Gotta Have Comfort

It is a strange thing when what you preach sticks you between the eyes and preaches back to you. I think somehow preacher assume that they can hide behind their pulpits or their nicely worded manuscripts believing that they don't have to listen to God for themselves. Because after all, they wrote the sermon anyway for the CONGREGATION. I have to say, I’ve already learned that this is an easy trap to fall into. And, I have found that churches rarely hold their preachers accountable for this. I haven’t found a congregation member yet who asks me about how the sermon I wrote affected me. (Will this ever happen?) Yet. . .

I have to say that the sermon I preached on March 12 at Calvary Baptist on the topic of gluttony is still lingering in around my mind. I got several comments from individuals and even my mother as I was preparing for the sermon to the affect of “What do YOU know about that?” They look at my skinny frame and think I must have it all together in the eating department. Well, I have to confess that’s not true.

In particular, I’ve thought a lot recently about how what I eat and drink is controlled by one word: comfort. I just have to say it: I love comfort foods. High on my list are all the foods 8 year old children love such as hamburgers, French fries, milkshakes, pizza, tacos, chocolate chip cookies (and of course the cookie dough) and ESPECIALLY chips and queso or guacamole… as my roommate Abby could tell you, I could eat Mexican any day of the week with a smile on my face. And if I haven’t had a Diet Coke by noon, I’m cranky. I’m sorry to disappoint those of you who think I had gourmet tastes (maybe this is why my first career move landed me in elementary school).

Now, I know that most of us have comfort foods in our lives. Maybe for you it is ice cream or grilled cheese and tomato soup. Maybe it is something your mom makes every time you go home. Recently I heard somewhere that French fries is atop America’s list of comfort foods (thanks Frank) which is why that most entrees these days at restaurants are served with fries. Even though fast food restaurants across America are including a side salad as an option for your value meal, I believe few people actually take the restaurant up on this (I mean who actually chooses lettuce over French fries?) Temptation to eat comfortably is everywhere!

You see, I think everything in our culture tells us to pacify our emotions with food. Have a bad day? Eat_____. Need a break from life? Come eat_______. Deserve a treat? Eat________. And it is so EASY to buy into. Food often times seems like an easy solution. It is a quick fix to the pains and issues that are often in our lives. Personally, it makes me feel good to eat comfortably (well, until the bloating sets in). And, isn’t feeling good all that matters anyway? Can’t we just wake up and forget that yesterday’s large dinner didn’t exist?

So, I am not going to end this blog by saying I have a new resolution to eat less junk food when I’m sad or stop cooking Mexican almost every night for dinner--- because I am not sure I’m up for that that. Hey, eating well is the joy of the single life… you shop for yourself and eat whatever you want—no one cares but you! There is no one to telling you that you can’t eat exactly what you like.

But, at least for now, I’m aware of the fact that a majority of my food choices are based out of comfort. It is troubling actually because it is so true. So, count me in with the rest of you, I’ve bought into what our culture says about the comfort of food! Yum. Yum.

Petrified

A complete calamity hit my life about 1:45 on Monday afternoon: I was called on to read in Greek class. I felt like this artwork pictured to the left. Now I know this sounds really silly. You might ask:“Haven’t you been studying Greek for the last 8 months? Don’t you at least have some of the basic principles of pronunciation under you yet?” Well, even though taking Greek has been a large part of my study time this year, I have to admit, I still don’t have a clue what I am doing when itcomes to speaking Greek. I can write it ok, and have learned to read it just fine, but speaking? Well, you don’t want to see me try. I get English sounds for letters easily confused with Greek sounds that it is a disaster in the making. I am usually pretty talkative in class, but not in Greek out offear that I will be called upon to read. Usually, my mute strategy works well,but this was not the case this week . . .

Monday afternoon was especially traumatic considering how long the verse in Luke 7 was that I was asked to read and how long I had been away from the class since Spring Break. Picture the scene: “Elizabeth, will you read verse 36?”

I’m thinking: What? Me? I have to read now? Holy Cow, NO, I don’t want to read. Do I have to?

So, under my breathe I utter to the class: “Well, now this will be interesting.” Knowing fully well that I am about to destroy the language sitting right in front of me in my Bible.

I’ve been called on a couple times before, and have managed to get at least some of the sentence out in a fluid fashion but not this time! As I began reading, it became apparent to me and everyone in the room that I needed the remedial course in speaking Greek. Kavin, my professor, actually stopped me mid-sentence to say, “Why don’t we read together. You say a word and I’ll say a word? So, we read together the last lines of the verse." How humiliating! It was like going back to the 4th grade when I also hated being called on to read in class. I didn’t think my reading out loud skills were particularly good at that time, so I squirmed in my seat regularly at just the thought of being called on by Mrs. Coffman each day in Language Arts. Thank goodness, I got over that phase of my life and don’t mind reading English out loud. It is my job now to weekly stand in frontof large audiences of people and read something. And, I do enjoy this.

