.11.14

Last year I remember discussing with Jimmy and Nate whether Nouwen books 'count' for the 52x52 challenge because they're usually less than 100 pages long. I picked this book up because it seemed appropriate to my Lenten fast and, admittedly, because I thought it might be a quick read. Turns out, it is one of the hardest books I have read in a long time. Three chapters with an introduction and a conclusion should not be difficult to get through, but I found myself reading sections a second or third time, letting the words sink in and worrying them over in my mind until I could place a finger on what was challenging me.

In The Way of the Heart, Nouwen provides an introduction to the thoughts of the Desert Fathers and explains the call they heard to go into the desert as three commands: Flee. Be Silent. And Pray. He discusses the practices that transformed them, and that could transform us, if we let them, in those three terms - solitude, silence, and prayer. The Fathers, he says, were looking for a new martyrdom that would help them to separate themselves from the sinking ship of society so that when they ministered to others they could do so with God's heart instead of simply perpetuating the twisted values of the World.

It was a difficult read not because of large words (because Nouwen really doesn't use large words or heavy explanations), but because I recognize the truth of what Nouwen is saying and want to embrace it, but I struggle with integrating it into my life. As an RD it really is easy to get swept up into busyness, wordyness, and distraction of campus culture and imagine that the fate of the world depends on my efforts. I easily forget that only God can really change people, and that if I am not near to him I will be less fit to draw others near to him.

Here is an excerpt from the conclusion that I copied to my journal because it describes the contrast between the way I am now and the way I want to be:

"The temptation is to go mad with those who are made and to go around yelling and screaming, telling everyone where to go, what to do, and how to behave. The temptation is to become so involved in the agonies and ecstasies of the last days that we will drown together with those we are trying to save.

"...When we have been remodeled into living witnesses of Christ through solitude, silence, and prayer, we will not longer have to worry about whether we are saying the right thing or making the right gesture, because then Christ will make his presence known even when we are not aware of it." 

3.6.14

In case you were wondering why I'm talking about Ash Wednesday when it's after Easter...

"When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you." - Matthew 6:16-17 -

Taking the time to blog about this spiritual practice is good for me on a larger scale than simply writing in a journal because here I need to be specific and clear about what I am trying to do, and there is a larger audience to hold me accountable to the lessons I learn while I do this. However, I want to take Jesus' teaching seriously. My early understanding of Christianity had a lot to do with appearances and I feel a special affinity to the Pharisees who desperately wanted to understand and love God but often got bogged down in the rules and the appearance of piety. I don't want that to be me.

Therefore, while I am serious about this Lenten observance, I am trying not to make a big deal of it. I don't intend to lie - and I'm sure that some people are going to ask why I'm eating a lot of cottage cheese and no pasta or meat - but I want to stay as low-key as possible. I want to rend my heart rather than my garments, so I am scheduling these posts to be published after the Lenten season.

My sister is doing this Lenten fast with me, and we had a pretty funny text exchange. Yesterday I had asked her if she thought I should go to Mass and she misunderstood and thought that I was telling her to do so. She responded that she was getting enough weird looks from friends who were, likewise, raised protestant and didn't understand while she would choose to fast. She mentioned Matthew 6 and suggested that Jesus was really saying:

Speak not of when you fast... for everyone around you will treat you like a freak and judge the crap out of you, so it's really for your mental healthy.

We were joking, of course, but I'm on the other side of the issue right now. Here, fasting is understood, although it may seem strange to them that I fast when I am not Catholic. I feel my bigger struggle will be personal - learning not to long for what I don't have an not to make a big deal of what I am choosing not to eat. It seems pointless to complain when, even in my self-imposed constraints, I have plenty.

3.5.14

Ash Wednesday was never on my radar before. What can I say? I'm protestant. I'm not sure if it's because I'm working at a Catholic university or because of where I am in my life right now, but this year I wanted it to be different. For the last six years my time has been marked by the school year - counting down to exams and to summer jobs and to the exciting start of a new semester. It's been fun, but it's about time to grow up and invest deeply in the things God wants me to learn rather than what an institution requires of me at the moment. I decided to start with Lent; here are a few of my thoughts as I begin this experience:

My Lenten observance this year includes rather strict dietary restrictions. I am going to try to limit my diet to rice, beans, fruits and vegetables, and dairy.

