Jessica's Adventures

Last night, I was washing dishes, which is my usual nightly chore after James goes to bed. We’re grateful dishwasher users, but with his birth, there were so many things that had to be washed by hand and often, that this became one of my chores. And usually I hate it. I often resent things that require my time and discipline when all I really want to is sit, rest, recover from the day, and maybe even spend some time with my husband.

But that was not the case last night. Last night, I tied an apron around my waist and laughed to myself. I had asked for aprons for Christmas and am delighting in the 2 cute ones my cousin got me – one white with black polka dots and the other a cupcake design. I laughed because as grateful as I am not to completely soak my clothes with the help of these aprons, it’s funny to think of myself – a strong, independent pastor, here in the kitchen in a frilly, pretty apron doing the dishes. It seems like a contradiction.

I felt peace settle over me as I reminded myself – “Mountain pose at the front of your mat” – in this case, the padded mat in front of the sink – “Stand up tall, feet parallel to one another, breathe.” When I stand this way, rooted into the floor, the ground, the earth, the chore becomes less painful on my back.

I considered all these things, because if there’s one thing washing dishes is good for, besides getting tiny bowls, spoons, and sippy cups clean, it’s giving me a chance to think. Maybe there’s not so much discord between who I am and what I’m doing as there might appear. In this small act, I serve my family. I get things clean that need to be clean. I take upon myself the dirt and grime and wash it all away. And I am nothing less for this act of love.

In that moment, the kitchen sink was redeemed as a beautiful glimpse of the self-giving love of God. God deigned it worthwhile to take on a human life in order to wash, to clean, to renew us all. And while some theologians have called this incarnation in Jesus Christ to be the humiliation of God and the exaltation of humanity, I question the former.

Is God disgraced by being among us? It sounds just like the kind of stuff God always does – whether it’s a walk in the garden looking for the two kids or passing a prophet by on a mountainside – God moves in creation, in loving relationship, and is nothing less for it. The incarnation was a surpassingly unique and powerful way of showing us, all of us thick-headed mud creatures, that God is always that close even as God is entirely transcendent. God’s inherent, magnificent, mysterious nature is no more stooped in the incarnation than my more ordinary life is debased by doing some dishes. We’re both in the business of creating order out of chaos and getting things clean.

I know some folks might think that this metaphor is silly. They might think that I think too much of myself or too little of God because I catch a glimpse of how my life story is caught up in the grand story of creation in something so mundane. But I think it’s important.

While serving as a chaplain candidate in the Air Force, I asked some of the young men training to be Catholic priests why women couldn’t do the same. It wasn’t rude – we’d already done countless runs and push-ups together, helped each other over brick walls and through truly boring classes and demanding memorization – so we were ready to ask real questions and understand each other more. The guys explained that it was because a woman could not be imago Christi, that is in the image of Christ. Literally because Christ was male and all women were, well, female.

I understand the literal nature of this interpretation, even as I detest the limits it sets for half of humanity. So, I rejoice that I’m able to see myself and all my sisters in God’s glorious work, fully embracing our imago Dei, even in the mundane workings of life, from birth to death and all the dishes in between.

I’ve been thinking about transition, dreams, and contentment a bit lately. It’s that time of year when my family asks me for a Christmas list because, for many of us, our love language is giving gifts. Or, at least, it’s one of our love languages, a way of saying, I value you, I treasure you, I want you to be happy.

So, my cousin contacted us to let us know that our lists were insufficient. Probably because my grandpa starts Christmas shopping in July. So last night, just before we turned in, my husband remarked, “I don’t know what else to ask for that’s not really expensive.” I thought for a moment, then named 5-6 things I could imagine he could want or need. We laughed at how well I knew him and how good I am at thinking of gifts. Then I asked him to try to do the same for me, since I don’t have any idea of what to add to my list either. He was stumped. I think his exact words were, “If I knew what you wanted, I would know what to get you every year.”

As I lay down, I pondered his words. Why is it that I don’t want things? Why is it that I can’t come up with a good list of things that can be ordered and wrapped and given? Honestly, I think it’s because I’m content with my life for the most part. I have everything I need and then some. Sure, we have recurring needs – diapers, wipes, food, gas, etc. – but not the kinds of things that most folks think make good gifts.