(Minus my sometimes slip ups such as I made two Sundays ago while preaching at Calvary Baptist on the topic of gluttony. I said: "I ate myself" instead of "I thought to myself"... how that happened, I'm not sure! )

Oh, but Greek is a much sadder story. So, how relived I was to be done with Luke 7:36 on Monday! It was the longest minute on the spot I’d had in a really long time. I breathed some relief but it was short lived. I knew that I would have to walk into the same classroom again on Wednesday (I am happy to report that I wasn't called on that day; praise the Lord) and for several more days to come being subjected to the possibility of being asked to read all over again. Needless to say, after Monday, I’m petrified of Greek class.

Sitting here writing this makes me fearful just thinking about it. Thank God graduation is SOON!

You are Fabulous!

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our darkness that frightens us. We ask ourselves ‘Who am I not to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won’t feel sure around you. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is in us. It not just in some of us; it is in everyone. As we let our own Light shine we unconsciously give other persons permission to do the same.”
~Nelson Mandela
1994 Inaugural Speech

What an amazing statement this is! Someone send me this quote several years ago and the more that I thought about it, the more empowering its words became. I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone say as eloquently as Mandela how important it is to live into the goodness of God’s creation found in ourselves. This was in contrast to most of the messages I received as a child growing up in church about self-worth. All of them somehow went back to a discussion of humility—you couldn’t be a “good” Christian if you weren’t constantly saying “I’m such a bad person.”

While I don’t think that humility is a bad thing (we all need a dose of it now and again), I think often times that humility can masks other issues we have like fear, low self-esteem and disbelief in God’s good plans for all people. “Just being humble” can often times keep us in bondage from how God wants to use US. There is a time to admit you don't have the answers. There is a time to let others run on ahead of you. But there is also a time to speak up and proclaim the goodness of God known to you, knowing that it is a voice that the world NEEDS to hear.

It takes a lot of courage to be an individual … to know your own worth and follow your heart even if others discredit what you know to be true about yourself. But, the more I surround myself with people who are testimonies to exactly what Mandela is talking about, the more I believe that the LIGHT of God within each of us is truly powerful. When I am around individuals who actively seek to live authentically into the person God has created them to be (warts and all), I stand amazed and am encouraged to look deeper into my own soul and become my best person too.

I really like how Mandela ends his statement by saying that the glory of God is “not just in some of us; it is in everyone.” Exactly at this place is where humility comes in, I believe. For, we realize that we are not the best thing since fried chicken as my grandmother would say, but there are multitudes of persons who are in some way just like us, children created in the image of God we begin to see God in strange places.

This whole concept is something we’ve talked extensively about in my Cross Cultural Pastoral Care and Counseling class this semester. Dr. Esther Acolatse has told us on several occasions salvation could be summed up in what it means to restore humanity to its original intention as humanity once again…. We learn to have new vision to see and treat others with dignity and respect as children of God. I really like this idea because it forces me to examine the walls in which I’ve created even with my theology to keep some people in and others out. Is anyone up for some interfaith dialogue? Bring it on.

So, Mandela’s words are some that I hope will continue to stick with me for a while and I hope that as you read them again or for this first time today, they will be on your mind as well. Maybe just maybe we’ll begin (or continue) to live into the glorious selfhood called us, while at the same time we’ll take the opportunity to recognize the glory of God in our neighbor sitting next to us wherever this may be.

Places that Define

If I were to begin to describe to you many of the crazy things that I have happened to me this year, I would be remiss if I didn’t include one place where I have been a frequent visitor: Washington D.C.

I think in life we have to pay attention to people and places that are warm and inviting… places that keep drawing us back. Washington D.C. has been one of these places that has drew me back in often surprising ways since last August (after I finished up my internship there). In fact, I’ve visited the District eight times since then.. In many ways this city has become my new home. I’ve fallen in love with city life and in particular, all the great people I’ve met since becoming acquainted with the city for the first time this time last year. It is the little things that I love… I know it must sound strange to any long term city dweller, but even the riding Metro (D.C. subway system) makes me giddy. I love that I keep my Smart Trip card still in my wallet even when I’m back in NC. And, I love the Starbucks mug that sits in my cabinet which says Washington D.C. I go to Starbucks here when I miss real city life.

And not just this, but the sights, the smells and the pace of life in D.C invigorate me. While the parking, the traffic and prices of things there can drive me crazy, the sacrifices seem small to all that you gain such as access to an incredibly diverse collection of people, coffee shops on every corner, and great opportunities for fun stuff to do. I mean, who doesn’t get excited to see the Washington or Lincoln Memorial? I have to admit that I do.

But, being the poor seminary student that I am, you might be wondering, how it is that you can afford to make such frequent trips out of town? Well, somehow, it has just worked out, financially and otherwise. One of these reasons is because of the hospitality of my friends the Butlers who live in the area. Their friendship has been a catalyst for many wonderful blessings in my life this year. I had a place to stay . . .

