Two reasons are commonly given for infrequent observance of the Eucharist. One is that if the Lord's Supper were observed too frequently, it would lose its meaning....Further, the rationale assume that the Lord's Supper is another commemorative event, like a birthday or wedding anniversary. But if the Lord's Supper is indeed a 'feeding on Christ to eternal life,' making us into what we eat, then there is no question about whether frequent Communion would cause a loss of significance. No one has yet complained that having three meals a day had eroded the significance of eating....As Vander Zee puts it, 'If God feeds and confirms our faith in the sacrament, then we deprive ourselves of the fullness of his grace when we sit around the table only once in a while. We need every nourishment that God provides, and to miss the meal not only snubs his gracious hospitality but creates spiritual anorexics. (p. 65).
Monday, February 28, 2011
On the Eucharist
Simon Chan comments on infrequent observance of Communion:
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Wheelis (1973) claims that, “the only appropriate goal for the therapist is to assist,” and I find that this seems to be my own personal belief as I jump into the beginnings of the internship process (p. 19). The online Merriam-Webster Dictionary (2011) defines the verb “assist” as the act of giving, “supplementary support or aid;” most interestingly, however, I find that the word “assist” comes from the Latin assistere, “to cause to stand.” I find the Latin origin particularly compelling because it gives the image of a therapist as one who gives the client ability to stand on his or her own two feet. It is the client’s toes, feet, legs, plus all of the bones, tendons, and muscles, doing the actual work and yet, the therapist is the actual force that pushes the client into the upward, erect position.
Sculpture by David Robinson, Founder
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Don't worry
No I don't want to get married again. No, I certainly don't want to plan my own wedding again. Once is enough. Our wedding was beautiful and I loved every minute of that day (except stripping the thick, sweaty crinoline from my body with the help of my bridesmaids before stepping into the reception).
BUT. Heaven has rained down in the form of wedding gowns from BHLDN (i.e. Anthropologie). They launched a line of gowns this month for the first time ever and I just can't help but wonder, "Why now, God?"
They are so beautiful it hurts, literally, hurts my soul.
There are no words. They're like candy.
As is the entire line of bridesmaids dresses, hair accessories, shoes, and jewelry. It's like swimming in a giant vat of rich, silky smooth chocolate. From heaven. In heaven.
I have reached my ultimate girliness. But I don't care. If you are a woman (or, really if you're a man too), you should just look at the website and swoon. Truly beautiful design.
I would actually consider doing another wedding, if I was wealthy beyond wealth - or if I just used my entire budget on clothing the wedding party, if I could do all the shopping here.
BUT. Heaven has rained down in the form of wedding gowns from BHLDN (i.e. Anthropologie). They launched a line of gowns this month for the first time ever and I just can't help but wonder, "Why now, God?"
They are so beautiful it hurts, literally, hurts my soul.
There are no words. They're like candy.
As is the entire line of bridesmaids dresses, hair accessories, shoes, and jewelry. It's like swimming in a giant vat of rich, silky smooth chocolate. From heaven. In heaven.
I have reached my ultimate girliness. But I don't care. If you are a woman (or, really if you're a man too), you should just look at the website and swoon. Truly beautiful design.
I would actually consider doing another wedding, if I was wealthy beyond wealth - or if I just used my entire budget on clothing the wedding party, if I could do all the shopping here.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Kitchen Mishaps
Just laugh at this stuff, right? Last night, I omitted our kitchen mishaps from the lovely salmon story because the story was too nice to ruin it with our screw ups. T was experimenting with a new Thai-inspired sauce recipe that called for vinegar and honey; then, oddly enough, after simmering all the ingredients together for 10 minutes or so the recipe said to put the pan (with the sauce), directly in the refrigerator to cool the sauce off. Heated honey, cold refrigerator, bad idea. So the sauce became some type of molten lava, and hardened to every surface it touched - our glass casserole dish, the salmon itself, the baster, the fry pan, and our plates. It was everywhere. Sort of like this:
The fish was delicious, as I said, but hard for me to enjoy while I was preoccupied with the thought that we may have ruined something from every category in our kitchen.
