Jessica's Adventures

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.

Just after I last posted, I was doing my typical stuff on Facebook – scrolling through the newsfeed, checking on friends, uploading pictures and videos – when something caught my eye: “the lakers are a bunch of homosexuals.”

This was one of many times that one of my friends has used “gay” as an insult. So, I posted my standard response – Gay is not an insult. I know you can be more creative. I’m not saying I’m spotless in this regard; I grew up in the generation that used “lame” and “retard” as standard insults. But I’ve grown up, matured, and realized that this kind of use of language is harmful and dangerous. I really do want us to be more creative when we are expressing our displeasure with something. 

But it was what followed my remark that bothered me the most. Another friend of my friend wrote, “are we kidding, gay is as big of an insult as there is.”

Really?!

As you can tell, I’ve deliberated for weeks before responding, but even now, when I went back to my friend’s page and read the posts again, to make sure I was remembering it accurately, my gut responds the same way. Really?!

I like to keep some of my convictions and beliefs to myself in the course of ordinary pastoral ministry. I deeply respect all persons and believe them to be children of God, just like me. I am hesitant to put any stumbling blocks between me and my congregation or anyone else. I really do want to live and let live as we all stumble our way toward God. As the obscure 16th century theologian Rupertus Meldenius said, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; and, in all things, charity.”

To appreciate the juxtaposition of life, at the same time I was mulling this over, I found a few other things. One was the It Gets Better Project featured in a commercial. While I am straight, I can understand the loneliness and pain that accompanies most people at some point or another and the reassurance and hope that a community of people who have been there can offer. I have felt the same way as the sisterhood of mothers has surrounded and supported me as I began my own floundering way in this new calling.

And, through Glee, I came to appreciate Lady Gaga. The anthem, “Born This Way” is awesome and helped me articulate what I was wanting to say to the person who thinks “gay” or “homosexual” is an ultimate insult.

I’m beautiful in my way / ‘Cause God makes no mistake
I’m on the right track, baby / I was born this way
Don’t hide yourself in regret / Just love yourself and you’re set
I’m on the right track, baby / I was born this way

I’ve preached on the power of words. I believe our words can participate in the power of the Word of God, which does not return empty, but accomplishes that which God purposes and succeeds in the thing for which God sends it. And yet we use our words to wound with vicious apathy. Why do we use the gift of language to hurt others for who they are? It would be like saying, “That’s so blue-eyed” and meaning it to be an insult.

At the same time, I know God calls us to live redeemed lives. I’m not perfect, but I earnestly believe that I am going on to perfection in love, with God’s help. And I know that by the power of the Holy Spirit, we can all be our best, most-redeemed selves. Using our words wisely and offering courageous love is a part of that. So be more creative.

One of the new things we are doing as a pastoral staff is Pastor on the Square – an hour each Thursday morning when one of the pastors hangs out at Jupiter House. This was my idea after our lead pastor, Matt, came back from a workshop and shared the expert’s recommendation that pastors spend more time out of their offices, out of their churches, in order to draw others into the church. It makes sense. From my desk, who am I reaching? Sure, I’m planning programming or writing sermons that I hope will reach folks, but how much more effective might it be for me to go outside and actually meet people.

So today was one of my turns. I love this experience since it affords me an opportunity to walk the streets of my city and meet people. My fellow associate pastor, Lisa, often teases me since I’m a huge extrovert and am always looking for ways to interact with folks. It feeds my spirit!

But today, I’m tired. I had a long day yesterday followed by a night of wonderful meetings that are helpful to the life and work of church, but take a lot of energy. So I’m dragging. I take a couple of Reporters with me (the newspaper of our national church, with a local North Texas Conference edition included). I rarely have time to read, so I feel like this will be a good investment of time if I don’t happen to strike up a lengthy conversation with anyone.

I have to confess – I had to make myself keep reading many times. Not because the content wasn’t good, but because I’m so tired. And it was a good exercise to ask myself why? Of course, my baby boy did have a hard night last night and we were up a couple of hours together, but beyond that, sometimes I’m just tired of maintaining the level of programming and the thought of taking on anything new is daunting.

I read an article on the Latchkey program at Floral Heights UMC in Wichita Falls, and wonder why we haven’t shared the good news of our own Children’s Day Out/FunStop programs lately. They are amazing gifts to our community and draw in more new persons to faith and membership at our church than many realize.

