Mastered the Divine

Well, it seems the name of my blog is finally (blessedly) obsolete: as of Sunday, May 24th, 2009, I became LReed, MDiv/MA :) I have, if you will, mastered the divine.

Sunday was one of the most joyful days I have experienced in a long time. I could barely sit still in the pew during graduation; my cheeks hurt from smiling so much during the ceremony, and my throat was raw from singing and cheering for my peers by the end. My heart was just overflowing with gratitude. Overflowing with gratitude for my friends, my classmates, my professors, my colleagues, and my family who got me through. I felt the cloud of witnesses so profoundly on Sunday; I have been carried by my community to this achievement, and as I walked across the stage staring out into the congregation, all I wanted to do was fall onto my knees in thanks and joy.

And yet, this was also a roller-coaster of a week. A family member died unexpectedly 6 days before the ceremony. Loss was on my consciousness in a palpable way. And I am continually reminded that grief and gratitude tend to go hand in hand. So on Sunday, I was also overwhelmed by the ones who were not sitting in the congregation that day. Overwhelmed by the people who had always been part of the landscape of my life, people who were integral to getting me to where am now...people who have now disappeared from the canvas.

It has been quite a year. I view 2008-2009 through the lens of the passion narrative. There were experiences of loss and grief from this year that often made me feel like I was stuck somewhere between Good Friday and Easter. And yet, as I walked across the stage on Sunday, I remembered the women who visited the tomb daily, who grieved and wept and prayed without ceasing; and I realized that my community, the people who visited, grieved, and prayed with me through all of this year, they had loved me into resurrection.

I know the divine because I have been taught love by my community. Thus, my Master of Divinity will always reflect for me how truly, how unselfishly, and how sincerely I have been loved. I can only pray I can live into that legacy of love that has been shown to me.

Dive

I think I'm ready to be done with school. Scratch that: I KNOW I'm ready to be done with the school. Not because I think I know everything I need to do (and I still cringe when I think of the many things I feel like I *should* know 4 years into my seminary career), but because I am just DONE. I have "I've-been-in-school-my-whole-life"-itis. I am tired.

Yet, there is a little voice inside my head protesting "Savor this! Appreciate this! You will never have it again!" And I know it's true. When else in life will my "job" be to show up (in whatever state of cleanliness/presentability I choose), sit in a room with other interesting people and just, well, learn? That's kind of a sweet deal. I remember my friends in Goma, and try not to take my opportunities for granted. It's a discipline, but I will try not to squander my last year in academia.

And yet, I think it's a good tension that I'm feeling--I felt this very strongly when I came back from Goma, but I don't think God would be content with a bunch of ministers who are happy to stay in the classroom for the rest of their lives. I was that minister-to-be, up until last year even. I was not sick of school. I think this might be a good kick in the pants from God, giving me the motivation I need to leave the comforts of the academy and start trying my hand at this thing I've been theorizing about for 4 years now.

I feel like I've refined a personal art of surrender these last four years. With each road block that came my way, personally or professionally, I have made a habit it seems of throwing my hands up and just saying, "Really? You can have this" (admittedly: it is an alternately angry and reverent surrender :-) ). I think my spiritual "posture" these last four years has very much been of my arms outstretched into the air. When I think I about it now, it looks less like of a posture of defeat, or weariness. It looks more like a diver, poised to jump into the deep end.

So, maybe, I'm not weary with school, and where I am now. Maybe, after all the stretching and grieving and growing that these last four years have brought, I'm just ready to dive.

Back on Track

I find that the degree to which I want to write in my blog is directly proportional to the amount of schoolwork I should be doing instead of blogging.  Thus, with paper and application deadlines looming on the rapidly approaching horizon, I am here :-)  Getting back on track with this blogging thing.

It will be impossible for me to update on everything that's happened since my last post in July.  Here's the cliff notes version, though: I finished up my time at Fuller.  I went to Goma, DRC--it wrecked me and transformed me.  I started my 4th and (hopefully) final year at seminary.  I am on track with the ordination thing, and am applying for CPE residencies next year.  I am loving my friends, and my family--I am just smitten with my whole community right now.  

The time I spent at Heal Africa in Goma, DRC was perhaps the most blog worthy event thus far.  It is impossible to sum up my experiences when I filled up a whole journal's worth of thoughts during my time there.  But, fear not! :-)  You can read my thoughts (and other eloquent entries from my teammates) at our trip blog:  Goma Team Blog.

Also, I'm sure many of you have heard news of the worsening crisis currently unfolding in Goma, and all of Eastern Congo.  I encourage you to educate yourself about the cause of what has been dubbed a "humanitarian catastrophe" here:  "How We Fuel Africa's Bloodiest War."

