A Blessing for Those Beginning a New Ministry Appointment

to be read with the tongue positioned gently in the cheek

May your car start easily and your keys turn smoothly to open the church doors;
may your accompanist arrive early and your liturgist be on time.
May you accurately gauge the height of chancel steps and the length of your robe,
and may your microphone amplify your voice without ear-splitting feedback.
May your sermon notes remain in order and your mouth not get too dry;
may your insights find a landing place in ears and hearts and minds.
May your congregation welcome you with grace and hospitality,
and wait until you’ve learned their names before triangulating you in their drama.
May your preaching be genuine and your own heart be fully present,
and may the Holy Mystery surround and fill and meet you in this new place,
today and each day that you are here.

© 2014 Kerry Greenhill

Water Breaks

Another new year, another renewed commitment to writing. But this year I have a plan, and even with a baby on the way, I really will make it happen!

Here’s a prayer-poem for the Baptism of Jesus, which is this Sunday. 
Water Breaks

Frozen, it expands
until it cannot be contained
by pipes too fixed and firm
in their places. 
Rushing, it roars 
through canyons and down streambeds
washing away dust, 
mud, rock, road,
truck, house, church, 
town. 
Pulsing, it pours
or trickles down the legs
after months of suspending 
a growing miracle
as another woman 
crosses the threshold
toward meeting her descending child. 
Lapping, it opens
as a man’s head emerges
from the quiet murky mystery
into shimmering, dove-shaped
light. 
Dripping and dancing, it blesses
infant, child, youth, adult
with the grace that goes before us, 
tearing down walls 
between sisters and brothers,
smashing the chains of alienation,
anger, judgment, fear, 
addiction, apathy, despair,
and death. 
May the water within you
and around you
break 
in ways that make life
and wholeness
more possible each day. 

Permission is granted to use this prayer-poem in worship. Please acknowledge with (c) Kerry Greenhill, 2014.

Discerning Calling: Coaches, companions, and conversation partners

Blog Day for Exploration 2013: Who called you on the journey of ministry?

This post is a reflection on “Who influenced you in discerning your Call to Ministry?” as part of the Exploration 2013 Blog Day. If you are a young adult between 18-26 and are wondering whether God might be calling you to ordained ministry, consider attending Exploration 2013, this November in Denver, Colorado – learn more at ExploreCalling.org.

Who and where I am today

I am an Ordained Deacon in The United Methodist Church. I believe I am called to this role to live out the ministry of a deacon, which includes bridging the gap that too often exists between the life of the local congregation and the needs of the world. I have been affirmed and set apart by colleagues in the New England Conference as having the gifts, grace, and fruits suitable for a lifetime ministry of Word and Service.

Currently, I live out my call through two (part-time) paid positions: as Field Coordinator for Imagine No Malaria in the Rocky Mountain Conference of The United Methodist Church, and as Communications Manager for Family Voices Colorado, a non-profit organization that advocates for improvements to health care for children and youth with special health care needs. Neither of these are exactly what I imagined when I first started on my journey to ordained ministry some 15 years ago–but they are not so far off, either.

Finding a faith home

I was raised in a church-going family, and had a sense of faith in God from a pretty early age. But throughout high school, I found more meaning in volunteering in the church nursery than attending worship services. When I went off to college, I intended to explore various different religious paths to see if there was one that felt like a better fit than the United Methodist church my family attended in New Hampshire. But my mom encouraged me to try out the Wesley Foundation, the Methodist campus ministry, just to see what it was like.

It turned out to be my home away from home for four years.

The campus minister, Rev. David Hindman, was a big part of creating the welcoming community I experienced there, as he made a point of learning everyone’s name on first meeting, and greeting them by name the next time he saw them. He was goofy enough to put a self-conscious teenager at ease, and sincere enough to create a safe space for serious conversations. David was one of my first mentors in ministry, mainly because he was the first to suggest to me directly that I should consider the possibility of pursuing ordained ministry myself.

Spacious conversations

I was never sure whether I was cut out (created) for ordering the life of a congregation as a pastor; I am a strong introvert, feeling drained by overexposure to socializing with people in groups. And I was still developing my own theology, figuring out what I believed about God’s love and judgment, about whether there was only one right choice in any situation, one right path in life for each person, or whether God left things a little more open-ended.