But I refuse this year to ask for wasteful things. In the past, I’ve filled up lists with books that look good that I’ve never read, movies I like but never sit down to watch, or music that sits dormant on an ancient iPod. There’s something within me that has known this was not right, but this year, is adamant in saying, “No!”

Perhaps it’s because I’m in a different place this year. I’ve now been a mom for over a year and my perspective has been radically, irrevocably changed. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been in transition for that year and am just now finding my footing again. The transition of my body that occurred during the birth of my son – that agonizing, amazing time – was only the beginning of this transition of my life.

Recently on Facebook, I’ve been reminded of the fragility of our lives and how many things can cause these transitions. A friend posted the other day that it was 2 months ago that his daughter was born, who has since died. Then today, a friend who had announced that they were expecting shared the hard news that they had miscarried. It all made me think of this poem:

“Harlem” by Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
            Does it dry up
            like a raisin in the sun?
            Or fester like a sore –
            And then run?
            Does it stink like rotten meat?
            Or crust and sugar over –
            like a syrupy sweet?

            Maybe it just sags
            like a heavy load.

            Or does it explode?

Sometimes transition comes on the heels of a dream deferred. And lately, in my experience, that has looked like the lives of children being tragically short. I look at my son, who laughs and plays and tries to run, feeling the precarious nature of things. Last week in youth, we talked about joy and I taught that joy is an abiding gift of God that is deeper than happiness. I wonder in those moments of watching my child, if I could still feel joy if something happened. I trust, by faith, that joy would still be waiting, like a deep pool of peaceful waters, beneath the tumult of trouble or despair.

But when you’re in transition – when all you can do is breathe and cry and curse and try to run from the inescapable pain that will not be denied because it is a part of you – it can be hard to know anything else. I pray for all of us that we will not dry up or fester or rot or become sickeningly sweet or sag or explode. I don’t believe that is the will of God. I believe the tragic times of transition in our lives are a byproduct of the broken, sinful world we live in. But I also believe that God is with us in the transition, no matter how painful, waiting expectantly to bring new life into being.

Two Sundays ago, on October 9, we had our drivers license covenant service to lift up and celebrate those youth who had gotten their license in the past year. This service grew up out of tragedy. Years ago, two young men in our church were involved in a very bad car accident and lost their lives. Since that time, we have conducted this service to celebrate a milestone but also to make clear the responsibility of joining the community of drivers.

Since July, I’ve been starting my third year in this pastorate. The first year, all young pastors are admonished to change nothing, so the service flowed as it had been designed in previous years. Then last year, I was out on maternity leave during the fall. But this year, with ordination around my shoulders, an intern on my staff, and a passion to do more and better, we revamped this service.

The first thing was to set the table. With the help of a congregant who owns a local salvage yard, I was able to get a tire, a steering column, and a dash from various cars. Then I put the cross in the center (where it should always be, right?) and three candles in front representing our triune God. I borrowed the licenses of all the adults present and placed them around the altar. A small bowl with the items our new drivers would be receiving – an ichthus keychain and a “dnt txt n drv” thumb ring – was put on top of the tire. One of our offering plates was placed front and center for use during the service.

Following a prayer for admission to the community of drivers, these newly licensed folks came and put their licenses in the offering plate. Then a youth read this scripture:

⁴ Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. ⁵ Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. ⁶ Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. ⁷ And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. ⁸ Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. ⁹ Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you. – Philippians 4:4-9

 Then I gave a message which sounded something like this: This could easily be a time of admonishment – don’t speed, don’t be distracted while driving, etc. etc. But that’s what you’ve probably been hearing from everyone else. So tonight, I invite us to rejoice! You were one thing and now you are another and in the church, we rejoice when that happens. We see it in baptism – you were outside the church and now you have been washed and united to the Body of Christ. We see it in baptism – you were two separate people and now you have been united together. We see it in a funeral – you were here among us where we could see you and now you have gone on to glory in God. So, tonight, we have come to another one of those points – you were one thing, and now you’re another.