Today is the first day of my reading week that actually feels like reading week because I haven't had to step foot inside my school once. So, I was on a mission to make homemade pesto from scratch. There's something like 6 ingredients, two of which include salt and pepper, so it's deceivingly simple. So I drop all of the ingredients into our blender, which was kindly donated by the House of Love at the end of last year, and start the liquifying process. There are exactly one billion basil leaves in the blender at this point, and none of them want to scootch down to touch a blade. So I open the drop hole on the blender, while it's still on, and start scraping down with my rubber spatula. And yes, as you may have predicted, my spatula was chopped by the blade. At first, there was just a little slice in the end - no big deal, nothing lost. I had to keep scraping the food down, so I turned the blender off to give it one good wiping all the way around. And then my rubber spatula got stuck, at the bottom, under a blade...and slid off the handle as I was tugging. The spatula part of my spatula was stuck under a blade in the bottom of a blender filled with thick, green, pasty pesto. Once I dug my hand down there and got it out, a giant chunk out of the top of the spatula was gone. So I fondled around at the bottom with a metal spoon to try to find the missing chunk because Lord knows T doesn't want black rubber in his pesto. To no avail. So I just start blending again. And then realize I have broken the blender because the chunk of rubber is stuck somewhere in the blade moving mechanism.
Oh yea.
But T just got home, dipped a cracker in the little tupperware of pesto, and said it was delicious.
I love keeping secrets.
Disclaimer: This is actual molten lava. Not our dinner.
Sorry for the confusion.
The fish was delicious, as I said, but hard for me to enjoy while I was preoccupied with the thought that we may have ruined something from every category in our kitchen.
Today is the first day of my reading week that actually feels like reading week because I haven't had to step foot inside my school once. So, I was on a mission to make homemade pesto from scratch. There's something like 6 ingredients, two of which include salt and pepper, so it's deceivingly simple. So I drop all of the ingredients into our blender, which was kindly donated by the House of Love at the end of last year, and start the liquifying process. There are exactly one billion basil leaves in the blender at this point, and none of them want to scootch down to touch a blade. So I open the drop hole on the blender, while it's still on, and start scraping down with my rubber spatula. And yes, as you may have predicted, my spatula was chopped by the blade. At first, there was just a little slice in the end - no big deal, nothing lost. I had to keep scraping the food down, so I turned the blender off to give it one good wiping all the way around. And then my rubber spatula got stuck, at the bottom, under a blade...and slid off the handle as I was tugging. The spatula part of my spatula was stuck under a blade in the bottom of a blender filled with thick, green, pasty pesto. Once I dug my hand down there and got it out, a giant chunk out of the top of the spatula was gone. So I fondled around at the bottom with a metal spoon to try to find the missing chunk because Lord knows T doesn't want black rubber in his pesto. To no avail. So I just start blending again. And then realize I have broken the blender because the chunk of rubber is stuck somewhere in the blade moving mechanism.
Oh yea.
But T just got home, dipped a cracker in the little tupperware of pesto, and said it was delicious.
I love keeping secrets.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
We're Tired
I feel neglectful to my blog. I've thought of it often in the past couple of weeks, but haven't gotten around to writing about it. Oddly enough, now that I'm sitting down to write, I can't figure out if too much has gone on or absolutely nothing has gone on (that's interesting) since I've last written, so I feel at a loss for words.
T's hand is still broken. It's also still in a cast. He goes back to the doctor March 2nd to get the cast off, get a removable splint put back on, and start physical therapy. Thank the LORD for removable splints. Adjusting to T's new limitations have been much tougher than I anticipated; it makes me all the more thankful for everything he does for us (and by us, I mean me). In the meantime, I'm adjusting to a steep learning curve and balancing what feels like a whole lot more on my plate at one time. Or maybe I'm spinning a lot more plates than I once was. There is some metaphor about plates and having way too much to do.