As I wrestled with these questions, David offered the wisdom and perspectives of different theologians and church leaders alongside his own experience as fodder for my consideration. As I remember it, there were some questions of belief he refused to answer directly, and others he was willing to be clear about his own views while still making space for those who saw things differently. He affirmed my gifts, and my self-knowledge regarding the challenges of a public role as an introvert. One time, he asked me what I thought the ideal kind of work for me would look like, and I answered, “I want to advocate for those who are vulnerable, especially women and children; I want to be able to write, and speak publicly, and teach.”

“Sounds a lot like ministry to me,” he replied.

I took part in a ministry discernment group with other students who were thinking along similar lines, leading a Covenant Discipleship Group and meeting with other small group leaders to begin the Ministry Inquiry Process (one of the first steps in the United Methodist ordination process). There were others in our group who were more certain about ministry; among a dozen Wesleyites in the class of ’99, at least 5 of us have gone on to seminary at some point since, some straight out of college. A good friend of mine attended Exploration ’96 and found it very helpful in confirming her sense of call. Today she is a campus minister (technically, university chaplain) in England.

Life experience as discernment

I was fortunate in the timing of my college experience, in that the UMC in 1996 shifted their understanding of ordained ministry, recognizing the Order of Deacon as a separate path to ordination for those called to ministries in or beyond the local church that exemplified service, compassion, and justice. Previously, those pursuing ordination were ordained first as a deacon, and then a couple years later, ordained again as an elder.* The new structure recognized more clearly the variety of ministries to which individuals might be called by God and affirmed by the church.

I didn’t feel sure enough about my sense of call to apply to seminary right after college, and I wanted a few years to go out and work in the world before I went back to school anyway. So I spent a year doing volunteer work in Venezuela (arranged through the Student Christian Movement at a Presbyterian church in Caracas, which I got connected with through a summer trip the Wesley Foundation helped me participate in), then two years working full-time at a non-profit in the Boston area (Child Welfare League of America) and working part-time as Young Adult Coordinator and Contemporary Worship Leader for College Avenue United Methodist Church.

In Venezuela, I learned that while I believe in ministries of compassion, I am not well suited to direct social service. And I grew stronger in my progressive social and theological views in the face of encounters with those who held to a stricter, more conservative faith. In Boston, I found that I wanted to pursue work that allowed me to explicitly acknowledge and connect my faith to action on a daily basis. I applied to seminary with the intention of becoming a writer: I wanted to write about Christianity in a way that was accessible to those outside the church.

Discernment through Discipline

My first day at seminary, I decided to change degree programs, from the broadly academic Master of Theological Studies to the more practical-ministry-oriented Master of Divinity. Iliff School of Theology was gracious enough to extend my financial aid for the extra year of coursework. While I still didn’t feel called to parish ministry, I recognized that there were other paths that interested me (like campus ministry) that would require the MDiv, and I wanted to keep my options open.

After my first year at Iliff, I decided to revisit the question of ordination, so I took United Methodist Doctrine as a summer intensive course: one week from start to finish, with an oral exam on Friday covering material we first encountered on Monday. I wanted to make sure that I could maintain my intellectual integrity if I did go through with what at that time was a seven-year process. And although there were elements of John Wesley’s teaching and sections of the Book of Discipline with which I did not quite see eye to eye, still I found a lot to affirm, and there seemed room enough for disagreement within the covenant community, and a process by which to change official positions of the denomination.

So after passing the class, I chose a day for prayer and fasting – not a frequent part of my spiritual life, but one that has stood the test of time – to seek God’s guidance about pursuing ordination. I read the sections of the Book of Discipline that describe the different orders of ministry. And I found that the section on the Ministry of the Deacon resonated powerfully within me, in a way that seemed to speak to my highest values and deepest convictions. And I believed that this was a way to serve God that would be life-giving for me and pleasing to God.

Companions on the journey

I first started thinking about ministry as a vocation in about 1997. I decided to resume my inquiry process in 2003, and was finally ordained as a Deacon in Full Connection in 2009. In those six years, I had the support and company of many gifted and gracious people. Classmates in seminary shared intellectual passions and learning experiences in a variety of ministry settings as we went through our field education placements together. Experienced ministers Rev. Linda Gertenbach and Rev. Linda Marshall, both deacons, served as mentors for different stages of my candidacy process; Rev. Betty Bradford, an elder, was my supervisor in a local church setting for nearly 10 years. I participated in the Residency in Ministry retreats for provisional ministers in the Rocky Mountain Conference, even though I was still a member in New England, because I felt I would benefit from the community of peers and opportunities for spiritual formation as a minister that the program offered.

