Translation, and Going Local

"If we take the Incarnation seriously, mission becomes more like translation than ideological, territorial, or even spiritual conquest. God models translation by pouring out the divine self into human form; as Walls puts it, 'The Incarnation is God's perfect translation.' God is an unapologetic locavore, using local means (human biology, local customs and languages, and cultural institutions like families and religious communities) to translate the good news of salvation into human form. And then, Christ sends us into the world as translations of God's love as well--'lesser translations, to be sure,' says Walls--but translations nonetheless."

-pg 97, Almost Christian: What the Faith of Our Teenagers is Telling the American Church, by Kendra Creasy Dean

Building

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

 - George MacDonald, from C. S. Lewis' "Mere Christianity"

And now a quick break for idealism--

So, I was originally going to make a post diving into what I've been doing with the synagogue here over the last few weeks, but then I got dragged into watching the videos from the ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) Youth Gathering, which is happening right now in New Orleans. I'm gonna get back to all my Jewish learnin', but for now I just want to talk about this conference.

I am SO EXCITED to see what's happening at the Youth Gathering, and what's going on with the next generation of the Church. They've had speakers like the always-wonderful Nadia Bolz-Weber, and this guy, Shane Claiborne, who I've never heard of before, who sounds like an old-timey tent revival preacher but who looks like a dirty hippie, and who walks the walk.

"I went up to one of those bishops afterwards and I said 'bishop, I gotta tell ya, this is so powerful and I had no idea that there were so many Christians in Iraq.' That bishop was gentle with me, but this is what he said, 'son, this is where Christianity started.' He said, 'you didn't invent Christianity in America, you just domesticated it.'"

And that's exactly how I feel about so much of the Christianity I've experienced in my life; it's domesticated. But there have always been people around to remind us, in the words of C. S. Lewis, that Aslan is not a tame lion. Martin Luther reminded us that God can't be domesticated into an economic system where forgiveness can be bought, and Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us that God can't be domesticated and reformed in the image of our own prejudices for the sake of upholding hate, and what I see in the eyes of these Christian kids today is hope that God will be set free again among us and within us.

Don't get me wrong, I love the Lutheran church. I love the hymns, I love the order of service, I love many of the ways we do things. I love that we have a history, and if I've learned nothing else from my study of all things Jewish, it's that a common history helps to bind community together when we disagree about things like which hymn book to use.

But I also believe that, as my friend Emmy says, we need to start doing church differently, and reforming the image of what it means to be a Christian in this world. And I can see the beginnings of this in people like Nadia and Shane, and in the enthusiasm of the kids at the Youth Gathering. One of the things Shane reminded me of in this video was a song we used to sing at camp that I'd totally forgotten about, but want to bring back in a big way:

"And they will know we are Christians by our love."

Learnin' About The Jews

Well, as usual, it's been a while since I posted! And instead of going all retroactive, I'm just gonna jump right in where I am right now.

I've been going to classes at Knesset Israel, which is the synagogue here in Pittsfield, where I'm staying for the summer. They're hour-and-a-half classes once per week, and the series is called "An Introduction to Judaism," or, as Ari calls it "Jew Class 101." So far I've only been able to sit in for two weeks, both of which focused on prayer; the first on prayer as a concept in Judaism and the second on the Conservative prayer book and it's use at this particular synagogue.

I've been interested in Judaism since I knew what it was, which, living in Minnesota, probably the most homogeneously Lutheran place in the country, wasn't until I was about 10 and saw "The Prince of Egypt." There were a couple of songs with bits sung in Hebrew, and I couldn't get over what a beautiful language it was. Flash forward to last year, and I had a total of two Jewish friends, both of whom were at college and somewhat disconnected from their family and their faith, but who still answered many of my questions. Then, about six months ago, I met Ari, and I promptly flooded her with questions about everything, which she graciously answered.

I'm fascinated by the similarities and differences in different religious paths, and especially the commonalities shared by the "people of the book;" Christians, Jews, and Muslims. The more I learn about Christianity and the state of the world during the formation of the early church, the more sure I am that one can't fully understand Christianity without understanding, at least in part, Jewish faith, life, and teachings. And it's with that intention that I'm soaking up as much as I can about all things Jewish while I'm here, in a place with a thriving Jewish community.