I'm in the middle of my reading week. This means I have no class and can theoretically catch up on all the reading I'm behind on. I was hoping to, instead, get ahead on reading for pleasure, but haven't done either. T and I are so exhausted by the end of every day; I'm not sure the weariness has ever felt this strong since we've been married. Then, of course, the more tired you are, the more you pick fights and are just, in general, less pleasant to be around. I can certainly say that's been the case for me - meaning, I KNOW I am less pleasant to be around.
Thankfully the longer T goes, the less medicine he has to take, and the more normal he feels. I can already tell a huge difference today than even a day or two days ago. We're both still exhausted, but he seems a little more himself. I'm sure having the routine of going back to work helped him, too.
Today there was some reprieve. Despite the absolutely wretched and baffling weather (I left the house dressed for almost-spring, even wearing sunglasses because I NEEDED them. When T picked me up from work at 5:00 - it was sleeting!), we experienced a "first" together today. We drove across the 15th Ave. bridge (a few of you will actually know what I'm referring to here), and when we normally admire the piles of boats, masts, and fishing nets, we turned into the parking lot that all of those boats float next to. Through the snow/sleet/ice/rain/mess, we found the Wild Salmon Seafood Market and walked right up to the counter to order - a one pound filet of Coho Salmon, caught today. The clerk wrapped up our treasure, rang us up, and we went home and cooked right away. Let me just TELL you. That was some impeccable fish (except for the heavy-handedness on the Cayenne pepper) - no knife needed; I barely even needed to chew. It just melted on my tongue. What a delight it is to live in a place where we can eat like that!
If nothing else in the past week, we have eaten REALLY good food. Some cooked by us, some cooked by friends, and once at a restaurant.
As a cherry on top of our night, poor T tipped over a mug of coffee into our oven. As most of you know, we live without a microwave, and so in order to reheat, we go the oven. So, since this wasn't the first time this happened (Natalie, I love you), we peeled up the nasty, blackened, tin foil baked to the bottom of the oven, scrubbed as best we could, and put some new liner down. Nothing like dessert!
We needs some prayers for rest and joy. We're finding it I think the best we can in little moments, but I vote that little moments just ain't cuttin' it.
In my attempt to read for pleasure, I started reading Three Cups of Tea and have gotten to page 10 in about 4 days. Not good. I've heard this book is amazing so I'm hoping to find more time later in the week. I am reminded of a quote at the beginning of the first chapter, which states,
T's hand is still broken. It's also still in a cast. He goes back to the doctor March 2nd to get the cast off, get a removable splint put back on, and start physical therapy. Thank the LORD for removable splints. Adjusting to T's new limitations have been much tougher than I anticipated; it makes me all the more thankful for everything he does for us (and by us, I mean me). In the meantime, I'm adjusting to a steep learning curve and balancing what feels like a whole lot more on my plate at one time. Or maybe I'm spinning a lot more plates than I once was. There is some metaphor about plates and having way too much to do.
I'm in the middle of my reading week. This means I have no class and can theoretically catch up on all the reading I'm behind on. I was hoping to, instead, get ahead on reading for pleasure, but haven't done either. T and I are so exhausted by the end of every day; I'm not sure the weariness has ever felt this strong since we've been married. Then, of course, the more tired you are, the more you pick fights and are just, in general, less pleasant to be around. I can certainly say that's been the case for me - meaning, I KNOW I am less pleasant to be around.
Thankfully the longer T goes, the less medicine he has to take, and the more normal he feels. I can already tell a huge difference today than even a day or two days ago. We're both still exhausted, but he seems a little more himself. I'm sure having the routine of going back to work helped him, too.
