Happy New Year

Ginger rediscovers the fun of sledding

We were out sledding with The Grands yesterday evening, in a great show of togetherness and fun. Although the snow was thin, it didn't seem to impede the speed. I feel like I'm sliding just as fast into 2011, although there may be some internal work to do before I achieve that same feeling of delight and anticipation about it all. Life is whizzing by at a rather alarming pace.

And with that, I wish my readers a blessed and happy new year for 2011!

Freedom to Sit Quietly, Part 2

Ever since writing Part I of this post, I have been thinking daily about the need we each have to sit quietly. Even the most active of us needs to do this. We can connect it to the research on prayer and meditation, which unfailingly demonstrates that people who pray or meditate score higher on happiness and health scales.

Some people can sit quietly and just listen, or meditate on one word or phrase, and find that a deep and fulfilling way to pray. I don't feel drawn to that kind of "sitting quietly." Perhaps it's my strong religious heritage of "do, do, do" and "work, work, work." There's a constant drive to produce something from time spent. Besides, my mind has a strong urge to wander and think about a variety of interesting things. I think I'll have to take a step toward sitting quietly, rather than hop into the middle of the metaphorical circle and simply meditate for an hour.

I have also, in the last week, been pondering a personally held belief--the belief that the kinesthetic act of writing by hand does something for a person's soul and learning. Typing on a keyboard does not accomplish this. I have not yet done a review of research literature on this one, and perhaps I should. If there is nothing out there, it would be a good inquiry for some researcher to pursue.

A friend of mine, Skip, has copied the entire Bible over a period of time, as the ancient scribes would do--not in terms of copying in calligraphy, but writing by hand. For a while Skip taught Bible as a subject in Christian schools, and he assigned his students to copy a Bible passage daily by hand. He firmly believes that it is a life-changing act. We were delighted to connect on this topic about a dozen years ago when Skip took a class from me, as I was at that time pursuing a devotional exercise in my life of copying a Bible passage and then journaling on it. I found it a rich experience.

I have let that practice of writing by hand slip away for some years, feeling that typing is faster and one can keep up much better with the pace of one's thoughts. But as I've thought in the past week about the practice of Sitting Quietly, the impression is strong to put the computer to sleep and write by hand as part of my morning devotional time.

And so I shall. I shall be returning to the pre-digital age for a time each day, quieting down, and listening and writing. There is freedom in this.

Christmas Blessings

"Christmas comes closest to a universal Sabbath of anything I can think of. Work stoppage. Appointments and obligations slowed. We say NO without the usual fear! At last there is a vision of a truly non-productive, non-utilitarian moment in time. An OFF switch in favor of hot chocolate, peppermint pie, Handel, bows, checkers, children, and the hope of eternal peace." ~ our pastor, Alex Bryan

Christmas blessings to all who come by my blog, and thank you for your interest and comments!

Freedom to Sit Quietly, Part 1

The version I have; all the photos are of my digital tools/toys. Can you tell I like red?

I bought a Kindle last week. I can already tell you: it's wonderful! It fits in my purse, unlike a laptop or an iPad, and I can pull it out and read whenever I'm waiting a few minutes for something to start, to arrive, or to finish. I'm already polishing off books at a faster rate than I've done since long-ago vacations when I was a full-time student. I love it, love it, love it!

I proudly showed off my new Kindle the other day to my associate, explaining to him the features, the joys, the immediacy, the handiness of this delightful little piece of technological goodness. He oohed and aahed most gratifyingly, pronouncing it very affordable, wonderfully readable.  And then he dropped the comment I've been pondering ever since.

"We just don't give ourselves the freedom to sit quietly anymore."

My immediate reaction was to start giving recent examples of times when I just sit quietly. And I couldn't come up with any. Not any. I'm embarrassed to admit that not even during my devotional time am I sitting quietly. iTunes is playing music, and my laptop is delivering various alerts and serving up all kinds of distractions that don't disappear unless I close my e-mail program and web browser.

My colleague was right, I have realized. I am surrounded by digital technology that keeps my brain busy every moment. Every. Moment.

My phone delivers the time, the weather report, my e-mails, web access, Facebook capability, text messages and my appointment calendar ... all of which are handily at my fingertips when I'm in a committee and the talk isn't keeping up with the speed my brain can take it in, or when people around me are discussing something not immediately relevant to me.