Not done yet

With some surprise, I find that I am doing almost exactly what I thought I wanted to do fifteen years ago: I advocate for children in Africa dying of malaria, and for children with disabilities in Colorado whose families struggle to access quality health care. I write every week, on websites and blogs, for each of these roles, and I give presentations and sermons about how God in Jesus Christ offers abundant life and calls us to be part of that life-changing work for others’ sake. Although working multiple jobs has been challenging at times (I’ve been doing it for most of the last 14 years), it has allowed me to feel that I am fulfilling the call of the Deacon to bridge the gap between the church and the needs of the world in a very real and concrete way.

And the journey continues, along with the need for ongoing discernment. Ordination was a major milestone on this ministry path, but not the end by any means. In the local church, United Methodist pastors are asked each year whether they believe they are still effective in that setting, or if it might be time for them to move on. Deacons who serve in or beyond the local church may have annual opportunities for that kind of reflection, may stay in one place for ten years, or may find themselves unexpectedly looking for work when church or organizational circumstances change.

It’s not easy, always wanting to be intentional and faithful in one’s vocational choices. But I am so thankful for all who have walked and talked with me along the way, helping me stay open to God’s leading, suggesting possibilities I may have overlooked, comforting and challenging me by turn to stay true to who God has created and called me to be. May it be so for you as well.

+ + +

*Elders are charged with ministries of Word, Service, Order, and Sacrament; they are itinerant, which means they agree to go where the bishop sends them to serve; and they have security of appointment: as long as they remain in good standing – and agree to itinerancy – they are guaranteed work within the church. Deacons are charged with ministries of Word and Service; they are not itinerant, because so many deacons serve outside the local church and in different capacities than elders; and they do not have security of appointment: they have the freedom and the responsibility of finding their own work.

Kyrie eleison: on the Newtown, Connecticut, shooting

My heart breaks for the children, families, and community of Newtown, Connecticut today. Although I do not believe God causes or intends violence in the world, the phrase “Kyrie eleison,” ancient Greek for “Lord, have mercy,” keeps running through my mind. In a more extended form, this is my prayer:

Mothering God, bring comfort to those who mourn. God of justice and mercy, teach us what changes we can make in our society to prevent such tragedies, and give us the courage to persevere in the face of opposition. Holy One, remind us once more that we are all your children, all sisters and brothers in one human family, all inextricably woven together in the fabric of creation, and transform us by that knowledge to regard one another with love. In the name of Jesus, who was called the Prince of Peace, I pray. Amen.

A quick Google search for “school shooting” yields 163,000,000 results. After the Wikipedia entry for the category, the names of places display like a devastating roll call: Amish school shooting. Rio de Janeiro. Emsdetten. Kauhajoki. Rocori. Maryland. Ohio. Although it has yet to reach the top 10 results, today’s tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary, leaving 18 children (kindergarteners) and 10 adults dead, is sure to show up soon. A friend posted on Twitter that there have been 31 school shootings since Columbine – and that doesn’t include movie theaters, Sikh temples, camps, malls, and other places that should be safe.

I have opinions about what we as a society should do at the policy level, to make mental health services more available and guns, especially automatic or semi-automatic weapons, less so. And I have theological beliefs about what God desires for humankind (abundant life, justice, love, wholeness). And I am so grateful for my friends and colleagues who are making eloquent arguments that unite those two arenas in urgent calls to action – because I do not believe that prayer, by itself, is sufficient response. I believe God calls us to put prayer into action, to help bring about the kin’dom of heaven on earth.

But right now, I have a sermon to finish writing, about light in the darkness, about longing for something brighter and muddling through, about choosing joy in the midst of struggle. And so I pray that if, today, you need to turn off the news to be kind to yourself, to show love for your family, to cultivate peace in your own heart, that you will do that. And I pray that we will engage in conversation, as friends and family, as communities, as a nation and as a global society, about how to care for those with mental illness, how to stay connected to people who are troubled so they do not reach the extremes of despair and isolation, how to protect children and other vulnerable people, how to prevent violence and offer healing to those who carry the scars of violence in body, mind, or spirit, and how together we can move toward a vision of a world of justice, peace, compassion, and joy.