Today there was some reprieve. Despite the absolutely wretched and baffling weather (I left the house dressed for almost-spring, even wearing sunglasses because I NEEDED them. When T picked me up from work at 5:00 - it was sleeting!), we experienced a "first" together today. We drove across the 15th Ave. bridge (a few of you will actually know what I'm referring to here), and when we normally admire the piles of boats, masts, and fishing nets, we turned into the parking lot that all of those boats float next to. Through the snow/sleet/ice/rain/mess, we found the Wild Salmon Seafood Market and walked right up to the counter to order - a one pound filet of Coho Salmon, caught today. The clerk wrapped up our treasure, rang us up, and we went home and cooked right away. Let me just TELL you. That was some impeccable fish (except for the heavy-handedness on the Cayenne pepper) - no knife needed; I barely even needed to chew. It just melted on my tongue. What a delight it is to live in a place where we can eat like that!
If nothing else in the past week, we have eaten REALLY good food. Some cooked by us, some cooked by friends, and once at a restaurant.
As a cherry on top of our night, poor T tipped over a mug of coffee into our oven. As most of you know, we live without a microwave, and so in order to reheat, we go the oven. So, since this wasn't the first time this happened (Natalie, I love you), we peeled up the nasty, blackened, tin foil baked to the bottom of the oven, scrubbed as best we could, and put some new liner down. Nothing like dessert!
We needs some prayers for rest and joy. We're finding it I think the best we can in little moments, but I vote that little moments just ain't cuttin' it.
In my attempt to read for pleasure, I started reading Three Cups of Tea and have gotten to page 10 in about 4 days. Not good. I've heard this book is amazing so I'm hoping to find more time later in the week. I am reminded of a quote at the beginning of the first chapter, which states,
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.Yes. It is dark enough.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
West Wind #2
You are young. So you know everything. You leap
into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me.
Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without
any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and
your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent
penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a
dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile
away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable
pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life
toward it.
- Mary Oliver
- Mary Oliver
Monday, February 14, 2011
Cupid
I claim to hate Valentine's Day. Sometimes I think it's really true, other times I think I just over-exaggerate to make sure everyone knows I haven't bought into this Hallmark holiday. Truthfully, though, I just don't like to make a big thing of it. So this year I felt especially obnoxious in proclaiming my disdain for this culturally manifested holiday actually because it is my first one as a married woman. For some reason, that agitated me even more thane ever about the Day of Love. I felt a pressure that, because it's T and I's first Valentine's as husband and wife, it was expected that we do something big, expensive, and/or really special to tell to all of our family and friends and to make everyone around us envious of how in love we are. I hate that; and the unfounded stress made me really angry about this day!
The pressures of Valentine's have always felt like too much to be able to enjoy it as a holiday to actually just love the one(s) I love. I had to have a really good story. So, after T and I's second Valentine's in which we ate a really bad, overpriced meal (like $160 bucks), and then his car ran out of gas and we had to walk two miles in the freezing cold while in HEELS to a gas station - I just felt over it. Who wants that as their romantic Valentine's story? That's not going to make anyone jealous!
Thankfully enough for us, we can laugh about it together and realize that, no, this isn't the one day out of the year in which we have to go out of our way to say 'I love you.' So we decided to spend our Valentine's evening with friends - eating chili in their home and then going square dancing afterward! Unfortunately, with my amount of homework and with T's broken hand, square dancing didn't happen tonight. After chili with our friends, we drove up the old familiar route to Wallingford and treated ourselves to Molly Moon's Ice Cream (only THE best ice cream in the entire world, hands down, no questions asked, I win on this one). At the current moment, we are snuggled under a single blanket, with heads at opposite ends of the couch, I am blogging - ahem, I mean, doing homework - and T is reading. And I can look up at his adorable face, think of the five years of memories we've created together, and simply love him. It doesn't hurt that he got me a beautiful orchid plant and some truffles, either.
