a letter i wrote

Dear [Reverend 1] and [Reverend 2];

Please remove my name from the membership roll.

I feel the need to explain my decision as [church] had been a formative place in my youth. The Methodist Church's stance on gay, lesbian, transgender and bisexual people is completely at odds with my understanding of the world and God's involvement and love of humanity.

The God I know does not want people to completely shut off an important aspect of one's self simply because of whom they love. If we are to be full people, engaged in the community around us, we must be true to ourselves and embrace and love ourselves. By proxy, the institution of the church should accept and welcome the community as full people, some of whom may love people of the same gender.

If we are created in God's image and loved as such, then GLBTQ individuals are created in God's image and loved by God as well. While the Methodist Church finds homosexuality to be incompatible with Christ's teachings, I find the alienation, exclusion and disdain of GLBTQ individuals to be incompatible with Christ's teachings.

The Methodist Church is sorrowfully behind on accepting GLBTQ populations and it's embarrassing to hear that the WI Conference took 4 days to discussion to agree to begin a dialogue on the topic.

Thank you for your stewardship of a church I once called home; however, I cannot be a member of an organization that blatantly discriminates against a class of people and is blind to Jesus' call to welcome and love all people.

Thank you.

P.S. Jesus practiced radical inclusion. I hope you can do the same as a reconciling church.

unanswerable demonstrations of (dis)belief

Last year I took a class in Christianity and Culture. It looked like a promising class; we read Christ and Culture (Niebuhr) and Theologies of Culture (Tillich) in conversation with cultural artifacts like art, music and literature. Students gave presentations on the cultural artifact, fun at first but it slowly began to eat up the entire time we had for the class without really getting to the readings.

It seemed like our class couldn't get over conversations of whether a particular cultural artifact was "christian" or not. In the first few weeks we had conversations about there are multiple ways of determining if a song or piece of art is "christian" - could be based on the content, the artist's particular view, the audience, etc. Analysis is subjective, ever changing based on a wide variety of factors. What looks christian today could change by tomorrow.

I thought of this in reading this post from Theolog on Rowen Williams' book about Dostoevsky. It says:

"Part of Dostoevsky’s significance as a religious writer, Williams argues, is to show people wrestling with the implications of their belief—or unbelief. People do not live inside a system of thought. Dostoevsky knew how our beliefs are always being contradicted, or stripped away or developed through our actions, relationships and suffering. In Dostoevsky, there are no “unanswerable demonstrations” of religious faith. But also no unanswerable demonstrations of unbelief. The lesson, for Williams, is that “we have to go on speaking/writing about God, allowing the language of faith to encounter fresh trials every day, and also fresh distortions and refusals.”

All cultures are shaped by religion (or lack thereof) and engaging culture within the scope of religion doesn't end at tacking a "christian" or "non-christian" label on something. I think it has more to do with seeing footprints of a faith on art/music/literature or how those cultural artifacts influence everyday experiences of divine, even if that includes rejection of the divine.

Religion, at its core, is about humans making meaning of their existence. In my opinion, any song or story that asks the fundamental questions of what it means to be human in our world deals with religious subject matter. That doesn't mean it's religious, however. In fact, if we did away with labels of "religious" or "christian" art and artists altogether, we'd be more open to seeing expressions of belief or disbelief.

confessions

So here's the thing that recent graduates (especially from institutions as prestigious as the ones in my background) aren't supposed to say:

I have no idea what I want (to do).

Day-to-day, short term, long term, as a career, as a vocation, in my interactions with people, for lunch, etc.

I add the parentheses because honestly, I don't know what I want, either. I suppose once I figure out what I want, then I'll have some idea of what to do.

I have ideas of what I want to do. I want to work in a church, but I don't want to get bogged down in notions of religiosity and church politics. I want to work in a non-profit, but one that really accomplishes something. I want to work in a coffee shop and actually do something that makes a person's day better. I want to write, but don't know if I have enough "life experience" to be good. I don't want to work, but instead find a vocation. Now it's just taking these wants and making them into something good.

One thing that's different about this move from all of the others I've done (GB>MPLS, MPLS>NH, and now NH>MPLS) is that I've lost the ability to reinvent myself. Not to suggest that I've altered my personality in relation to the places I've lived, but I have a history here. I've been someone. I have friends who remember me as a gawky 18 year old, not the supposedly hip 24 year old I am now. Good at times, bad at at times.

The ability to change is harder when you're in a familiar place with familiar people. They've invested in the old you, not the altered/ing you. Not that people don't accept changes (since we all do it), but transformation is easier in places with little memory. There's less molding to break. Again, both good and bad.

So while it's been nice to come back and see favorite faces and places, we all look at each other and see the past. As much as old friends look at me and see the old me, I look back at them and see old versions of new lives. This allowing for room to change applies to me, as well.

I'm in no hurry for any answers, but I will be when it comes time to pay the rent again.

holiness

"We are to find God in what we know, not in what we don't know; God wants us to realize [God's] presence, not in unsolved problems but in those that are solved. That is true relationship between God and scientific knowledge, but it is also true of the wider human problems of death, suffering and guilt."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

"If holiness is happening, it is happening in the thick of reality, not replacing the world as we know, not banishing death, but defying its terror as the last word."
- Krista Tippett, Speaking of Faith

orientation towards perfection

Some readers find a point of vulnerability in what they take to be religion’s flaccid, Polyanna-like, happy-days optimism. Religious people, says Delphinias, live their lives “in a state of blissfully blind oblivion.” They rely on holy texts that they are “to believe in without question.” (C.C.) “No evidence, no problem — just take it on faith.” (Michael) They don’t allow themselves to be bothered by anything. Religion, says Charles, “cannot deal with doubt and dissent,” and he adds this challenge: “What say you about that, Professor?”

