Arrows 2010

I should really be working on my sermon or cleaning my apartment or doing some other productive activity. But I can feel myself sliding into the post-Christmas-and-my-family-just-left-and-January-looks-crazy-busy funk, and I just don't want to. Instead, I'm giving a valiant attempt at good cheer. I'm sitting in Starbucks surrounded by people, sipping a peppermint mocha, and trying to think about the good things that have happened this year and that are still going on. So now seems like a really good time to do my annual report. Here's a look at my 2010, the good, the bad, and the holy, in no particular order:

↔ Ministry
I can't begin to recount all of the events and moments that were significant in my ministry this year. I led the creation of a new worship service by my congregation in February, which was huge. Having a new worship service meant I basically preached every week, and about once a month I'd preach for three different services in one day, which meant writing and preaching two different sermons in a single week. I started attending finance meetings. I presided solo over funerals and weddings. I facilitated and administrated and wrote and presented. The "honeymoon period" ended. There were moments of intense joy, when people shared how a particular sermon or pastoral visit had affected them, when I was privileged to be present for difficult moments and hold people's hands when they needed comfort, when I shared laughter with this community I've come to love. There were moments of deep sadness when I visited people who were in anguish or survived heart-wrenching, cry-inducing meetings. I even had a couple of rough patches when I sat on the edge, when burnout and despair made me wonder if I could keep doing this. But I am thankful for the people who talked me down from the ledge, for the people whose love and servant hearts inspired me to keep going, for the moments when I saw God at work or caught a glimpse of the kingdom of God breaking into an ordinary day. That is what gives me the assurance to say: God is still here. I am still called. So my ministry continues.

↑ Charlie
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted a dog. I wanted one as a kid, but couldn't have one because my family members were allergic. I wanted one in college, but I lived in dorms and apartments that didn't allow pets. Same story with seminary. But this year I was settled in an apartment that allowed pets, and I no longer live with anyone who has allergies, so I decided the time had come. On a snowy night in February, Amanda and I trekked a few hours to visit a breeder, and by the end of the night, I had a new puppy. For the first few weeks, it was just a blur of "Aww, that's so cute!" and "Oh, NO, don't pee there!!!" and running up and down the stairs with the scared-of-stairs furball, and hoping and praying that he wouldn't chew anything important. But as the months past, we got into a routine. I discovered how nice it is to come home and have an excited tail-wagger greet me. I learned to play and wrestle and to see theological truths enacted by a four-legged fuzzball. To be honest, even though I'd imagined all the great things about having a dog, I couldn't have imagined just how great canine companionship could be. Now I can't imagine life without Charlie.

↓ Sports
This year was deeply disappointing. The Cubs lost as usual. The Broncos were so bad they were practically a joke. And while my Mizzou Tigers had a ten-win season that I'm very proud of, they lost to the Iowa Hawkeyes in the Insight Bowl. Plus there was that anxiety-producing month when it looked like the Big XII would dissolve and leave Mizzou scrambling to find a B-list conference with which to affiliate. That one still has me nervous; after all, what's going to happen when the Big XII has only ten teams, and what horrible fate will befall my Tigers if the Texas schools decide to go join the SEC? I shudder to think. But, as always, I have high hopes for next season. With a new coach and Tebow at least sharing the QB spot, the Broncos may actually pull off a winning season. Perhaps a little more experience for Gabbert and Nebraska's departure from the Big XII will enable the Tigers to finally win the Big XII and go to a BCS bowl. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that either the Big XII will endure, or Mizzou will get an invitation to join the Big Ten.