The pressures of Valentine's have always felt like too much to be able to enjoy it as a holiday to actually just love the one(s) I love. I had to have a really good story. So, after T and I's second Valentine's in which we ate a really bad, overpriced meal (like $160 bucks), and then his car ran out of gas and we had to walk two miles in the freezing cold while in HEELS to a gas station - I just felt over it. Who wants that as their romantic Valentine's story? That's not going to make anyone jealous!
Thankfully enough for us, we can laugh about it together and realize that, no, this isn't the one day out of the year in which we have to go out of our way to say 'I love you.' So we decided to spend our Valentine's evening with friends - eating chili in their home and then going square dancing afterward! Unfortunately, with my amount of homework and with T's broken hand, square dancing didn't happen tonight. After chili with our friends, we drove up the old familiar route to Wallingford and treated ourselves to Molly Moon's Ice Cream (only THE best ice cream in the entire world, hands down, no questions asked, I win on this one). At the current moment, we are snuggled under a single blanket, with heads at opposite ends of the couch, I am blogging - ahem, I mean, doing homework - and T is reading. And I can look up at his adorable face, think of the five years of memories we've created together, and simply love him. It doesn't hurt that he got me a beautiful orchid plant and some truffles, either.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Crash, Bang, Boom
T broke his hand tonight. He was playing flag-football; I was watching. He thought he just jammed his finger and then when it eventually looked like someone shoved a golf ball into the back of his right hand, we thought a trip to the ER wouldn't hurt. Sure enough, it's broke.
[And of course we took pictures when when got home to document this momentous occasion :)]
Cha. ER garb.
Unwrapping his cast-sling-thing.
You'll notice the one on the left (his right hand) is quite large.
Aerial view
Tilt to the right - oh yea check that hand bone of the middle finger.
Oh yea! From the side! Look at it sticking up!
Our actual feelings about his injured appendage.
Sad day.
It's an especially gray Seattle day. I don't think it rained, but I'm not sure because I have yet to leave my apartment. Oh yea. It's almost 5:30. Why is it that despite the fact that I finished a paper (three days before it's due), and cleaned the apartment (like washed our windows, scrubbed window sills, and dusted), I still feel unproductive?
Maybe something about lack of human contact.
Thank God that Mom called in the middle of the day or who knows what.
The interesting thing is that the longer I go without seeing people, and the more I want to be around them, the more I don't want to be around them. My disconnection makes it harder to reconnect. To make matters worse, now I have a whole weekend and no paper to write! What am I going to do? What will I stress out about? I'm not sure what to do with myself if I can't be stressed about school.
Oh yea, I can be stressed about internship.
[Insert perpetual whining here.]
And I think I'm stressed about money or something. I've had a longing all day - and typically every day - for beautiful things, and they all cost money. So then I feel this weird void.
Here are some stupidly beautiful things I've been looking at/thinking about today (they're really annoying):
Maybe something about lack of human contact.
Thank God that Mom called in the middle of the day or who knows what.
The interesting thing is that the longer I go without seeing people, and the more I want to be around them, the more I don't want to be around them. My disconnection makes it harder to reconnect. To make matters worse, now I have a whole weekend and no paper to write! What am I going to do? What will I stress out about? I'm not sure what to do with myself if I can't be stressed about school.
Oh yea, I can be stressed about internship.
[Insert perpetual whining here.]
And I think I'm stressed about money or something. I've had a longing all day - and typically every day - for beautiful things, and they all cost money. So then I feel this weird void.
Here are some stupidly beautiful things I've been looking at/thinking about today (they're really annoying):
Grumble. I hate how beautiful things are sometimes.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Gone to Carolina in my mind
hoyea.
remembering the days when i walked to the
dean dome in a sea of carolina blue
and an allegiance to a place like no other.
and rekindling the fire that burns only
to disintegrate all that is dook basketball.
And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.
Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.
And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.
I will die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and mine so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
- "After the Storm," Mumford & Sons
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.
Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.
And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.