You are a driver. You are the wielder/director of massively engineered pieces of metal. Your status has changed to be a blessing to the community. Now you can be the one who asks another, “Do you need a ride to church?” Or maybe later in your life, “Let me drive you home.” You have the capability to move people and things from one place to another with speed and care. It’s amazing.

I never thought much about my own driving until I became a seminary student and put the sticker on my rear windshield “SMU: Perkins School of Theology.” I was so proud, so excited to be a seminary student. But then I realized that everyone knew exactly who I was, and whose I was, every time I drove. The person I pulled in front of, the person I sped past, the person I gave a dirty look – they all knew I wasn’t living up to who I said I was and who had claimed my life.

You’ve put your drivers licenses in the offering plate because you are offering that part of your life to God. No part of your life is out of God’s sight or reach or care. So, with that in mind, I would simply lift up a piece of our scripture reading – “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen, and the God of peace will be with you.”

I invited them to stand before the altar, to receive back their licenses, and to receive the keychains and rings with the words, “Remember who you are and whose you are.”

For those of us whose days and lives are so fragmented – a lot of work here, a little time for family there, a little time for self shoved off to the side – it’s hard to see our lives as whole offerings to God. But that’s what I’ve finally concluded is true.

Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee.
Take my moments and my days; let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of they love.
Take my feet, and let them be swift and beautiful for thee.
- UMH 399

Which makes this video funny to me, because it’s true, too: Wrong Worship. Or at least in our selfish, normal mindset it is. But God is always asking more of us – whole lives offered as living sacrifices on the altar – hands motivated by holy love – feet (and cars) quick to serve.

I was baptized at the Wesley Foundation at the University of Central Arkansas in November 1999. I joined a church for the first time, First United Methodist Church of Denton, Texas, on February 23, 2003. I felt a call to ministry and was recommended by our charge conference on December 17, 2004. I started seminary at Perkins School of Theology in the fall of 2005 and graduated in May 2009. I was commissioned as a provisional elder in The United Methodist Church in June 2009 and was appointed back to First United Methodist Church of Denton. This past summer, I was ordained as an elder in full connection.

I list my credentials only to say that I feel like I should have solid answers. So, to my surprise/chagrin, I’m sitting in church this past Sunday morning, singing a hymn and I find I’m having trouble with the theology.

Be not dismayed whate’er betide, God will take care of you;
beneath his wings of love abide, God will take care of you.

Chorus: God will take care of you, through every day, o’er all the way;
he will take care of you, God will take care of you.

Through days of toil when heart doth fail, God will take care of you;
when dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you.

All you may need he will provide, God will take care of you;
nothing you ask will be denied, God will take care of you.
- UMH #130 “God Will Take Care of You”

At the late service, I actually leaned over to my fellow associate pastor and said, “I’m having trouble with this one.” Sure, I believe that God takes care of us. In fact, I believe that God is creatively breathing into each and every moment, sustaining us like a mother holding her toddler’s hand each step of the way. But I don’t know where I stand on “all you may need, he will provide.” I know for a fact that there are many of God’s beloved children who do not have all provision for all their needs. So I find myself questioning this doctrine of providence. Of course, this is a perfectly comforting sentiment to sing, but what does it mean that God provides?

There wasn’t time to linger on these questions in the moment. But as I started my day today, I thought about how very much I don’t know when it feels like I’m supposed to know. Even as, or maybe especially as, a newly ordained elder in The United Methodist Church, I’ve filled reams of paper with my “answers” on doctrinal matters. I have acted like I’ve known.

There’s really a lot I don’t know. During a difficult time for dear friends who are also clergy, this is a portion of the prayer I was able to find words to offer:

Dear God,
I’m a pastor but that doesn’t mean I know how this prayer thing works. Sometimes I wish it was Christmas lists or vending machines, but somehow I know it’s more and better than that. Thanks for listening to us. Thank you for your presence with us. Thank you for your love that never lets us go, no matter how we cry out and struggle. Lord, do what you do when we pray. You are our God, we are your people. Amen.