The first thing I learned was that, like in Christianity, there are several distinct branches of Judaism with different teachings about different issues, and with somewhat different histories. Just as Luther broke from the Catholic church during the reformation, and the tree began branching out from there, Judaism split during the 19th century in Europe into four separate branches; Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, and Reconstructionist. I won't get into these branches too much, except to say that it was explained to me this way; that Orthodox Jews are the most conservative and adhere most strictly to biblical law, Conservative Jews hold to most of the same teachings, but take everything much less literally (to me, Conservative Jews are to Orthodox Jews as Lutherans are to Catholics), and Reform Jews differ from the first two in that they don't believe Jewish laws taken from the bible to be binding, but they still retain the same values and ethics. I honestly can't say much about Reconstructionist Jews, because I don't know much about them, except that they seem to be more concerned with the preservation of Jewish heritage and culture than religion itself.

Knesset Israel, where I've been taking classes, is a Conservative synagogue, and everyone who's been nice enough to put up with my incessant questioning has made sure that I know that they can only answer for themselves, and to some extent for their synagogue, and for their branch of Judaism, and just as if I asked a Catholic and a Lutheran to explain the Eucharist, there will be different answers if I ask an Orthodox Jew and a Conservative Jew to explain the origin of the Torah.

So anyway, this has been an introduction to my introduction, and I hope to write another post soon about the two classes I've sat in on, and the Hebrew classes I start tomorrow! I've been learning Hebrew on my own for about two months now, but I'm still not really past learning the alphabet (or aleph-bet, as it's called in Hebrew!). Wish me luck, and I'll report back soon!

Is It All Coming Together?

This is just a quick post, because tonight at church I felt like something was slipping through me, and I want to remember it. I've had a couple of moments in the past few days that have centered around kids, and that pulled something inside me that I can't ignore.

• Last night I had a very vivid dream about a boy who looked about 8 years old. He was standing on train tracks, facing me, and singing a song about a goat that he'd owned, that was his favorite, that he knew would feed his family when it grew, but the goat was killed by a group of angry men, and now he didn't know what would happen. He was scared, and sad, and was trying to tell me why.
• I remembered a story in the book on compassion that I read over Lent, about a woman named Christina Noble who grew up on the streets in Northern Ireland, and who had a dream about helping children in Vietnam after the war. Her story has been sticking in my mind lately.
• Tonight, Pastor Mary at Bethlehem Lutheran read a couple of children's quotes from "The All Better Book," by Suzy Becker. One came from a boy named Brian, who, when asked "with billions of people in the world, someone should be able to figure out a system where no one is lonely. What do you suggest?" answered, "sing a song. Stomp your feet. Read a book. Sometimes when I think no one loves me, I do one of those." I almost started crying, partly because I felt what Brian felt, and partly because I don't want any kid to ever feel like they're not loved. It's so basic, and so necessary.
• I've been thinking a lot about my theory that the best way to overcome fear and/or anxiety (at least for me) is to find something I want more than I'm afraid of it. Does that make sense? For example, I may be afraid to fly or to travel to someplace new, but my desire to see the mountains and rivers of New Zealand was stronger than my fear. Keeping this in mind, I've recently discovered that when I'm around people who need help, I am more courageous than I would be if it was only ME needing help. My desire to protect others is stronger than my fear for my own well-being in almost every situation where other people are directly involved. For instance, when I'm traveling and I get panicky, I try to find someone who looks more scared and lost than I am, and I think about protecting them, and that somehow makes me less anxious. What I'm saying here is that not only am I beginning to think that there's a reason my brain works this way, but that there's good sense in my using this unusual spark of courage in the service of protecting and helping kids who can't help themselves. Maybe I should be concentrating less on what my anxiety keeps me from doing, and instead see what it makes me good at.

While I'm full of a very clear certainty that I'm supposed to go to Luther, up until now I haven't had much of an end-game in mind in terms of what I'll do when I graduate. I signed up for the Youth and Family Ministry masters program because I knew I like working with kids, but the whole blurry idea is just now starting to crystallize in my head into a more complete picture. I can still only see outlines, but I feel like I keep getting these hints, and to be honest, I'm kind of enjoying the scavenger hunt.

Doing Church in the Post-Easter Season

Yes, yes, I know, "post-Easter season" isn't actually a thing. Technically, in the Lutheran church at least, we're still IN the Easter season, but I tend to have a hard time remembering it.