I will die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and mine so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
- "After the Storm," Mumford & Sons
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
"Now We Are Six"
When I was one,
I had just begun.
I had just begun.
When I was two,
I was nearly new.
When I was three,
I was hardly me.
When I was four,
I was not much more.
When I was five,
I was just alive.
But now I am six,
I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six
now and forever.
-- A. A. Milne
A poem from a book of my childhood. Especially pertinent these days.
Desire, cont.
Per the audience's request, I want to share with you what I offered our group during our sharing time this past weekend. It is a beautiful excerpt from an essay in The Spirit of Food; this particular essay, written by Denise Frame Harlan, has been extremely poignant in my reading of this book so far. The entire essay is gorgeous, like a refreshing summer rain in North Carolina, but I only read a couple of paragraphs. I want to share them with you.
Where I begin, the author is describing her experience of sitting in a lecture in college.
He pulled out a stained yellow copy of Robert Farrar Capon's The Supper of the Lamb, opened the book, settled his glasses on his nose, and began to read.
"For all its greatness," Capon says, "the created order cries out for further greatness still. The most splendid dinner, the most exquisite food, the most gratifying company, arouse more appetites than they satisfy. They do not slake man's thirst for being; they whet it beyond all bounds."
I listened, stunned. Are Christians supposed to have appetites and thirst? To whet is to sharpen - are we to sharpen our appetites for the things of earth? The professor's face flushed and flushed again, and tears streamed from his eyes as he read about "The Inconsolable Heartburn...by which the heart looks out astonished at the world and in its loving, wakes and breaks at once." This heartburn, Capon says, this sadness for what is not yet here is ultimately a longing for God's final feast, the supper of the Lamb, when the Host of Creation will set all things right and will do so more beautifully than we can imagine.
The created order cries out - I knew that from Romans. Creation groans for further greatness still. Greatness in the kitchen? Greatness as a supper?
I knew intellectually that God was not about souls but about all things, just as I'd memorized from the book of Colossians - above all things, working through all things. But literally all things? Less than ideal things? Gritty things? Risky things? Beautiful, sensual things?
As if it were a near-death experience, my life flashed before me while the balding professor read scenes of wild blueberries eaten on a sunny mountainside, of riding a bicycle with hands raised to the sky, of watermelon rind pickles eaten at Thanksgiving, and of fingers tipped with green olives. I remembered my first taste of Communion wine at midnight Mass in the Colorado Rockies, my favorite sugar cream pie, and my grandmother's homemade noodles with chicken.
I glanced to my side to see my classmates as astonished as me by the professor weeping for joy over onions and flour, sausages and cigars, over a God who lavishes the whole universe with his affection, a God who holds us all in a state of dearness. The pen fell from my hand without my notice. I was more openhearted in that moment than I had ever been.
I'd never known what to do with all the love in my heart for this beautiful mess of a world. All this time, I'd be trying to temper and tame my passion for mountains and tea and road trips and cheesecake and people. I'd known God my whole life, had known Christ for a decade, and had focused on Jesus' suffering and sacrifice. I'd been afraid to love anything too much for fear that I'd disappoint God and prove myself too worldly, too attached to the everyday stuff of creation that would hinder my race toward heaven and the life hereafter. I'd been afraid, and I'd held my heart back. Suddenly it occurred to me that this fear, this withholding, might be sin. Maybe I'd had everything all wrong.
A man read a cookbook, and I met God again, as if I'd never met God at all, as if all my worship had been an attempt to tame a gorgeous world that did not need taming, but adoration.
As he closed the reading, the professor apologized and pulled out a handkerchief, leaving me thinking of Moses and his need for a veil after his meeting with God on Mt. Sinai. I ran to a bookstore and bought the book.