God of the Whirlwind (a prayer-poem from a safe distance)

Great, generative, expansive God,
we live in this universe beyond comprehension
on a planet we sometimes think we own,
and we narrow our vision to human-sized concerns:
paychecks and home repair, love and betrayal,
the silence of infertility or the chaotic clutter of children’s clamor.
We forget how wide and unbending the continent,
how vast and all-conceiving the sea.
Yet our sacred stories bear witness that you are not uncaring,
that the sparrow no less than the sperm whale
is worthy of your fierce tenderness.
We are like the blades of grass
that flourish for a season and then vanish,
like the crimson sulfur amber leaves
that drift from outstretched limbs
to re-enter the cycle of death and transformation.
These winds, wild whirling clouds and whipping rain
that lash and batter land, sea, islands, trees,
beaches and buildings,
landmarks and lilies —
they do not speak of grace or blessing,
love or life abundant,
as far as we can see,
and so we pray to be kept out of their way,
safe from harm in your embrace.
Yet when there will be suffering,
for lilies and grass and sparrows and whales,
who are we to exempt ourselves from it?
Just one more species crying out for preservation,
when all along we have not protected others
(not our sisters who are beaten or our brothers who are bullied,
not our children who are addicted or our mothers who are neglected,
not our fathers who are trained to kill and be killed,
or our grandparents who are left alone without memory,
not even our rivers or trees or sea or sky,
who provide for our needs world without end amen).
We seek your mercy, since we see you as all-powerful,
but perhaps what we need even more is to hear
in the silence after the storm
your still, small voice
inviting us to pray
with our hands, feet, eyes, mouths,
hearts, bodies, and souls,
that the world will be made whole
that the world will be made holy
that the hole will be made well
and the well would hold out hope
for the hopeless and the powerless and the small and the still
that we all would be made one
in sorrow, in joy, in struggle, in healing,
that the whirlwind would bring no death
without new life
and that each life would be seen as precious
in the whole whirling cycle of resurrection.
May our hearts be broken open
by the breaking of others,
and our lives be made whole
by humbling ourselves to hold the broken.
In the name of the teacher healer prophet mystic
rebel servant leader king,
may it be so and ever so
in the world of the whirlwind
and the swirl of the Spirit.
Amen.

Deacons and Order: A Personal Journey

Posted at Deacons Hold the Bowl on September 22, 2012.

Within the sometimes ambiguous and occasionally mysterious world of the Ordained Deacon in Full Connection, I find myself straddling two camps in more ways than one.

In the United Methodist Church, Deacons are, generally speaking, called to serve as a bridge between the church and the needs of the world. Deacons can be appointed to ministries within or beyond the local church; most Deacons can quickly tell you in which of those areas their primary appointment falls.  For the past five years, I have been appointed to both.

I serve as an associate pastor in a small, progressive, urban congregation in northwest Denver, and I also work part-time for a non-profit organization that advocates for improved access to and quality of health care for children with special needs.

Don’t you want your own church?
While I was going through the ordination process, a total of about six years, I was asked repeatedly – by the District Committee on Ministry, by the interview team on the Board of Ordained Ministry, by clergy colleagues and seminary classmates – if I was sure that I was called to be a Deacon. “Don’t you think someday you’ll want your own church?” one friend asked me on more than one occasion.

My answer, admittedly a bit of a hedge, was usually along the lines of, “I’m open to the possibility that God will call me to lead a church at some point, but that doesn’t feel like the right fit for me right now.  I just don’t feel called to order the life of the local congregation.”

I appreciate that many of these people asked the question out of a desire to affirm my gifts for leadership. And each time I was asked, I would again direct some time and energy into prayerful discernment, to figure out whether the question itself was God at work through those close to me. Pursuing the kind of ministry that everyone understands has its appeal, and there are advantages to being an Elder (even with the possible removal of security of appointment) that the ministry of a Deacon does not offer.

But over the years, I have come to believe that this question of Order is really the sticking-point in my sense of call. Yes, I can (and do) preach, and teach. I love the sacraments wholeheartedly and would treasure the opportunity to offer baptism and Communion directly to whomever asked, whether an Elder was present or not. I attend Finance Committee and SPRC meetings, and Trustees when time allows (I am part-time, after all); for five years, I have been privileged to have a very collegial relationship with the senior pastor and have been included in almost every major decision-making process and vision-setting discussion. I participate in the administration of the local church in varied and significant ways.