1. I started with rice and beans because these foods that are staples for most of the world's populations factor minimally in my usual American fare. Preparing rice and beans for myself and eating them regularly will help me to remember that around the world people are grateful for these simple foods, as I should be.
2. Fruits and vegetables are on the list because, although there is poverty in the world, I have plenty. As a hall director I have a meal plan for the campus cafeteria, where nutrition and leafy green vegetables are regularly available. God has blessed me, and I want to be reminded of his blessing often between now and Easter.
3. Dairy made the list for health reasons - I work out a few times a week and I don't think I'll be able to get enough protein in my diet without it. Also, I can't imagine eating a spinach salad without my cottage cheese.

While I was making my plans I saw a meme on Facebook that said "Fasting without prayer is simply a diet." Fair point, right? As I understand it, the restrictions I listed up there ^ actually make up a pretty healthy diet and there's nothing wrong with that. But what's really important is what the fast signifies - I want to simplify my life so that I can hear God's voice. I want to feel hungry and to be annoyed by the blandness of my food and to be reminded that God provides me with more than enough. I want extra time at meals to appreciate the people around me. I want to read God's word without distraction and to take the time to pray for my residents. I want... to learn what fasting is really about. So I went to the Ash Wednesday mass on campus and heard Scripture read, from the prophet Joel. Rend your heart and not your garments. Why should they say among the peoples, "Where is their God?"

“Even now,” declares the Lord,
    “return to me with all your heart,
    with fasting and weeping and mourning.”

Rend your heart
    and not your garments.
Return to the Lord your God,
    for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
    and he relents from sending calamity.

Who knows? He may turn and relent
    and leave behind a blessing—
grain offerings and drink offerings
    for the Lord your God.

Blow the trumpet in Zion,
    declare a holy fast,
    call a sacred assembly.
 Gather the people,
    consecrate the assembly;
bring together the elders,
    gather the children,
    those nursing at the breast.
Let the bridegroom leave his room
    and the bride her chamber.

Let the priests, who minister before the Lord,
    weep between the portico and the altar.
Let them say, “Spare your people, Lord.
    Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,
    a byword among the nations.
Why should they say among the peoples,
    ‘Where is their God?’”

life is full of chances

Why did I buy a motorcycle? I never intended to. I thought I just wanted to learn how to ride (collect-a-skill, you know) and the next thing I knew I was riding to and from work and making weekend forays into scenic Ohio. Frances and I had a great summer.

When people find out that I ride a motorcycle, most take it as a cue to make some sort of comment on my character - I am brave or stupid, tough or reckless, interesting or childish. I can't really argue with any of these assessments because I am probably a little bit of all of those things. But I'd like to address them anyway, because time spent on the bike, without the radio, phone, and "frames" to distract me, is time spent in direct contact with the world and my own thoughts; it's the perfect place to expand one's philosophy of life*.

People say that riding is dangerous. A motorcycle has no frame or roof. It is balanced precariously on two wheels, and is more precarious in the case of precipitation. It has no seat belt. It has no airbags. When I climb onto my bike and take off, there is nothing but me, whatever gear I choose to wear, and the road, and then I travel at roughly 55mph, taking turns and dodging potholes, and being passed by vehicles that weigh five or ten times what Frances and I do.

I suppose you could call that dangerous.

I think this is an opportune moment for me to comment on the fact that motorcycles aren't the only dangerous way to travel. When you're driving down the road in fair weather I doubt that you think very much about it, but what exactly would you call "safe" about traveling at 80mph? Even if you are absolutely certain that you will do everything right, can you say that about the people around you? In fact, now that Pennsylvania is getting back to cold mornings and weather advisories this may be the perfect time to mention that weather alone has the ability to put our best intentions on their butts in the snow.

On a related note, at Christmas my family was talking about travel and the problems that it could create for your health insurance. "Are you sure that your health insurance will mean something in London? You make a mistake, step off a sidewalk wrong, eat the wrong food, and you could be in serious trouble." That sort of thing. In the middle of the conversation I found myself wondering how it came to be that risk elimination became the name of the game. Isn't life really about risk? Should you really not take a chance, or a trip, because all of the angles might not be covered?