The digital distraction doesn't stop there. I have a digital camera always handy in my purse to document anything from people around me to delectable food at restaurants to pictures meant for blog fodder. With it come the time demands of downloading photos, editing them, and sending them off to people with whom I want to share.

And finally there's the ever-present laptop, one of the first things I open in the morning, one of the last I put away at night. I use it to communicate with people all over my organization and to "Facebook" as a way of keeping in touch with hundreds of old friends, schoolmates and former students. I write blog posts on it and use it to track fellow bloggers' latest posts. I browse the latest news headlines and weather forecasts several times a day. I use my calendar program to send out meeting requests, chat with my Chinese brother in Michigan via Skype (my laptop has a built-in webcam), and write, write, write for all kinds of job-related communications, presentations and publications.

I recently blogged about playing a part in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  My character hands Peter Pevensie a sword and shield with the admonition, "They are tools, not toys."  As I look through my various digital tools, I think it's true: I use them as tools, most of the time. Tools to accomplish the mission to which I feel called. But I also use them as toys for play. I play with words, play with pictures, play by sampling songs and interesting sites on the internet.

And all of this keeps my mind busy, busy, busy. I do not just sit quietly anymore. Not to rest, not to think, not to observe, not to just be, not to pray as I would like.

This is something to be considered. I hear a voice protesting that something is out of whack, a protest growing louder and louder in my heart.

[to be continued]

Voyage: A Review

Husband and I went to see Voyage of the Dawn Treader yesterday. After reading reviews of the movie, I wasn't expecting to be swept off my feet. But I loved it. I loved the fact that in a fantasy-odyssey, the movie (as does the book) addresses real-life psychological issues with which humans all wrestle.

There was Lucy, learning to accept herself rather than wishing she were some prettier, more attractive person. There was Edmund, learning to put his "white witch" temptation to death yet again, learning to become humble in the face of having to play "second fiddle" to Prince Caspian, as he had to do with his brother Peter. There was cousin Eustace, learning to not be such a [pardon-my-French] butt-headed judgmental pompous boy. And there was Prince Caspian, learning to lay his grief and anger to rest over the long-ago loss of his father, and to pay attention to what he'd been given: a kingdom to rule.

I read speculation somewhere that C.S. Lewis modeled this book loosely on Homer's Odyssey. That would make sense to me. Like the old Greek hero, the voyagers on the Dawn Treader go from one challenge to the next. One reviewer complained that there are no rules to the magic (unlike in the Harry Potter movies) and no continuous thread through this movie. But that is precisely how the Odyssey goes, as well. This movie is not about children gaining power over others, but about them conquering--and reconquering--evil within themselves. It's about how puzzling the world is and how there is One who knows all and understands all. When you are with Aslan, you know you are safe.

Let me add a few observations, in case you're thinking of seeing this movie. First of all, it helps to know the plot either from the books or from the two previous Narnia movies. I suspect the viewer would be confused, otherwise. Second, the movie is not one I would take little kids to see. I found it scary in several parts, and the attack of the gargantuan sea serpent/centipede went on far too long for my tender sensibilities. However, it did succeed in symbolizing the fearsome power of violent Evil. Additionally, the movie, for all its serious themes, also has a sense of humor. For example, I enjoyed Reepicheep the rodent, his witty remarks, his relationship to that nasty Eustace in both boy- and dragon-form, and his earnest quest to reach Aslan's land.

Finally, a viewer who understands the stories and symbols of Christianity will enjoy the movie a great deal more than one who does not. The movie stands well on its own, but the story becomes multidimensional if you understand the religious culture and beliefs from which C.S. Lewis was writing.  Whether he meant the symbols to emerge in the story or not, they are there. And while not preachy, they provide a rich context.

Voyage of the Dawn Treader is one of the only movies we've gone to see in the past ten years that we didn't regret spending time on, after we left the theater. So.That would be two thumbs up!

The Latest Drama, Part 2

Backstage:  Mrs. Beaver and the Unicorn in the back; the Dwarf, Fenris Ulf and the Water Nymph in the front.

The amazing thing about doing drama with our students is seeing their ingenuity and creativity, as well as their professionalism. "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" at our university got four Kennedy Center American College Theater awards:  for directing, stage management, costumes and makeup.  In addition, two students were nominated by the adjudicator for acting awards.