But I do not desire to be the person in charge.

Leadership vs. Order
This intuitive conviction was affirmed this summer, when the alignment of the planets – or God’s wicked sense of humor, if you prefer – meant that a pastoral transition at my church and an executive transition at the non-profit where I work took place at exactly the same time. And I was asked to fill the gap in the interim period in both places.  So for one month, I was both the Acting Lead Pastor (the title I came up with) and Interim Executive Director, both part-time.  Never mind that both of these are full-time roles, or that I hadn’t sought out either one. There was a need, and I was asked to serve as a bridge, connecting the past with the future.

I think I did fairly well. I received positive feedback from the congregation, and from my coworkers, about my efforts during that time. And I could not be more relieved that I am not in either of those roles any more.  There are people who relish being in charge, who have gifts and graces that equip them to discern a vision, make decisions, and guide the whole congregation toward a goal. I appreciate having opportunities to lead, and to have a voice in planning and decision-making, but I prefer to work with or for others most of the time.

The thing is, I don’t believe I need to be in charge of a congregation to be a leader. My sense of call is more about helping others connect their story with God’s story than it is about guiding the people of God toward a goal. My leadership comes through writing, teaching, and preaching, developing personal relationships, planning and leading worship, coordinating the work of committees and teams in the church, and directing the choir. I am striving to live out the Deacon’s call to ministry as a set-aside servant leader, one who embodies the service to which all Christians are called, and invites the followers of Jesus into their own ministries of compassion and justice.

Christ has no body now but yours
Sometimes God calls us to work for which we don’t feel qualified, but we find in stepping up that we are capable of more than we realized. Sometimes doors close and windows open in unexpected ways. But I was moved and persuaded by Parker Palmer when I read Let Your Life Speak in seminary, that how God calls us is generally in harmony with how God has created us.

And – at least right now – I don’t believe I am created for, or called to, ordering the life of the church.

But I believe the church needs Deacons – and Elders, committed laypeople, local pastors, certified lay ministers, and all the other names we give to the ways in which people intentionally choose to serve God – to support and strengthening the functioning of the Body of Christ in important ways.  The head is of course important, with eyes for vision and mouth for communication, but so are the hands and feet and heart of the Body, reaching out to touch those in need, being stirred by compassion and courage to guide the work of the whole. Together, we serve God in the world through many ministries, with many gifts, but guided by one Spirit. May it be so for you and for me.

Rev. Kerry Greenhill is Associate Pastor at Highlands UMC in Denver and Communications Manager at Family Voices Colorado. You can follow her on Twitter.

Prayer for General Conference

So much for weekly blogging… I will post life/work/ministry updates sometime in the coming weeks, but for now I just wanted to share a prayer I am working on music for, as delegates from around the world meet in Tampa, Florida, to decide matters of great importance regarding the structure, policies, practices, and official teachings of The United Methodist Church. Others are doing excellent work reporting and reflecting on the specifics of those decisions; I am following along as time allows, and holding all involved in prayer.

Prayer for #GC2012

May our conversations be holy
May every vote be bathed in prayer
May we listen well to those who are on the margins
May we always speak with care

May we hear the voices of all God’s children
May we always offer grace
May we see the image of Christ in one another
When we stand face to face

May the Holy Spirit lead us forward
through this valley of tears
May God’s will be done on earth as in heaven
until we find healing and peace.

Football & Jesus

I am not watching football right now. You probably don’t care about that, but I should explain that currently, the Denver Broncos are playing (and getting their collective behinds handed to them by) the New England Patriots in a championship game.

I live in Denver.

I used to live in New England.

So approximately half of my social networks are posting furiously about the game, some lamenting and others rejoicing. And it’s only half because I am a church nerd (see blog name), so the other half of my contacts have been re-posting or reacting to a YouTube video featuring a spoken word piece called “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus.”  More on that in a minute.

Tebow fever is big here in Denver, and in many church circles. Of course his name has become a verb, and the action it refers to has become what the reporters like to call “an internet sensation,” with people from all over submitting photos and videos of the knee-down prayer posture. I have heard that some people call him “Tesus,” or “white Jesus,” and I admit to having smiled at the jokes.  I haven’t done a ton of research, but from the little I know, his life story, his unashamed commitment to his faith, his sincerity, are all touching and beautiful.  I don’t think it’s (entirely) his fault that a crazy cult of personality has sprung up around him (snark/satire alert on that link).  But.  I hate football, and even Tim Tebow can’t change that.