What I say, and I say it to all those quoted in the previous paragraph, is what religion are you talking about? The religions I know are about nothing but doubt and dissent, and the struggles of faith, the dark night of the soul, feelings of unworthiness, serial backsliding, the abyss of despair. Whether it is the book of Job, the Confessions of St. Augustine, Calvin’s Institutes, Bunyan’s “Grace Abounding to The Chief of Sinners,” Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling” and a thousand other texts, the religious life is depicted as one of aspiration within the conviction of frailty. The heart of that life, as Eagleton reminds us, is not a set of propositions about the world (although there is some of that), but an orientation toward perfection by a being that is radically imperfect.

- Stanley Fish, God Talk pt 2

an earthy, sticky smell

It's currently 81 degrees and I'm sitting on my porch, enjoying the slightly cooler air as the sun sets behind the houses across the street. Weather-wise, this has been a really great weekend. Personally, this has been a really great weekend.

I've been going through "lasts" - last class period, last Spring Fling, last Friday Eucharist chapel service, soon to be last papers, last coffee hour, last YDS. It hasn't sunk in that these are my lasts, there's still some surrealistic notions in my mind, almost like I don't believe it. I know it, but I don't understand it. One month from today is graduation and I'm out of here shortly after. The unknown looms, but still theoretically. There could be endless summer evenings on this porch for all I know.

I'm really going to miss this place - the people, the love, the humor, the academic and personal challenges. I almost want to compare my time here to a mountaintop experience where things are awesome but you can't stay there; you have to descend for the green, flourishing valleys. But that's not the case - I feel really sustained here. Life isn't barren but beautiful like on a mountaintop, but really rich and amazing. I'm not quite sure what to make of it yet, but I know this - I leave changed. Parting is bittersweet, indeed.

At the same time, I'm itching to get back to Minneapolis. I miss Amy and Drew and Kari; seeing MOK kids for Nat's wedding was really great. Reminded me why I love them so much and shaded these past few weeks with a longing for their company. Besides the friendships, I'm ready to start working. I'm ready to jump in and get my hands dirty. In chapel Friday, Emilie Townes asked us if we could smell the wetness of clay, waiting to be molded and shaped. Without a doubt, yes.

There's an intrinsic sweetness to a cool breeze. It carries an earthy, sticky smell.

today you will be with me in paradise

This is a reflection I wrote for my Passion of Christ in Literature and Art class this semester:

Today you will be with me in paradise? Are you kidding? I don’t have time for paradise. I have things to do – I have reading; I have homework; I have plans to make and people to call. It just isn’t a good time for paradise right now. How about tomorrow? That looks better for me. Or even this weekend? “This weekend you will be with me in paradise.” So I’ll pencil in paradise for this weekend – say a late breakfast? I’ll be more prepared this weekend… I’ll be ready for Jesus in a few days.

In a world driven by instant gratification and the need for more hours each day, we are pushed and pulled between the now and the I’ll get to it next week and the ask someone else. But at this moment, we’re being told that today, we will be with Jesus in paradise. Today.

But what about tomorrow? I’m all ready for the endless tomorrows; today, I’m a little less certain. I’ve been making plans for after graduation – applying for jobs, finding places to live, imagining a future of summer bike rides, fall leaf raking, winter sledding, and spring gardening for seasons to come. I’ve thought so much about what the future holds that I’m not sure what today holds. Maybe today is that future I’ve been planning for. Maybe there won’t be endless tomorrows.

The man hanging next to Jesus didn’t have a tomorrow. He only had today. Condemned to die, the criminal asked Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. Even dying on the cross, his mortal coil shuffling like hell, the man looks to the future and starts making plans. Jesus says no, seriously, trust me. Today. Today you will be with me in paradise. Not tomorrow. Not next week. No need to call ahead or spend time worrying about it. Now. We’ll be there today.

Woah. Hold up. Today? Like I said earlier, today doesn’t work for me. I have things to do. I thought we were going to meet this weekend. But Jesus is calling. Like fishers by the side of the lake, Jesus is calling and we’re going NOW. Ready or not, here Christ comes.

We have this amazing gift of life, a life filled with joys and struggles and good days and bad. But it’s ours and it’s not going to last forever, maybe not even to tomorrow. God gave us this gift and we’re wasting it. From dust we were formed and to dust we will return. We’re reminded of that at least one day a year, when we walk with the mark of our mortality for all to see, when God’s claim on us is made visible. The rest of the time? We’re untouchable. When we live with immortality in our blood, the truly important things get put aside for tomorrow or next week. That can wait. I’ll get to it later. I’ll call her next week. Oh, we can catch up another time. I have more time to volunteer next month. You know, next year I’ll really start to focus on social justice issues.

We only have so many days before Christ comes to us and says “It’s time. Today’s the day. Today you will be with me in paradise.” So start acting like it.