I love language, so I know I could have been fancier, more eloquent, but in the rocky, real parts of life, I think you can just be yourself with God. I believe it’s better to just be yourself with God.

So, with more questions than pat answers, I know I’m at home. I don’t belong to a church that claims to have all the answers, we don’t ask you to sign a doctrinal piece before you join, and often we readily admit that there’s a lot to the mystery of our God.

What I do know, and what has made all the difference, is that I know God loves me, loves all persons, loves all creation. And God will bear with me, with all of us, while we ask our questions and toddle along the way that leads to life eternal.

A girl wears a bikini at church camp and it’s considered inappropriate, so instead of singling her out, the camp directors decide that everyone will wear t-shirts at the pool. 

A girl is on mission trip and is repeatedly asked to change clothes since her sleeveless t-shirts and shorts do not abide by the clothing policy. 

A boy at camp decides to wear short shorts at camp in celebration of 80′s day. He and his friends laugh while some of the counselors roll their eyes. 

A pastor at a local church wears a skirt and top to worship since the worship leaders have decided not to wear robes over the hot summer. A few congregants comment that her skirt length is not appropriate. 

How do we consider bodies as members of the body of Christ? I’ve been thinking about this for a long time since our faith is radically incarnational. God took on flesh. God was born, experienced the best and worst of human existence, and then suffered a horrible death, but that was not enough to conquer God who rose from the dead, body and all. God not only created us to be beloved children; God loved and valued us enough – desired to be in relationship with us enough – to humble God’s self to life in a body. 

So what do we think of these precious bodies that God values so much? As Americans, it seems like we spend most of our time objectifying bodies, especially female bodies but male bodies more and more. Bodies are seen in everything from works of art to crass commercials. Bodies are washed, clothed, cared for, loved. Bodies are dirtied,  humiliated, stripped, hated. 

So what is a faithful follower of Christ supposed to do? Here is what I’ve discerned so far:
1) Respect Bodies – Respect other bodies’ needs. See their needs as no different from and just as important as our own. 
2) Heal Bodies – All bodies deserve to be healthy and whole. Persons should have access to good food, water, shelter, and medical care to ensure their body’s health. Touch is a powerful remedy in itself; there’s a reason it’s included in healing services. 
3) Love Bodies – Handle and observe bodies with love. I feel a surge of compassion when I see the very young and very old struggle to walk, stand, kneel. I admire the grace and prowess of athletes and youth. And when a body needs love – in the form of a hug, handshake, or gentle touch on the shoulder – I pray I might have the grace to offer what I, too, need. 

In baptism we use water in the ancient act of washing a body. In communion we gather bodies around a common table to learn how we can all receive the nourishment we need. God pours out grace in ways our bodies recognize and with which our souls resonate. 

There are things only having a body can teach us. Think of learning to ride a bicycle. When I try to describe the intricate art of sitting, balancing, peddling, racing over pavement or dirt trails, it sounds ridiculous. Even watching my son as he learns to stand and, eventually, walk gives me new appreciation for the skills I’ve taken for granted for years. 

So it’s no surprise to me that God teaches us through our bodies, too. And maybe, as we give and receive respect and healing and love, we’ll be better at living as the Body of Christ, too. 

I’m so tired. That is the uppermost thought and it’s only Monday. Yesterday I met 17 youth and their parents as well as 3 adult counselors in our church parking lot at 5:30am to set off an adventure to grow and serve in Nashville. While we didn’t actually hit the road til 6:07am, which put us behind to make a 6pm arrival time, travel went well. (Note: there’s not much in the way of restaurants between Little Rock and Memphis). It was amazing how my eyes were filled with the green trees and then mountains as we traveled east. I remember that I missed the trees when I first moved to Texas, but to see the landscape change so dramatically in just a few hours was just cool.

So we arrived, unloaded, stood awkwardly near the folks from other United Methodist churches, divided into work crews, ate dinner, played, worshipped, debriefed as a church, then finally slept. A good first day.