Hate is a strong word, and probably not quite accurate: I hate oppression and injustice, whereas I really just find football incredibly boring.  And a shocking waste of resources.  A colleague in ministry posted on Facebook,

How about this for a bet.
If the Broncos win: I’ll Tebow at church tomorrow.
If the Broncos lose: You’ll seriously consider the possibility that there is a serious theological problem with a God that answers the prayers of an NFL quarterback before those of a starving child.

Which raises a number of excellent questions about what we believe is the purpose or function of prayer, whether and how God intercedes in the world, and what the relative balance of responsibility  between God and humanity is for all kinds of things, from football games to ending starvation.  What are God’s priorities?  What are ours? What is the relationship between God and human beings?

Showing on another TV channel tonight is the Miss America pageant. I didn’t watch, but novelist Jennifer Weiner live-tweeted much of it so I caught glimpses of it through her words. And frankly, that was enough.  (Her final comment: “Thanks for enduring this insane anachronism with me. See you Monday for the #bachelor [which she live-tweets each time a new ep airs]. Because that’s much more intellectual.”)

Now, I find myself on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the brink of making blanket judgmental statements like, “Football is such a waste of time – football fans have no sense of what is important in life!” or “I can’t believe we’re still judging women based on what they look like in a swimsuit! Anyone who watches or participates in beauty pageants is so superficial!”  Both of which are as unfair as they are untrue. Because my idea of quality television?  Reveling in the nostalgia, glamor, romance, and intrigue of WWI-era aristocracy (and their staff) in Downton Abbey.  Which, of course, is smart and witty and incredibly fun, unlike football [ducking as the one football fan reading this throws a shoe]. But it has veeeerrry little to do with how I believe God wants me (or others) to live.

So. I can’t throw stones at people who watch TV to be entertained, obviously.  But it does force me to confront the question: What are my priorities?  Around whom does my life revolve?  To what will I give my time, my energy, my money?  How does God call me to live?  And the answer I want to live into is this: To illuminate the ways God is at work in the world for love, joy, justice, beauty, and wholeness, and to invite others to join in that creative and life-giving work.

And to the young poet Bball1989 who wrote and performed “Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus,” I want to say, this is the work to which Jesus leads me. And I cannot do it without the community of faith and grace and tradition and Spirit called the Church.  Because although I understand your point about Jesus ending a certain kind of religion, a particular perspective on and way of practicing what it means to be religious, or faithful, or holy, or right with God, I do not believe that Jesus intended to end religion.

At its heart, religion – from the Latin, re- + ligāre  to bind, tie – is about the ties that bind us to one another, about re-connecting with the source of our being and our sisters and brothers, about not only beliefs but stories and prayers and practices and wisdom that link us in a long chain through history and around the world.  And like every other organization or institution or facet of civilization in which humans are involved, it gets corrupted, regularly, by some of the tendencies in human nature to draw circles that make sure some people are in and some people are out, or to feel better about ourselves by pointing out the flaws or failings of others.  But this is not religion, any more than it is education or government or art. This is sin.  And yes, Jesus helps us overcome sin – depending on your flavor of theology, he conquered it, or rooted it out, or heals us from it, or took away its power – but religion is how I keep learning to see Jesus in my daily life, instead of only in the Bible.  And it helps give me new frameworks for understanding how Jesus saves, and how God is at work in the world, beyond what was written 1900 years ago.  (Both Nadia and Christian wrote eloquently about this, so be sure to read their responses.)

So I do not apologize for not watching football, or for watching Downton Abbey. But I do pray that my life might bear witness to the loving, healing, creating, inspiring power of God at work through Jesus Christ, through community, through the traditions and practices and prayers and beliefs that have been handed down, questioned, reinterpreted, poked, prodded, sung, reclaimed, syncretized, celebrated, condemned, and preserved through religion.  And that we may all learn to pray sincerely for the will of God to be done on earth, as it is in heaven.  Where, I’m pretty sure, there is no football.

Easier not to

The new year is off to a bit of a bumpy start for me. No big crises or drama, just the end of a rushed vacation back east to see family followed by a heavy work week with grantwriting and back pain and motivation issues. Nothing worthy of complaining about when I know so many people dealing with major illness, unemployment, bankruptcy, and so on, but enough to make me want to go back to bed for a week and start 2012 over again.