I'm not saying is that riding a motorcycle isn't dangerous, I'm saying I could argue that driving a car is just as dangerous. I'm not saying don't think about the insurance, but should insurance really be the thing you think about first? If you believe in a God whose care for his creation is providential and omnipotent, do you really think that the presence or absence of airbags (literal or metaphorical) are going to make that much of a difference?

Life may be dangerous, but God is good. What do I have to fear?

I don't want to convince the world to drive recklessly, drop their insurance, or buy motorcycles. But here are some things I wish I could explain to the people who call me stupid, reckless and childish: The smell of the air when twilight touches the hills. The temperature drop that tells you there is water nearby. The soaring feeling in your soul when you drive over the crest of a hill or lean perfectly into a turn. My motorcycle is a practice of freedom and joy, not rebellion.

If you look at the world fearfully, it will seem filled with danger. You'll build up walls to insulate you from relationships, weather, experience, from all of the things that seem to make life dangerous. But if it's ultimately God's world... you can forget the danger and burn the insulation. Danger is opportunity in disguise, and life is full of chances that you never saw before.

And I think that's why I bought a motorcycle.

*case in point

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.

The Life of the Beloved: A Book Review (of sorts)

I've been saying over and over to myself, "If an election is the end of the conversation, you're doing it wrong." Now that there have been a few days to absorb the fallout of our most recent election, I wonder what I should put my hand to next; I have many opinions about said fallout, but I think you'll agree with me when I say that I want to wait until some of the right-wingers have simmered down a bit.

To continue the conversation, then, I suppose I will turn inward. I recently joined a very secret society whose goal is to have all of its members read at least 52 books in 52 weeks. It is called 52in52 and... I guess it's not so secret anymore. No matter, you'll probably hear a lot about it this year. My first choice for this challenge was Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen, and although it is brief (119 pages) it has really given me a lot to think about.

What He Said

Nouwen had a friend who asked him to write something about spirituality that would speak to his "secular" friends in New York City. The preface and the conclusion tell the story of their friendship, and everything between is written in a very personal tone - the book is more like a letter than a manuscript, and that very thing makes it difficult to breeze through. You don't just skim a book when the author seems to be speaking directly to you, telling you that you are Beloved.

That word - Beloved - is the way Nouwen describes the entire human experience. He says that we must first realize that we are Beloved, and we spend too much time listening to voices that tell us we must earn Belovedness. Second, we are in the process of becoming Beloved; our life experience is completed by being "taken, blessed, broken and given," being sensitive to our Belovedness and realizing that we never have to compete for value and love. Finally, living as the Beloved, we have the joy of knowing that being Beloved is not a "spiritual" thing, it is an identity that we can embrace and a promise for the future, when there will be no more lying voices telling us we are worthless or cursed.

Some Reflection

I definitely recommend this book to anyone, anytime. If you read the preface and epilogue you find that  Nouwen's friend liked the book, but didn't think that it was exactly what he and his secular friends needed because it assumed certain things about reality that they were unwilling to accept. From my perspective, however, it was exactly what I need to hear and what I want my friends and students to hear. You are Beloved. Everything else in the world feeds you lies, but this one thing cannot be changed, even if you choose to forget it: You are Beloved, and there are incredibly practical steps that you can take toward recognizing and accepting that Belovedness.

It was kind of a big deal to me, because I tend to accept what other people say. I spend a lot of time listening and reflecting, trying to understand why and how people and things work; this may surprise some of you, but I do this more than I talk. I am quick to assume that the next person knows better than I do, which looks a lot like humility and is rather healthy in most conversations.

Sometimes that compliance isn't so healthy, however. After 20-some years, I know exactly what it feels like to hear my failures and others' criticisms sneak up on me and whisper in my ear that if I don't make the grade, I am a bad student; if I'm not around, my friends will forget me; if I'm not interesting, no one will care. This book challenges this way of thinking at its core and begs me - and you, if you read it - to remember:

"These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. The truth, even though I cannot feel it right no, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God's eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace." (49)

I feel bereft, having 'finished' this book without experiencing all of the profound change it recommends. Life does not afford the time to dwell on every word, but having been read, these words are going to stay with me. Read it, and I pray they will do the same for you.