When I decided to come back to join Calvary as soon as I got back from Rwanda . . .
When I needed an escape from Durham over Fall Break…
When I was on my way through to a conference in Ohio . . .
When I came to town for one of my first dates with my boyfriend . . .
And just this week, when I was in town to look for jobs for after graduation I stayed with them yet again.

So because of these defining moments over the past year and many more, I am very grateful for the ways that the Butlers have allowed me to journey with them. Their welcoming presence and interest in my life have connected me to a wealth of experiences that I would not have had otherwise. In particular, they’ve enabled me to continue to be in relationship with Calvary Baptist during my last year of seminary (a community of faith whose sheer existence has cheered me on through days of wondering why I’m studying to be a pastor anyway). They've also given me a place to just be myself when I stay with them-- such an amazing gift in itself.

So, when I look back on this year of my life, I know that I will think often of how D.C. shaped my journey for things to come (who knows for what?). But, in particular, I will think of the Butlers—how they have modeled hospitality, friendship, and life together in the community of faith. How happy is this!

Amy is pictured to the right. Hayden, Sam and Hannah are below... Mark is mia in the photo gallery but still very cool.

Reconcilation that Hurts

Last Sunday night at my church, I got to do one of my favorite things: inform church people about issues of significance in the world out side of the United States. In particular, I gave a presentation on my trip last summer with Duke Divinity School to Rwanda and Uganda. In preparing for the talk, stories and memories which had begun to settle in the back of my psyche began to come to mind again. The first Sunday of our pilgrimage was particularly meaningful, and I wanted to share it with you. (I have also included pictures of the choir members I mention).

One of the most memorable times for me came as our group worshiped at the Methodist church in Butare, Rwanda alongside the Emmaus worship choir. The Emmaus worship choir sang with gusto as they proclaimed a powerful message of truth and reconciliation to everyone crowded in this small one roomed church building. Not only was the worship experience magnificent as the Holy Spirit joined our hearts together in praise of God despite language, cultural and denominational barriers, but in this context I saw the mouth crying for the first time. She was a face that proclaimed Rwanda’s pain.

I have no idea what her name was, but my eyes were drawn throughout the choir’s presentation, to this bright and cheerful woman on the front row. When the choir sang: “Prayer for Rwanda” I noticed tears running down her checks— they were silent but powerful. Thankfully, we were given English translation to the songs and I realized the poignancy of this moment. Their song was speaking the truth about how the genocide had destroyed communities, families and lives. This young woman truly lived through what she was singing about. I could only imagine what was going through her head as she sang. I wondered who she lost to the genocide. I wondered how her life changed since 1994. I wondered what she hoped for the future and how she thought it would come about now in spite of the great losses. I wondered if the government’s programs for reconciliation would ever reach her village. I wondered how her view of God was shaped by such a tragedy. That morning in church, I saw a person who in her young adulthood had seen a world of pain that my young adult years have been sheltered from in many ways. And I cried too, wanting to take her pain away, wanting Rwanda to not be broken any more, and wanting answers to my questions as to why such evil could be allowed to reign on the earth in 1994.

On a larger scale, this choir member’s raw, unashamed tears among other things spoke volumes to me about the pain still lingering in Rwanda. I found such sorrow not only in this woman but in the spirit of Rwanda itself. I could just feel the intensity of sorrow in the air as I walked the streets of Kigali and as our bus made a sweeping trip through the hills of Rwanda. There was a sense of heaviness permeating the nation—even after eleven years, the country’s pain was so deep, it stung. I saw this pain in the faces of women carrying water on the roads; I saw it in the faces of guards at the borders, and in the faces of the testimonies of survival that we heard throughout our trip. Just as Laurent Nkongoli, a survivor recounted to Philip Gourevitch, “I got tired in the genocide. You struggle so long then you get tired." I saw many emotionally and psychologically tired people too.

But, as much as I grieved to see how deeply the nation still hurt, on that Sunday in Butare, I rejoiced as well to see the great hope in the faces of all the members of the choir The choir’s joy was contagious. In the choir’s faces, I saw Rwanda’s greatest hope: the courage of its young people. Courage that would welcome strangers like us into their worship and their lives, courage that would enable persons to rise above ethic divisions and prejudges, courage that would pave the way for reconciled people to walk hand in hand in Rwanda once again. They truly embodied what Dean Jones’ sermon exhorted the congregation to: “Praise of God from the top of your head to the tips of your feet.” The choir did not sing simply to be singing. They sang with conviction of the great hope that was theirs (and ours) to claim in Christ Jesus. Yes, the genocide killed close to one million people. Yes, it was a horrific event that should not have happened, but their songs reminded all of us that the love of Jesus Christ was stronger. The reconciliation power in Christ could bind up Rwanda’s wounds and heal their hearts. It was real.