It's a little bit like Christmas, in that within a week afterwards New Year's has come and gone, and people are putting their trees out by the side of the road, stores are starting to prepare for Valentines Day already, and there's this sense of let-down that "the most wonderful time of the year" is now over. The same thing happens, for me, with Easter. After the 40 days of waiting and watching that we have in Lent, it's easy to see Easter Sunday as the culmination, and then for goodnessake chuck all that fake plastic grass, visit the bargain candy isle, and then get on with it! We've got more important things to do than spend seven more weeks talking about an empty tomb!

Right?

I hope not. I hope that there's a way to make this joyful spirit and focus on love and gratitude last for more than just the springtime. I feel keenly the first part of the reading from 1st John chapter 1, today:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life. The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us. We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us. And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We write this to make our joy complete.

It's as if the writer and the other apostles weren't capable of feeling the joy of Easter fully without sharing it. I hold tightly to that idea, the same way Chris McCandless, the ill-fated explorer, did when he finally realized at the end of his life that "happiness is only real when shared." It seems to me that the way to extend the Easter season, not just through the proscribed dates in the lectionary, but throughout the whole year, is to share this joy with others. We give when we have it in abundance, and others give it back when we run short. That's the kind of world I want to live in.

And so I'm writing this to make our joy complete, and I'm giving the money I saved during lent to charity to make our joy complete, and I'm asking questions and soaking in all the knowledge I can to make our joy complete, and the more I do and see and ask and give, the happier I am, and the happier the people around me seem to be.

Easter Sunday is over, but I refuse to let go of the feeling I had when I sang the hymns that morning. God exists, and exists not only as a power beyond comprehension by the human mind, but as a courageous man who loved people who he knew would hurt him; who taught us how to take care of one another, how to open our eyes to the way that fear divides and love unifies, who offers us an unending love that will never be scarce, and who answers death with life.

I can't stop being joyful about that.

Compassion

Hey everyone!

Ok, before I say anything about anything, I just want to freak out for a second, BECAUSE I GOT INTO LUTHER FOR FALL 2012.

The application process took about three months longer than we thought it would, but I finally got my acceptance letter, and I am SO excited about the future.

Alright, so. Lent.

Here's the update so far: We're two weeks in, and I think I'm doing pretty well with some of my goals, and kind of poorly with other ones. First off, I've been trying to devote more time in my week to prayer and study, and I feel like that's getting done, although I've been failing at going to bed before 1am on Saturday nights, as I had planned. I've been keeping a running tally of the nights I want to go out to buy junk food, and have been allocating money for charity instead, and at first that seemed like it was working, but then I felt like that wasn't really getting me anywhere, so I've upped the ante, and am now keeping track of any time I eat junk food, period, and counting that way. And last weekend, Neil, one of my roommates, asked if I was going to church in the morning, in a way that made me think he was interested, and I said yes, but couldn't get up the nerve to say "you could come with me, if you want!" until the next morning. I told him he'd be welcome to come with any time, so we'll see if that happens!

I'm still looking at different churches up here in Minneapolis. I haven't found anything that feels like home yet, though I keep getting reminded of C. S. Lewis' words in The Screwtape Letters about the dangers of becoming "a connoisseur of churches."

But enough about goals and the never-ending to-do list in my brain.

One of the things I've been concentrating on this Lenten season is compassion. I joined a book group that runs throughout the weeks up until Easter at Grace Lutheran, which is the University of Minnesota campus church, and we're reading a book called "Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life," by Karen Armstrong. The group itself is enough to keep me coming back, even if I didn't enjoy the book, which I do. Most of the people who are in this group are middle aged or retired, and it's so wonderful to fill this gap in my life with people who are older and wiser than I am. Sometimes it hits me just how surrounded I am with people my own age, and I miss the opportunity to connect with people who are in a different part of life. There are also a few married couples, and I always appreciate their insight, because they have a wealth of experience with relationships, and I learn so much just by listening to them.

So far we've talked about what compassion is, the major theories and theology associated with it, what it's looked like in history across cultures, how to bring it into the home and work-place, and, most recently, how to be compassionate with ourselves. Last week, when we started talking about that last one, almost everyone in the group admitted that being compassionate with themselves was the thing they found most difficult. This surprised me at first, because I feel, personally, that I'm too easy on myself in a lot of ways. I thought it was much harder to be compassionate with the people who really anger me than it was to be compassionate towards myself, but since Wednesday I've rethought my position.