 The White Stag (fabled to grant wishes if you catch it)

 One of the forest creatures getting his ears glued on

 A forest creature getting her ears painted.

 Jadis, the fearsome and clever White Witch

 The friendly Water Nymph

 Fenris Ulf, cruel wolf captain of the White Witch's secret police

Mrs. and Mr. Beaver, who endeared themselves to us all.

And finally, a picture of me as Mother Christmas with Shane the director to the left and Amy the stage manager to the right.  The students were generous to include me, and the experience was the high point of my fall term.  Sometimes there are unexpected blessings!

The Latest Drama, Part 1

In my role as "Mother Christmas"

I have just finished participating in our university's production of C.S. Lewis's "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," and thought I'd give you a peek behind the scenes.

The story is one of the battle between good and evil in this universe, one in which children are loved by the King, and have a prophetic role to fulfill. The story is populated by woodland and mythical animals both good and evil, and the struggle is not just one between the White Witch and the lion Aslan, but also an internal part on the part of the four Pevensie children as they struggle to keep together in the fight to regain the rulership of Good.

Edmund, Lucy, Susan and Peter (as they are pictured above) have been predicted to come to Narnia someday in connection with the return and victory of Aslan over the cold-hearted White Witch.

I think I expected our Aslan to be huge and big and wide, and then I stopped and remembered that our "Aslan" in this world is not about bigness, power or deep voice, but about Goodness and untamed Love. Which was the whole point in C.S. Lewis's story.

Our White Witch was all about power, volume, beauty, evil, greed and destruction. Interesting how that rings true with our world's popular culture and political situation today.

Lucy, of course, represents Everyman.  Or Everygirl, as the case may be.  She is young and curious, open with her thoughts and expressions and loves. She flings herself at whomever she loves, living life wholeheartedly. She is you and me in a world that is not well understood, trying to find a friendly face, meaning, and her way back home. 

[to be continued]

Why I Go to Church, Part 4

Photo of my church by my colleague Pedrito

Despite the fact that I could muse about it quite at length, it's time to wrap up my "Why I Go to Church" series.  Thinking back through what I've written, it's evident that I go to church because it's my long-time custom, because the preaching provides both challenge and blessing, because the music lifts my soul to heaven, because it's my family.

But I also go to church despite. Mostly, it boils down to going despite people. I look around and recognize the personal stories of people, and how tangled they are. My job probably puts me in a position to know more of these than the average person in our congregation. As I've described at this blog before, I often find myself praying for some person or family sitting within my line of sight, or someone whose customary seat in the pew sits empty this week. I know the battles they are fighting, the losses they are grieving, the anger they are trying to handle, the burdens they carry. Because many of the people I work with also attend my church, I know who is upset or bitter at me for a decision I've made in my work, and I see them avoid looking my way. Or I know who is unhappy with Husband (the principal) for some decision he's had to hold firm on, or for backing up a teacher in face of this parent's criticism. I would rather not know these things. I would rather not face them at church. But I go to church despite people.

That leads me to the thought that there are people who show up at church despite me. I may not be living up to what they hear me profess. I may come across as judgmental, even if that was not my intent. I may have made a comment that irks them, or made a decision that makes their life harder, or reacted to them in some way that is frustrating or scary or obnoxious to them. Often I have a clue who these people might be, but not always. I'm glad they go to church despite me. 

In addition, there are many of us who show up at church despite God. It's a function of loving Someone, needing that love from Someone, and at the same time not understanding --or being frustrated at--that Someone. Sometimes you want to take a vacation from Someone like that.  Sometimes you want to go on a long journey away from them. I think God understands. I believe God loves us, and he knows us through and through, so He must understand, even when we're not being very elegant about our reactions to Him.

Upon reflection, this sounds to me like a fairly healthy family. We love each other, we annoy each other, we stay in connection with each other, we celebrate one another, we bore each other, we get furious at each other, we rub the rough edges off one another. But we belong. We gather around the table and break bread together, and we're richer for having stayed in touch and made the effort to get together in the same physical space. That's church.  And that's why I go.