Needless to say, this passage as provoked much in my heart. I think it provoked the friends I was able to read it to as well. What a gift - to hear a message that is so different than the stifling, restrictive, choking ideas I've had of what it means to be a Christian. To lose everything, to lose yourself, to lose your love and desire and idiosyncrasies to a faith that wants robots. While I hear that, and internalize it, compounded over years and years of my sponge-like phase of adolescence, doing my homework really helps. I've not been able to get into Scripture much yet; it's still hard for me to even pick up the book, to hold it and know what it used to mean for me. But these new voices in m life are beacons of hope; they're lighthouses in the distance while I'm still out on the dark, ominous ocean of skepticism, doubt, anger, and fear.
One woman approached me after our sharing time and told me my voice should be on audiobooks (i.e. books on tape). If nothing else, that statement alone made my sharing completely worth it - books on tape, my dream!!
Where I begin, the author is describing her experience of sitting in a lecture in college.
He pulled out a stained yellow copy of Robert Farrar Capon's The Supper of the Lamb, opened the book, settled his glasses on his nose, and began to read.
"For all its greatness," Capon says, "the created order cries out for further greatness still. The most splendid dinner, the most exquisite food, the most gratifying company, arouse more appetites than they satisfy. They do not slake man's thirst for being; they whet it beyond all bounds."
I listened, stunned. Are Christians supposed to have appetites and thirst? To whet is to sharpen - are we to sharpen our appetites for the things of earth? The professor's face flushed and flushed again, and tears streamed from his eyes as he read about "The Inconsolable Heartburn...by which the heart looks out astonished at the world and in its loving, wakes and breaks at once." This heartburn, Capon says, this sadness for what is not yet here is ultimately a longing for God's final feast, the supper of the Lamb, when the Host of Creation will set all things right and will do so more beautifully than we can imagine.
The created order cries out - I knew that from Romans. Creation groans for further greatness still. Greatness in the kitchen? Greatness as a supper?
I knew intellectually that God was not about souls but about all things, just as I'd memorized from the book of Colossians - above all things, working through all things. But literally all things? Less than ideal things? Gritty things? Risky things? Beautiful, sensual things?
As if it were a near-death experience, my life flashed before me while the balding professor read scenes of wild blueberries eaten on a sunny mountainside, of riding a bicycle with hands raised to the sky, of watermelon rind pickles eaten at Thanksgiving, and of fingers tipped with green olives. I remembered my first taste of Communion wine at midnight Mass in the Colorado Rockies, my favorite sugar cream pie, and my grandmother's homemade noodles with chicken.
I glanced to my side to see my classmates as astonished as me by the professor weeping for joy over onions and flour, sausages and cigars, over a God who lavishes the whole universe with his affection, a God who holds us all in a state of dearness. The pen fell from my hand without my notice. I was more openhearted in that moment than I had ever been.
I'd never known what to do with all the love in my heart for this beautiful mess of a world. All this time, I'd be trying to temper and tame my passion for mountains and tea and road trips and cheesecake and people. I'd known God my whole life, had known Christ for a decade, and had focused on Jesus' suffering and sacrifice. I'd been afraid to love anything too much for fear that I'd disappoint God and prove myself too worldly, too attached to the everyday stuff of creation that would hinder my race toward heaven and the life hereafter. I'd been afraid, and I'd held my heart back. Suddenly it occurred to me that this fear, this withholding, might be sin. Maybe I'd had everything all wrong.
A man read a cookbook, and I met God again, as if I'd never met God at all, as if all my worship had been an attempt to tame a gorgeous world that did not need taming, but adoration.
As he closed the reading, the professor apologized and pulled out a handkerchief, leaving me thinking of Moses and his need for a veil after his meeting with God on Mt. Sinai. I ran to a bookstore and bought the book.