Today began as I heard the crew assigned to breakfast getting ready to prepare our food. Groggy but thankful, I rolled out and headed downstairs (girls are on the 3rd floor, guys on the 4th floor of McKendree United Methodist Church, which hosts this program all summer; talk about extravagant generosity and radical hospitality). Breakfast, packed lunches, then devotional time, something I don’t do in my ordinary life that I definitely should. Then our crews (Carrie Underwood, Reba, Garth Brooks, Alan Jackson, Johnny Cash, and my crew Taylor Swift) made sure the coolers were ready as we sized each other up (each crew is made up of at least 2 churches). TSwift, with its folks from Texas and Ohio, headed off to Harvest Hands.

We’ll be there all week, playing with kids in their morning Rex program, working in the garden, clearing a field as they prepare to work on affordable housing projects for neighbors, and teaching children in the afternoon camp. It was amazing. I made a spoon puppet with a girl who shared a story of being lost in a store and walking home since her parents had left the store. She was halfway there when her parents found her. When I asked how old she was when this happened, the answer was 2. Life is a brilliant gift, but it’s not easy. I’m so humbled and challenged to be serving. And from what I’m starting to hear from our youth as they rush off to showers, they’re experiencing their own challenges and blessings.

On Thursday, we had our talent show with the junior high youth at camp. I always really like talent show, even though it means a late night, because by this point of camp, the audience is the best. They receive the gifts as they are intended, not judged on their perfection. And the perfection, really for me, is in the spirit in which they are shared. To see a shy young man that I’ve seen coming to camp for 3 years now get up in front of his peers and lead a song while girls dance behind him is amazing. Then there are the shockingly wonderful God-given gifts that many of our campers bring – singing, playing instruments, creating origami, dancing, and acting just to name a few.

My favorite part of the night was the emcee crew. This team of youth entertained their peers by spoofing directors and senior counselors. The young woman who played me was so funny. She had sunglasses on her head, her hair in a ponytail, the first aid kit on her shoulder, and often greeted the campers with “May the Lord be with you!” And, in the team’s quest for the holy chicken, she was the one who captured it. I couldn’t help but heckle at one point, calling out from the back, “I need a band-aid!” 

Another great part of camp has been the worship. All week we’ve had amazing worship, with many campers sharing testimony about the struggles in their lives and the place of God and community in helping them through it. On Thursday we had our call to discipleship service. We don’t do it on the last night, intentionally, because usually emotions are already high as campers realize that they’re going to be going home soon, leaving behind some of the magic of camp.

So there we are at vesper point, hearing amazing testimony and then we were asked to say yes to God, for the first time or to recommit ourselves to being God’s people in the world. The senior counselors created a ring around the worship space, inviting campers to come to them for prayer as they shared their decisions. It was a beautiful way to be church. That should be us all the time – a community of faith encouraging one another, praying with and for one another, and looking toward how we can impact the world.

Tonight was also wonderful. To address the high level of sadness that often goes with the last night, we decided to really celebrate communion. An SC and I had noted that we use those words to describe what we’re doing, but the energy is low as we approach the table. We confuse reverence with being somber. So we decorated the altar and benches with streamers and balloons and, during communion, had the same SCs who had prayed with and for our campers ring the space with sparklers and bubbles. It was amazing. We expressed what we were grateful for before we all joined in the great thanksgiving. It was a wondrous way to close our week worshipfully.

Tomorrow we send our campers home. We send them back to the joys and struggles of everyday life. And, after hearing their hurts, sharing their dreams, and drawing near to our God together, I will continue to pray for them.

I’ve come to the conclusion that camp is amazing, exhausting, wonderful, challenging, and transformative. There are endless bumps, bruises, and bug bites. But there are also endless opportunities. And a lot of what you get out of it depends on what you put into it. I know that for a lot of campers, they are at a liminal moment, a threshold time between where they are and where they are going.

Yesterday at dinner we had a hunger banquet. At the door, all 225 campers along with the 30 senior counselors were given a ticket at the door that directed them to an upper-class section (with tables and chairs), middle-class section (with chairs), or lower-class section (on the floor). We embodied the reality that the earth’s resources, which are sufficient for everyone, are not fairly distributed.