↑ Travel
This year began with a trek to the deep south and a fantastic visit to my old haunts in Atlanta. I reminisced in Brooks Commons, caught up with friends, and had a blast with my aunt. In the summer I ran just up the road to Luray, Virginia and spent some time just hanging out with my family. We played in the mountains, visited the caverns, and caught some Sabbath time on the porch. October brought the biggest trip of all: a wild west adventure. I stopped in Las Vegas to catch up with my seminary roommate. We visited the Grand Canyon, saw a show, roamed The Strip, and took a dam tour at Hoover Dam. Then I went on to Long Beach to see a few more seminary friends. I saw the Hollywood sign and Graumann's Chinese Theater, stepped out on the Walk of Fame, gazed out at the Pacific, and had some great coffee conversation with one of my best friends. I made a quick trip home in November to surprise my mom for Thanksgiving and got to see the people who have known me forever and still seem to like having me around. So, I went south, west, and north, I visited old comfort zones and trekked into the unknown. All in all, it was a fabulous year for travel.

↓ Romance
There's nothing to talk about, nothing to tell. Another year of being mostly single, another holiday season wondering if I'll ever have a partner to share Christmas with. In case you don't remember this rant, or this one (scroll down to "Dating", or even this one, suffice to say: it sucks. Maybe next year?

↑ Friends
But when you're feeling bad about guys, there's nothing better in the world than a good group of friends. So I'm extremely thankful for the men and women who make my life joyful. There are A&A, my co-workers and partners in crime, who are always there when things at work go sour or when I need someone to stand by me when facing the awkward world of meeting people. There are my clergy friends, especially the strong, capable women, who offer guidance and listen to sermons and tolerate venting and help me to smile, even when I feel like crying. When I think of how close I've grown to those women, and how much I trust and rely on them, it's hard to believe that I've only known most of them for a year or 18 months. I don't know what I'd do without them. There are my college friends, always just a phone call away, who have stories to make me laugh until my abs hurt, and who can help me escape from the world of church and ministry and southern culture. There are my seminary friends, those rare and amazing people who understand the insane and sad and hilarious stories of ministry and who appear at conferences when you least expect them. And then, (drum roll please!) there's that small-and-growing group of non-ministry, non-seminary friends who live right here in this city. They are my best connection to the world outside ministry and church, who remind me that the world is so much bigger than the things that consume my time and energy on a daily basis.

↔ Being a Grown-Up
There are all sorts of coming-of-age rites in our society: high school graduations, first full-time jobs, college graduations, weddings, first-house-purchases, first-lease-signings, first-car-purchases. But the U.S. in the 21st century, there simply isn't one single "Congratulations, you are an adult" moment. I've discovered that there are lots and lots of little ones, and they pop up unexpectedly. This year, getting Charlie and learning to be responsible for someone besides myself was a big step in that direction. So was surviving a car accident, having endless talks with insurance people, and purchasing a replacement vehicle. There were hospital visits and meetings that pushed me to levels of calm and maturity that I didn't think I was capable of reaching yet. When those things occurred, there were definitely moments when I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, and moments when I wanted nothing more than to be fourteen again and not have to be responsible and mature. But at my age, you simply can't do those things. And I guess if I have to be a grown-up, I'd like to be good at it. This year, I definitely improved, and maybe next year I'll get even better at this whole adult thing.

↑ Family
I love my family. They're the people I call when I'm having the worst days, they're the people I text when I see something silly. Next year I'll have one more person to be thankful for in my family: I have a new niece on the way. And I've really enjoyed learning to be an aunt this year. But I worry about my family, too. I have three living grandparents, and all of them have started having serious health troubles in the last year or so. I know it's an incredible blessing to have three living grandparents, especially when they're all in their eighties or nineties. I just hope I can say that next year. In the meantime, I celebrate their presence. I celebrate that this year I've gotten to spend time with so many of them.

? 2011
I never know what to say about the upcoming year. I've never been good at predictions, so I try not to speculate about what's to come. Last year I resolved to "get a life", and this year I worked on that: I joined a gym and lost some weight, I spent more time out with friends and worked harder to actually take my sabbath off. I visited family and took off on weekend trips. I got the dog I've always wanted. (And I dodged that funk I was sliding into an hour ago!) But in 2011, I want to work even more at getting a life. I want to spend more time with friends, I want to keep my job from invading my life, I want to spend more time looking for joy in the everyday. I suppose that's my new year's wish for you, too. May you get a life, live it to the full every day, see God in the world around you, and have your heart filled with joy.