I've been having a lot of issues with self-image in the last couple of months, mostly due to the winter chubbiness that we Minnesotans are so prone to, but it's been exacerbated by the fact that I'm working what is essentially a desk job, and spending too much of my extra time on the computer. I don't like the way I've been feeling physically, but I'm also pretty defeatist about my ability to change. All of that together has been breeding some intense self-loathing, but it wasn't until this past week that I began to see it for what it is. The problem itself is caused, partially, by being too wrapped up in my ego and my own problems, but that doesn't mean that it's not something that's meaningful to me. I didn't realize that I was capable of being compassionate and gentle with myself until my friend Ariel said "take care of yourself, please," and for just a second I saw myself through her eyes.

I realized that if she was feeling badly, I would want her to take good care of herself, and to be nice to herself, and that's without my even trying to be compassionate. That's just because I care what happens to her, and how she feels. So why couldn't I wish these nice things for myself, as well? When I thought about it that way, I stopped beating myself up and started kindly asking myself what I'd like to change, and how to best go about changing. And then, more importantly, reassuring myself that I'm a good person no matter if I run a mile in twelve minutes or six, or if I have a big lunch or a small one. It doesn't matter, because I am still loved.

That's the bottom of the compassion issue, for me, and I think, too, for most of the people in my reading group: God's love is not a scarce resource, is not dependent on what we do or don't do, and is for everyone. We just have to find the best ways of sharing that love with each other, and with ourselves.

Bring Me Back: Part 2

A couple of months ago I wrote about how C. S. Lewis and his writings helped me understand more about God, and helped bring me back to Christianity after I'd felt like giving up. This week I've been thinking a lot about music, and how it's also done this for me in many ways.

There are a couple of bands I've been listening to lately that don't classify themselves as Christian in the genre sense of the word even though they deal with Christian themes, and that, to me, is totally understandable considering my personal opinion that 90% of Christian rock is pretty terrible. I'll admit to having a soft spot for early Dashboard Confessional, and I own some Reliant K and Switchfoot, but generally I steer clear. It's just not my cup of tea.

But when I find artists who express truth in their lyrics, regardless of their religious affiliation, I'm drawn to them. Last summer I finally jumped on the Mumford and Sons bandwagon, and I haven't looked back. Their album "Sigh No More," is filled with some of the most complex ideas and universal feelings I think I've ever heard, but the melodies are catchy and so full of energy, I've used it as one of my major playlists while running!

Anyway, I started listening to this band over the summer, and when I began seriously thinking about attending Luther and went to go visit in October, their songs helped me ground myself and think with my heart.
Let me just hit you up with a couple of examples:

"Love; it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be.
There is a design, an alignment, a cry
Of my heart to see
The beauty of love as it was made to be"
-Sigh No More

"It seems that all my bridges have been burnt
But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works
It's not the long walk home that will change this heart
But the welcome I receive with the restart"
-Roll Away Your Stone

Over the last few months I've started listening to them whenever I need to be reminded that I'm here to be God's love in the world. They center me and bring me out of my flights of fancy and obsession that I tend to get stuck in.
This lyric, especially, has been floating around and making me feel braver:

"I know my call despite my faults
And despite my growing fears..."
-The Cave

Lent

So, I have a confession to make. I've been totally out of the church loop for the last three weeks. About two days ago my friend Emmy texted me and said "do you have somewhere to go for Ash Wednesday? 'Cause you can come with me if you want!"

I had totally forgotten about it.

When it comes to Lent, my first reaction has always been that of most Christians I know: "oh my gosh, now I have to find something to give up." The first time I gave something up for Lent I was fourteen, and I gave up meat. I still remember how, in one of the first days declaring my allegiance to the school's salad bar, a boy I had a crush on came up to me and said "oh, do you not eat meat either?" I said no, I didn't, and he asked why. I told him I'd given it up for Lent. "Oh," he said, clearly disappointed, "that's cool, I guess."

But it was so not cool. I didn't really talk about why I stopped eating meat for the next forty days. Among many people my age, those who are part of organized religion are generally thought of as either insanely evangelical (and therefore terrifying) or backward and intolerant (which tends to put people on the defensive). Since I've come to accept that my belief in God has almost nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that a loving God exists and wants to use me for good in the world, I've attempted to be the kind of person that is of the faith, and yet not in everyone's face about it all the time. It's a hard line to walk, because half the time I feel like I'm not speaking when I should, and when I do speak, I do it with a fear of being thought of in a negative way. My fear and sense of self-preservation gets in the way of being "all that I can be," as they used to say in the 90s.