Needless to say, this passage as provoked much in my heart. I think it provoked the friends I was able to read it to as well. What a gift - to hear a message that is so different than the stifling, restrictive, choking ideas I've had of what it means to be a Christian. To lose everything, to lose yourself, to lose your love and desire and idiosyncrasies to a faith that wants robots. While I hear that, and internalize it, compounded over years and years of my sponge-like phase of adolescence, doing my homework really helps. I've not been able to get into Scripture much yet; it's still hard for me to even pick up the book, to hold it and know what it used to mean for me. But these new voices in m life are beacons of hope; they're lighthouses in the distance while I'm still out on the dark, ominous ocean of skepticism, doubt, anger, and fear.
One woman approached me after our sharing time and told me my voice should be on audiobooks (i.e. books on tape). If nothing else, that statement alone made my sharing completely worth it - books on tape, my dream!!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Community
This past weekend on a getaway to the snowy Washington mountains with a group of dear friends, we offered each other a beautiful time of personal sharing; Show and Tell, if you will. Saturday night was our sharing time and it was two and a half hours dedicated to knowing 15 other people in a deeper way through a story, song, poem, or video they shared. I love that. We didn't choose the order in which we shared, it was somewhat assigned; magically enough, the last one to go shared this wonderfully inviting song by Over the Rhine. It's been bouncing along in my brain ever since and unfortunately I can't provide the audio (firstly because blogspot doesn't give me that option and secondly because the album isn't out yet), but I wanted to at least let you taste the lyrics. They are simple, but profoundly warm, entirely true, and deliciously rich.All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Some prayers are better left unspoken
I just want to hold you and let the rest go
All my friends are part saint and part sinner
We lean on each other, try to rise above
We are not afraid to admit we are all still beginners
We are all late bloomers when it comes to love
All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Awful believers, skeptical dreamers, step forward
You can stay right here, you don't have to go
Is each wound you've received just a burdensome gift
It gets so hard to left yourself up off the ground
But the poet says we must praise a mutilated world
We're all working the graveyard shift
You might as well sing along
All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
As for your tender heart, this world's going to rip it wide open,
It ain't gonna be pretty, but you're not alone
All my favorite people are broken
Believe me, my heart should know
Awful believers, skeptical dreamers, step forward
You can stay right here, you don't have to go
Thursday, February 3, 2011
I was shone this photo in my class Essential Community yesterday, and was mortified. On the left, you see the latest cover of "US Weekly" with Elton John and his partner, David Furnish, and their new baby. On the right, you see the magazine with a "Family Shield" over the front in a convenience store in Arkansas. Usually, this shield is used for pornography covers or covers with expletives. Is this photo really worthy of an obscenity shield? What are the messages that those customers are getting from this? What about the kids in this small town who are struggling with their sexual identities? When they see something like this, the messages they internalize are ones of condemnation and contempt. They see this and think, "I am alone."
A brief interview from a news source wrote this:
I spoke with Harps Corporate Executive Assistant Marty Yarborough, who told me that every Harps store is equipped with these shields and that they get put up whenever customers complain about the content of a magazine cover. She said the word from the store about this particular cover was that “several” customers had complained, so the shield went up. She also confirmed that these shields are utilized on a store-by-store basis, so the magazine would not have been covered up at any of the other Harps locations, unless customers complained there as well. She also told me that the usage of the shield on this particular cover is “in no way our opinion on this issue.” She quickly added, “we do not have an opinion on this issue.”No matter where you or your family stands on homosexuality, it seems that we could stand to use a few reminder lessons in integrity. Democrat or republican, liberal or conservative, we are called to bring honor and dignity to ourselves and one another - and I believe we can do so, even when our opinions are different! That's the beauty of diversity.
Read more: http://bumpshack.com/2011/01/26/elton-johns-us-magazine-cover-banned-from-arkansas-store/#ixzz1CujA5YLc
I've loved this movie, "Finding Neverland," from the first time I saw it in high school. I cried and cried. There is something about this film that evokes both life and loss; childhood wonder and losing innocence. Not only is it visually stunning, but it is so beautifully moving. It makes me think about how life could be if we were to live more like children - more curious, more fascinated, less certain, less defensive.
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