Long Road to Christmas

They have come, not because all the world must be registered, but because they want to spend the holiday with family. They have brought gifts, not to the Christ child, but in remembrance and celebration of God's gift of Emmanuel. They have come to my home to spend Christmas with me, and I'm so excited I can barely contain it. I love my family, and I'm really glad to have them here. The preparations, the tidying and scrubbing and shopping and wrapping and decorating, have been totally worth it. Now the people I love most are here, or will be tomorrow. And finally, FINALLY after weeks of Advent preparations, I feel ready for Christmas to arrive. It's excellent timing, really, since Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Joy abounds, my heart is singing, and the Savior is coming. This is why I love Christmas.

Advent Sunrise

Last night was the winter solstice. For those of you who didn't pay attention in elementary science, that means it was the longest night of the year. We've now reached the darkest part of the year, the day when we see the sun the least and we are most enveloped in the black of night.

I'm pretty sure that it was only because it was the longest night of the year that I was actually awake this morning and out walking Charlie at sunrise. But for once I was glad to be up that early. This morning's sunrise was simply gorgeous. The rest of the sky was a sort of light blue-gray because of the cloud cover, but in the east, the sun cut across the horizon with bright orange, which faded into a pattern of glowing orange and pink arcs through the blue clouds. It was truly breathtaking. As I watched the sky glow, I thought two things: 1) This was worth waiting all the long night for, and 2) It was worth being awake to see it.

It reminded me of Matthew 25:13, "Therefore, stay awake...!" which was, conveniently, one of the texts for the first week of Advent this year. I think, if the coming of God's kingdom is as beautiful and colorful as the sunrise this morning, it's worth keeping alert so we don't miss it. I believe it will be infinitely more beautiful, and so definitely worth the wait. I just hope I can hang onto that hope when the night is longest and darkest.

Our Christmas Concert on Sunday included the song "Hope for Resolution." It's a beautiful piece that combines a Zulu song with "Of the Father's Love Begotten", which was written to celebrate the end of apartheid in South Africa.

As I sat in the Sanctuary watching our choirs sing this piece, the faces of our choir members blurred with my memories of Robben Island and the informal settlements around Cape Town. I remembered the Zulu and Xhosa songs that the members of the Methodist Church I attended in South Africa sang so passionately and joyfully. I loved hearing our adult and youth choirs in Virginia singing a song of hope in Zulu with huge smiles on their faces, while our children's choir sang the credal words of "Of the Father's Love Begotten". And for the first few moments, I thought of the huge steps forward that have been made in South Africa, and the hope for further advancement there.

But as the song went on, I began to think about the places where conflict, violence, and inequality still oppress people. I thought of the slums and the hungry children I saw in South Africa, Peru, and Brazil. I thought of the growing threat of violence in Cote D'Ivoire and in Korea. It hurts my heart to think that we still kill each other, still think one race or gender is better than another, still sit idly by while people barely survive lives of hunger, need, and poverty.

I suppose that's why the arranger mixed the Zulu song with "Of the Father's Love Begotten." The hymn emphasizes the great love in the gift of God-with-us. It's not just God that is among us, it's God's love come to life in our world. That's the greatest source of hope imaginable. What other force, what other gift could transform the world? Now, the world has not yet been transformed completely. We only see glimmers of that hope come to life. But those hints of light, like the end of apartheid, remind us of God's love at work in the world.