So anyway, since then I've given up a lot of things for Lent, from biting my nails to using God's name in vain, and this year I felt stumped. A quick google search told me that other people were running out of ideas as well. There are all kinds of websites out there telling you what you should give up! But I also found a couple of articles that talked about why we give things up for the Lenten season. One article in particular pointed to what Jesus says in Luke 9:23 -

"Then he said to them all: 'Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.'" (NIV)

So if Lent is all about denying yourself, then giving up things like meat or chocolate make sense, from one point of view. You're denying yourself something that you enjoy. But (this article argued), what if denying yourself actually meant denying your self-ish-ness. Denying the part of you that thinks you are the most important thing. Setting yourself aside in favor of serving God and neighbor. That sounds more like a plan Jesus could go for. I mean, he said that what he ate didn't matter, so why should we dwell on it?

But when I think about how I can let go of my self in favor of God and others, it seems like there are so many options, and I get a little bit overwhelmed! At the Ash Wednesday service tonight, we did a longer version of the confession of sins, and within that list alone I can think of six or seven things that I know I could do better.

Aside: That's actually a major problem I have when Ash Wednesday comes around - I feel like so much of it is about being sorry for the ways we've messed up, but to me an apology doesn't mean anything if you don't also promise to try to do better next time. And there are so many things to do better at, that I get caught up in planning the ways I'll be better during the prayers!

Here are the major things I felt sorry for tonight: my self indulgence when others in the world go hungry, the way I fail to share the faith when the right moment comes up, and the way I've slacked off on keeping up my side of my relationship with God lately by allowing other things to get in the way.

Here's what I'm going to do about it: Firstly, for the 40 days of Lent, whenever I feel the urge to go to the store specifically to buy junk food (this happens almost every night around 10pm), I will instead put the money I would have used aside, and at the end I'll donate it. Secondly, I will try to be braver and more vocal about talking about my faith, especially with the people who I know don't mind. I have a few friends who I know don't feel negatively about me talking about what I believe, so that's a good place to start. I know this isn't quantifiable or especially large, but baby steps are important. Thirdly, I've allowed friends, laziness, bad planning, obsessions, the internet, and various other things to distract me from getting to church on Sunday, from being involved in church community activities, and from finding a new home church up here in the Cities. No more! For Lent, I'm giving up excuses and the things I'd really like to do for the things I need to do, because I have a deep thirst for prayer and study and God that won't get taken care of unless I make it a priority. Again, this isn't necessary quantifiable, but it means that the minute I say to myself "ok, I'll just stay another few hours and be extra tired for church," I'll be honest with myself and say "if you do that you know you won't actually get up. Go to bed now."

These are the things I'm going to work on; helping others, and strengthening my relationship with God. But I'm also trying just let Ash Wednesday be what it is; a day of repentance, and remembering that none of us are perfect, but that God loves us anyway.

I hope you remember this always, and I pray that you're all having a blessed beginning to the Lenten season!

Will You?

Will You Come And Follow Me (The Summons)

John Bell (1949- ) and Graham Maule (1958- )

"Will you come and follow me,

If I but call your name?

Will you go where you don't know

And never be the same?

Will you let my love be shown,

will you let my name be known,

will you let my life be grown

in you and you in me?

Will you leave your self behind

if I but call your name?

Will you care for cruel and kind

and never be the same?

Will you risk the hostile stare

should your life attract or scare,

will you let me answer prayer

in you and you in me?

Will you love the you you hide

if I but call your name?

Will you quell the fear inside

and never be the same?

Will you use the faith you've found

to reshape the world around

through my sight and touch and sound

in you and you in me?

Lord, your summons echoes true

when you but call my name.

Let me turn and follow you

and never be the same.

In your company I'll go

where your love and footsteps show.

Thus I'll move and live and grow

in you and you in me."

We sang this hymn in church today. It's always been one of my very favorites, and today, like every time we sing it, I teared up all over the place. I know that sometimes speaking for God is a fine line to walk, but this hymn does it so perfectly. Verses 2 and 3 never fail to make me sing like my heart is bursting.