Why I Go to Church, Part 3

Photo thanks to Becky

In my life, one of the approaches to worship that can have me teary and open-hearted within moments, is music. And that is one of the biggest reasons I go to church. There is nothing to compare to the experience of sharing or making music, and doing it in the physical presence of many other people, in the same location...to the glory of God. The words of a hymn may speak to the core of my soul and experience. The act of singing heals and lifts of my spirits, even in the worst of times. It is no mistake that the psalmist David, often fighting for his life, composed and sang so many songs.

I'm blessed to attend a university church where the Music department provides most of the worship music, and the organ professor is the minister of music. He brilliantly selects music that weaves in with the themes of worship and points the worshiper to God. When I write that last sentence, it seems inadequate to represent precisely how the approach to crafting the musical worship experience can demonstrate God's character and bring the listener, in spirit, to the very throne of the Creator.  So maybe I'll share with you a few recent clips here, taken from my church experience this season.

First, a clip from Silent Night from last weekend:

Second, a bit of postlude: "I Saw Three Ships":

And it's not all "high church" music. Students play in steel band that gets the toes tapping and puts a smile on your face. I'm sorry that I don't have the entire song (it's a lot to get on my little camera), but here's an idea.  I think God enjoys all kinds of musical expressions on our part!

To finish, I'd like to speak to the lyrics of the music again. Last night at the annual Christmas program, the orchestra and choir performed Daniel Kallman's "And on Earth, Peace" to end the concert.  It was beautiful, but it was the words by Christine Kallman that caused the tears to overflow:

There is a quiet at the dawning of the day, 

A quiet that awaits the awakening of souls, 

As everything that God intends is given birth, 

And Jesus is the Lord of all the garden of the earth.

There is a healing in the fullness of the light,

A healing that begins in the terror of the night.

While splinters of the peace we shattered fly.

You, O wounded one, are gently putting things to right.

Did we believe the earth could be so new,

The knots untied, the torture through,

Judgment exchanged for beauteous grace?

Stand tall all prisoners of the human race.

There is victory in the coming of the Lord,

A wider, fuller peace than any soul has ever known.

What daring love is this which grants us stand

Redeemed and whole and holding the triumphant Prince's hand.

We praise our Lord's dear name with all our power!

His is the reign, this is the hour!

Gloria in excelsis Deo!

Amen.

Waiting

Photo found here

Today, in a short trip to the local Walmart, I saw an unusual number of people waiting.

Parking my car, I saw a police car pull up behind a car two spots up, lights flashing. The driver's door was open, and he was just sitting in his seat with a Walmart employee and the police officer nearby. He was a portly man, his face ashen, head back against the headrest, wearing an expression of looking inward. He seemed to be waiting. I couldn't hear the employee's words, but it was clearly a question about how the man was doing. And then the police officer was asking the employee something.

As I turned away to give the trio some privacy from attention, a family was getting out of their car to go into the store--a family made up of a man, a very pregnant woman, and a boy of about six. I became aware of them when I heard the woman's voice, sharp-edged, say to the man as she leaned against the car, "I'm having a very strong contraction!" The expression on the man's face said to me that he wasn't absorbing the message yet. I guessed she would not be waiting much longer for the arrival of a new little person, and another change forever in their lives. Waiting.  Nearly done.

At the door I saw the Salvation Army worker waiting for people to put money in his red bucket. He was happy and friendly. It must be nice to wait for something that you know will bless needy people. Waiting. For good.

When I came out of the store, the Walmart employee still stood by the little car, the driver still sat with his head back, and the police officer was gone. I almost thought I could hear the driver's thoughts, although it could have been my own dramatic musings:  "Is this it? Will it get worse? Is it the beginning of the end?" Is it just me who thinks thoughts like that in the midst of pain, in the waiting? Waiting? For the eventual inevitable?

The employee was standing very straight, stretched up almost on his tippy-toes, looking across the cars in the lot toward one entrance, then the other, waiting. There was no sign of anyone approaching, no sound of an ambulance siren. Yet it was clear: both men were waiting, waiting, waiting.

I think we all are.

Why I Go to Church, Part 2

My current church home

Over my years of adulthood, I have skipped church from time to time. If I skip for more than a week or two, I miss it. Yet my relationship to church-going as an adult has not been as untroubled and serene as it was in my childhood and teenage years. Some of that symbolism and meaning from my childhood has been lost and I've found myself becoming jaded on some counts. 