Like millions of others, I have lots of good intentions about what I will do differently this year, though in recent years my cynicism has led me to limit my formal resolutions to a very short list of achievable goals. There’s something about a threshold moment like putting up a new calendar (or graduating from college, or moving, or getting married) that makes the future seem so open and full of possibility, as though all the past mistakes have been erased and we can really start from scratch in deciding who we will be and how we will live.  And the Christian faith affirms this sense of possibility, of redemption and new beginnings, of the time when God begins to “do a new thing” in us.

But then, after a few weeks or days or hours of being on our best behavior, somehow we slip back into those old habits or routines. Despite our best intentions, we behave as though nothing had changed. We sleep in instead of meditating, watch TV instead of exercising, ignore the reminder taped to our desk to “Write Every Day!!” because conveniently, we didn’t tell anyone about it and therefore we are only accountable to ourselves and God, and fortunately, God is very forgiving. (Or is that just me? No? )  Christians (starting around the 2nd century, with Bishop Irenaeus) have called this tendency to mess up repeatedly “original sin,” but I prefer a more scientific explanation.

Inertia.

A body at rest tends to remain at rest; a body in motion tends to remain in motion – and resists change in the direction of its motion proportional to its mass.  Just one of many lessons from my high school physics class that have proven to be useful in justifying phenomena only remotely related to actual physics (see also Entropy, which explains why my workspace tends to get messier with time rather than neater).

Change is not easy, whether we are trying to change our diet, exercise habits (or lack thereof), addictive behavior, ways of relating to family members, how we think about God, or a tendency to leave dirty dishes in the sink. It takes energy, intention, and paying attention; and it takes a willingness to try, fail, and try again.  One of my coworkers in my non-profit job has a framed print on the wall of her office that reminds us all, “Change – of any kind – requires courage.”

It’s just easier not to. It’s easier to let inertia have its way with us, to be carried along by the momentum of our lives and pretend we have no say in the matter. It’s easier to believe God has decided all that has happened and all that will happen, that no matter how hard we try, we are doomed or destined to be who we have always been.  Fatalism can be awfully handy at times.  But I don’t think that’s what Jesus the Christ asked of those who would follow him.

Whether you take the Gospels symbolically or literally, the stories about Jesus reflect over and over a man who chose the desires and purposes of God over the expectations of the world. (I know lots of people believe that Jesus’ life was entirely predestined and that his crucifixion was necessary to redeem people from their sins; I have a different understanding that perhaps I’ll go into another time.) And again and again, Jesus invited people to choose: to follow him, or to stay on their original path. To take up their cross, or take the easy way out. To love their neighbor, or to let the religious leaders of the day tell them it was okay to see some people as less than human, undeserving of justice or compassion.

I don’t know about you, but to me, choice implies the ability to actually choose, to say yes or no, to accept or refuse the invitation to a radically different way of being in relationship with God and with other people – with all of creation – than most people had previously imagined.  In reading the Bible, I can almost hear Jesus saying, “I know it’s easier not to. But this is the only Way, the only Life, the only Truth that makes sense to me in light of God’s amazing, all-embracing love. Join me. Easier has nothing to do with it.“

So I will try. And probably fail. But with God’s grace, I will keep trying. To honor my body through exercise and healthy eating choices. To honor my relationships with family and friends by being intentional about staying in touch.  To honor other people as God’s children by looking them in the eye, listening to their story, focusing on relationship more than task or result. To honor the earth as God’s creation by driving less, eating more plant-based foods, reducing waste, accumulating less. To honor the gifts and passions God has given me by writing every week –  here and for worship and for publication (writing daily is still a step or two away!) – and finding other ways to play and create things of joy and beauty.

Today is Epiphany, the celebration of the Wise Ones from the east arriving in Bethlehem to honor Jesus with their gifts, and of the star that led them in their journey, from distant cultures across inhospitable terrain, to see firsthand the young child who they believed was destined to become a king.  It would have been easier not to. Nobody would have blamed them if inertia had gotten the best of them. It would have been easier to stay home, to give thanks for this new life in their prayers instead of with their bodies, to stay far away from the paranoia of King Herod and the fears of all Jerusalem about the rumors of a baby who would change everything.

But easier had nothing to do with it.