Yelling at God

Lately I've been doing a lot of visits with people who are in enormous physical pain. I've sat by bedsides and been asked over and over, "Where is God? Why is God letting me suffer like this?" It is, I think, one of the hardest questions in anyone's walk of faith. It's not just a whiney "Why me?" in the face of irritations, this is the genuine lament, the cry of deep pain and anguish. It's always hard to hear, always hard to reconcile with a loving God. But this time of year, when so much of our popular culture is focused on joy, and when our churches are celebrating the incredible love of the God who chooses to be God-With-Us, it's particularly jarring.

How can the God who became human in Christ, who has felt physical pain and experienced the loneliness and hopelessness of human mortality, allow that pain to continue. The Emmanuel is supposed to be "God-With-Us", so where are the comfort and healing that are supposed to be part of that?

I do not know. So the best I can offer the people who ask me such questions is to tell them that God is there, even if it doesn't feel like it, and to invite them to yell. I figure that you can be as mad as you want at God, and you may have very good reason. And as long as you're still communicating with God, even if it's angry yelling, you can sustain that relationship. It's only when we get so angry with God, so hurt by the circumstances around us, that we STOP talking to God that we're really in trouble.

Light and Warmth

In the midst of cold and dark, Christmas reminds us of the warmth and light. I was reminded of that particularly this evening. The church had our annual Christmas Concert, and it was awesome. The program celebrated the coming of Christ, the light of the world. The first few pieces talked about our yearning for Christ's coming, our seeking the hope that the light of Christ brings. Then the later pieces described and celebrated the coming of the Christ, bringing light to the dark world and redeeming all creation. The pieces selected were excellent, but the best part was watching our choirs and musicians perform them. The beautiful music poured over us while we watched the joy and hope and peace expressed on the faces of our friends as they sang.

Then, after the concert, I was invited to spend the evening eating dinner and playing games with a family from church. It was a relaxed evening, we shared take-out pizza and played dominoes, but there was a warmth that I don't always experience. For this one evening, I felt like I was surrounded by family, embraced with laughter and conversation and comfort. I miss sharing those moments with my own family, many of whom live far away, so it was a great joy to be a part of a family for the evening.

Usually after such a fun evening, I feel a bit sad coming back to my empty apartment. Tonight was a little different, though. Tonight I curled up on the love seat, turned on the lights on the tree, and just enjoyed a few minutes of quiet. Charlie hopped up on my lap and, for a moment, I got to soak in the light of the tree, absorb the warmth of a cuddly pup, and relax. This time it wasn't lonely, it was simply peaceful.

What I'm Going to Say

Tomorrow I'm preaching. I love preaching. It also makes me nervous. Even when I'm confident that I'm bringing a powerful word from God, even when I think the sermon has illustrations that will connect with people where they are, I get nervous. But I'm never more nervous than the night before I bring a difficult word.

I think sermons are like food. There are cake and ice cream sermons: sermons that are encouraging and heart-warming. There are steak sermons: words that are difficult to dig into, usually with deep theological points that you have to chew on for awhile. There are vegetable sermons, words that are important for people to hear, that speak to their hearts and circumstances, but which are a little easier to chew on than steak. I mostly preach vegetable sermons, and I like it that way. But the sermons that make me most nervous are the brussels sprouts sermons. These are difficult words. Things we need, healthy things to hear, they're easy to chew, but they're not pleasant to digest. We need to hear them, though.

When I was little, my parents required me to eat a little bit of all the foods I didn't like. They called these small portions, "No, thank you helpings." The sermon I'm reaching tomorrow is, I fear, a No-Thank-You helping of brussels sprouts. It's a Word that I need to hear, and that the congregation needs to hear. It's the Word God has laid on my heart this week as I've wrestled with the lectionary passages. But it's not an easy Word, or a pleasant message to hear.

Tomorrow I'm going to stand in the pulpit and hand out brussels sprouts. I know its healthiest for all of us, but I feel a little like my parents must've felt at the kitchen table as I whined and complained and made faces until the awful green vegetables on my plate had gotten cold and rubbery. I believe that this is the right thing to do, but I'm not looking forward to the response.

I just hope no one brings their rotten tomatoes to worship.