Depending on the style of the church, it seems like either the hymns get old, or they're singing songs I don't know at all. There's a lot more asking for money, in ways that at times feel coercive. There's always a tension between the culture of "preserving the group," and the call of Jesus for Christianity to reach out and dismantle walls. There's always a tension between singing, speaking and praying as an act of worship, versus the setup of the room (stage, microphones, etc.) that clearly conveys that this is a performance for an audience.

And then there are the preachers, who are still a conundrum to me. Through my adult eyes I often perceive reasons why the preacher is preaching, reasons other than the ones I'd ideally wish for. I've been friends with enough pastors by now to know that the reasons are as myriad as the pastors, and that they are horribly, failingly human in the thoughts that dance through their heads as they sit or stand up there looking externally serene and dignified. Being fairly intuitive, I'm always interested in figuring out what makes the preacher tick. Since I have met very few women preachers in my flavor of Church, I'll use the masculine pronoun to discuss the preacher-types I've met.

Why is he preaching? There are often clues, whether he knows it or not. He's preaching because it's an ego-boost-head-rush to have hundreds of people listening to him saying brilliant or clever things, because he wants to hear the sound of his own voice, because it's just his job, because he wants to reassure himself in the midst of knowing he's a secret mess, or because he craves control over others. When I have sensed this about the preacher, I find myself becoming impatient. Luckily I've had very few of those as my pastor. But in the case of one, I had to quit attending that church after leaving angry, week after week, at the self-serving, congregation-guilting, simplistic and judging words I heard. I tried to look past them and see a real and loveable person, but the task became impossible. Perhaps that was my failure, but there it is.

My pastor, who fits the description in the next paragraph. 

You could see a sermon here (sermon starts at 45:45, in the bottom right-hand corner of your screen)

On a happier note, I have had the great blessing of having several pastors over the years who preach because they actually experience a living, wrestling relationship with God. Their messages reveal that God impresses them with life-changing concepts to share with their congregations. They are pastors who are real about themselves and about life. They are pastors who acknowledge that life and faith do not have easy answers. They are pastors who appreciate and love their parishioners just as they are, yet gently motivate them to change and growth. They cause me to sit up and listen with laser focus, and to go home chewing on the message, rerunning the metaphors and stories in my mind. I can't imagine being in their shoes, because they must be regularly assailed by all those overwhelming things that assail such people of God and try to take them down. I am grateful for them. 

[to be continued]

Why I Go to Church, Part 1

My mother at the temperamental organ in my childhood church, Malaysia. The little girl is not me.

All my life I've been going to church. I'm old enough now that my early memories of church have blurred, mixed in with what I think I remember as I look at photos of me at church in my childhood.

I do clearly remember, though, the church of my elementary school years. We sat on benches of polished slats of wood that "gave" a bit when you sat on them, so that they felt softer than planks. I remember the whirring ceiling fans above us in the tropical heat. I remember watching my teacher, who was a heroine in my childish mind, sitting on the right side of the church, gazing out through the louvred glass windows as the preacher preached. I remember singing in the choir at an early age, my mother always at the piano. I remember the active youth group that comprised the energetic heart of the church, busy leading out and participating. I remember the children filing up front four times a year and reciting their twelve memory verses for the appreciative adults. I remember someone announcing the offering, but how there wasn't much pleading or guilting for money. After all, there wasn't much money to be had for most of us. I remember kneeling for what seemed a long time on the cement floor, enduring the "pastoral prayer," which always came in the middle of the service. I don't remember much of the sermons, but the sermons were the backbone of the worship service. Everything else was either considered preparation for the sermon, or reflection and wrap-up after it was done.

Through the years since then, the elements of church services have been similar. Culturally, there are constants in the doing of "church": singing, being asked for money, listening to the preacher, standing, sitting, kneeling, praying. When you grow up with it, when skipping church is unthinkable in your family, you don't question it. It just is that way.

(to be continued)

A P.S. to the "Advent" Post

In this post, I mentioned the large picture at the front of our church when I was growing up.  Just in case anyone was interested, an old schoolmate recently sent me a photo that shows that painting.  So here it is.  Does anyone know who the painter was?

(I'm the girl on the right.)