The 15% in the upper-class enjoyed a 3 course meal served to them in their seats, with two people nearby to get them whatever they wanted. The middle-class folks received rice and beans on a plate as they went through a buffet line. The lower-class folks were given a pot of rice and a large bowl of water on the floor. There were not enough bowls, cups, or napkins for all of them so they had to figure it out. You can learn more about hunger banquets at Oxfam.

I had never attempted this sort of experiential activity with so large a group. I was apprehensive about whether or not the campers would embrace it or just try to ignore it. Many of them asked me, “Is this all we’re getting tonight?” My response, “This is dinner.” It was a statement of fact to let them live in the moment without comforting themselves that there would be pizza later in the evening.

It was startling to see how quickly the folks relegated to the lower-class group turned on each other and their fellow campers as they tried to get food. Some chose not to eat since they didn’t like rice, which is not an option for folks who are truly hungry. And when the upper-class got cheesecake for dessert, there was an audible outcry from the other parts of the room.

It was a great social experiment to bring these things together in one room. In our debriefing, we noted that most of the time the poor are invisible because we push them to the margins, out of our sight so that we are not bothered by our self-indulgence and waste. One of the girls who was sitting in the upper-class said at the end of the meal, “I feel bad throwing away this food.” The impact of seeing many of her fellow youth go hungry had hit home. I nodded and asked, “Did you throw away any food at lunch?” I saw her eyes go wide as she realized she had, but she had been unaware of the impact that had made.

We also noted that they are junior high youth and they may not get much say in what food their parents buy and how resources are used. But they are not powerless. There is always something we can do. When we imaginatively perform small acts, the world can be transformed. Glory be to God!

Today I walked into Kiker, the main gathering building at Bridgeport Camp & Conference Center, and, for the first time this year, had the moment that said, “Wow! I’m at camp…” The room was full of bodies – short, tall, male, female, younger, older. It’s an amazing moment when you realize all of these youth and adults have decided to spend a week at church camp. Sure, there’s going to be fun, but there’s also going to be invitations to deepen faith, recommit to the way of a disciple, and consider what might be risked to respond to God.

That’s our theme this year – Risk the Response. I’m excited. Last night we met with senior counselors (SCs) and junior counselors (JCs) and I was so encouraged to see their leadership and faithfulness in offering their time and talent to serve in this way. It’s good news in a world that increasingly presses us to do otherwise. Setting aside a week – away from televisions, computers, and the usual routine – is a huge deal. To offer to lead youth, whether they are your children, your church members, or your peers, is exceptional.

I’m so glad to be here, although my heart broke a little on leaving my family for a week. But as I crested the rise on the little FM to see the lake sparkling in the sunlight and camp spread out like a playground for the faithful, I felt ready for a week of camp. Camp is an amazing ministry. It’s more than playing games or swimming or worship. It’s set aside time, so I guess, in a way, it’s sabbath. It’s set aside time to draw closer to each other and to God. And it’s a thing we’re reluctant to do most of the time, in the “real world.”

But somehow, this feels more real. It feels more solid, more grounded, more tapped into the great fount of creation. So even though I’ll miss lots of sleep as I solve challenges in my work as a director and I miss my family something terrible and one of my co-directors became my hero by killing at least 4 monsterous bugs in my room before bedtime last night, I am deeply glad and grateful to be at camp.

Graduation isn’t the end says one of the Guyer HS valedictorians. I agree. It’s a big transition, one of those pivot points where you get to decide, again, who you are, who you have been, and who you want to become.

I’m listening to these amazing students speak with fervor and passion about adulthood, success, and life in general. They believe anything is possible and it wakes up a part of me that is often dormant. The conviction that ANYTHING is possible.

That’s what I believe – that by God’s grace, anything is possible. So while I’m still a realistic young woman, 13 years out from my own high school graduation, who is likely to make snarky assessments of the fashion choices around me and analyze the family systems as the names are called, I recognize that God is here, too. God is in and amongst and within the crowd of family and loved ones, teachers and administrators, the bleacher seats, steel beams, and basketball banners. Praise be to God that we have endless opportunities to wake to the presence again.