I read an article on Grace Church, a multi-site United Methodist church in Florida. “The church’s strategy is expressed in four words that seek to summarize a Wesleyan vision of sanctification – reach, connect, form, send.” The lead pastor, Rev. Jorge Acevedo, states, “We want to reach people, welcoming them with the radical welcome of God. We want to connect them to the family of God in relationships. We want to help form them into Christ’s likeness, and we want to send them out as missionaries.”

I’m encouraged, because that’s what we’re trying to do, too, through our Neighborhood ConneXion groups. Since I started at the church 5-6 years ago, I wondered what it would be like to have block parties, to get to know neighbors who were already members of my church and show our other neighbors what fun we were having and invite them along. With the advent of some very helpful software, we were finally able to map the members of our church, divide them into groups, and launch a ministry led by the laity in their own neighborhoods. After co-leading the facilitator training last night, I’m excited to see how it goes. I hope it starts to satisfy that deep-seated need we all have for meaningful relationships, for spiritual running partners to encourage us in our faith.

I turn the page and find the column Gen-X Rising by Rev. Andrew Thompson. This is always one of my favorites. This one is called “Virtual church will never replace the body of Christ” and the funny opening talks about a 1989 article in the New York Times which wondered if computer (or electronic) mail would ever supersede fax machines. Of course we all laugh, but just last night I was sharing with a youth how communicating electronically – texts, e-mails, facebook messages, and, well, even this blog – gives you a sense of anonymity that can be dangerous to the body of Christ. We misunderstand, we say things we would never say in person, we miss that personal connection that is so foundational to our identity as followers of Christ.

Real, in the flesh human relationships are tough. People disagree. Love takes a lot of hard work. But the digital universe? That’s easy…We see attempts by the church to grapple with our changing society in a number of new ways. There are some promising ones that use technology to bring people together in the flesh. But others do more harm than good…God did not tweet salvation. He didn’t send an e-mail, or a podcast or even a fax. God came in the flesh, so that all flesh might be redeemed. And the church he is building even now to proclaim that good news is meant to be a body – just as real as Jesus’ own body was and is.   
- Rev. Andrew Thompson

I feel challenged, but invigorated by the reading and conversations and a good cup of chai tea. As I walk back to the church, I think about the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. In one section, when she’s in Rome, she talks about how a city has a word that sums it up, something that defines it to the core. I think about Denton, about the bikers and students and lawyers and doctors, about the hospitals and universities and repair shops and churches and quirky little coffee shops and restaurants. I’m struck again by how just plain cool my town is. What word could define this city? What word seems to sing from the street corners and whisper from the redbud trees?

I finally settle on “create.” In Denton, we create as naturally as we breathe – art, music, scholars. Sure, some of the things we create will fail, but that doesn’t mean we stop creating. Maybe I’m a little theological in my definition, seeing us in all our imago Dei glory, partaking in God’s own creative energy, but I’m definitely more optimistic, and a little less tired, as I step back into my office.

“Hey girl, stop what you’re doing!” (Led Zeppelin, “Communication Breakdown”)

On Monday, I had my ordination interview with the Board of Ordained Ministry. I was justifiably nervous, hopeful that I would adequately communicate my theological understandings as well as my effectiveness in ministry. But one of the points I made in one of my answers to the questions posed in the Book of Discipline has stuck with me all week – how all language is metaphor.

Specifically, I was talking about my understanding of God. I often say that it’s like holding the ocean in a Dixie cup – it’s true as far as it goes, but it’s certainly not the whole of it. Language is just an agreed upon system of squiggles and grunts that we take to mean other things. No wonder we misunderstand each other so often!

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:11-12, NRSV)

The next day after this life-changing interview, I was plunged headfirst back into the everyday challenges and joys of ministry. And through the circuits of e-mails, phone calls, messages, texts, and face-to-face conversations, I got to thinking about how often these communications break down. Our words, as well-crafted and well-meaning as they may be, often don’t do our thoughts or feelings justice.

So I’m looking forward to the realization of the Kingdom of God. I have a feeling that not only will I know God fully, but I will have the joys of knowing my brothers and sisters fully, even as I will be fully known. In the mean time, I feel God calling me to stop what I’m doing, take time to sort out the messages, and struggle to find the ways that communicate more clearly.

After all, we’re called to be witnesses to the good news of God in Jesus Christ, empowered by the Holy Spirit. And that takes communication.