This article gives one of the best, most accurate summaries of the situation in DRC that I have found.  If you want to learn more about HEAL Africa, one of the foremost organizations responding to this crisis, you can go to their website: www.healafrica.org

It's hard to know what else to say when so much time has passed!  The last few days have been a rollercoaster with the election: I echo my friends when I say that I am proud to be an American, but disappointed to be a Californian.  Watching Obama win, and celebrating that win in Berkeley, is something I will remember forever.  It was incredible to see the impromptu gatherings that took place, where perfect strangers reached out to each other with hugs, high fives, music, and celebration.  I am proud to be a part of history in this way, and I thank God that elections can be won not on the polemic of fear, but the polemic of hope.

My heart is heavy, though, thinking about Prop 8.  While hope won the national election, I think fear ruled on this statewide scale.  I know I cannot understand fully the effect this decision has on my LGBTQ sisters and brothers; but I grieve with them for the pain this decision has caused.  After the elation from Obama's victory, this was a sobering reminder of how much change still needs to come.

I'll leave you with this picture I took last night at one of the impromptu block parties my friends and I stumbled upon on our way home from a walk around downtown Berkeley--it captures, for me, the joy of the evening and the joy I've been feeling in my recent life!

What I really learned

Fuller people: this one goes out to you :-)

For the last day of my summer class, Presbyterian Creeds, we had to write a one page reflection paper completing the sentence "The one thing I've learned in this class that will impact my ministry most is..."  In typical me-fashion, I threw my paper together an hour before class, writing something kind of vague about studying the confessions and creeds of the PC(USA) as historical documents.  It wasn't insincere, but it also wasn't really the most important thing I learned, or the thing that will impact my ministry the most.  It was something else entirely.

First, a confession is in order: I came into this experience modeling inappropriately judgmental behavior.  It's no secret that my seminary falls pretty hard on one side of the ideological spectrum.  And while I may be one of the most theologically conservative people at my seminary, in general I fit in fairly well there.  Over the last few years, the environment I've been learning in has pushed my boundaries in really good ways, and I've grown tremendously there. 

All this to say: before this summer class, I prepped myself to go to what is, ideologically speaking, the "other" seminary, and to meet the "other" people who believed "other" things about various issues.  The first day of class, I listened for cues in the language used, watched for body language when certain topics were brought up, and inwardly scoffed at some of my classmates' comments.  Let's face it: I was being snotty.

I learned pretty quickly into that two week course, however, that in my effort to pay attention to what people thought about certain controversies, I was forgetting to pay attention to the people themselves.  And what a shame that would've been if I had never woken up.  Because the people I met in this "other" place were wonderful--they were welcoming, funny, dynamic, intelligent, faithful, and kind.  They showed me that, as God's children, we are all much more deep and complex than the opinion we express on one issue, or our ability (or inability) to support the party line.

So what was the most important thing I learned in this class, really?  The most important thing I learned in this class is that, if I want to live authentically as a child of God in community with my sisters and brothers, I have to get off of my ideological high horse and get to know my sisters and brothers for who they are in Christ before anything else.  And that doesn't mean I can't go to bat for the real issues that are important to me; but I think when we start by understanding who we are as children of God, together, it becomes a little easier to deal with the issues.  It makes us less desperate when we realize our salvation, and our Divine heritage, does not rise and fall with our stance on our modern day controversies.

I saw this sort of interaction modeled on the first day of class when my professor invited her mentor, a former PC(USA) Moderator, to speak to us about one particular issue.  He presented one side of the argument graciously and with a directness I admire.  My professor was honest in saying that she completely disagreed with her mentor--but she listened to him with love in her face, and at the end of the day they went to dinner together.  That, friends, is the sort of relationship which I think will keep this denomination alive.  That is the sort of denomination I am proud to be a part of.

So I owe one big thank you to my classmates at Fuller for waking me up to the biases I didn't even know I have, and reminding me of that one very important lesson: issues are important, but people should always come first.  

Healing

Healing.  It's not a very big word, really, but it carries tremendous weight.  It's also a remarkably unclear word: people alternately use it to express medical cures, internal peace, and even spiritual renewal.  It's a loaded word.  

Interestingly enough, it's a word that's been thrown around almost ad nauseam in my intensive class this summer.  It's never meant in a way that's intentionally upsetting; my professor is a very kind-hearted woman who has seen some incredible things (miraculous, really) done by the power of the Holy Spirit.  She claims to have seen people healed (sometimes instantaneously), both emotionally and physically.  Naturally, she is trying to share her experiences in the name of promoting hope in her students--everything she's shared, I know, comes from a deep place of compassion in her.  But I still cringe every time I hear her utter the word "healing."

I know this radiates out of my own experience.  While my health problems have blessedly melted into the background of my life, I still remember how it felt to have people talking about physical healing in a spiritual context.  It was always really painful to have people equate God's healing power with my physical health, because the reality of the situation is that health still alludes me.  I still have epilepsy.  So what does that mean, when we're dealing with "healing" in the spiritual realm?  Did I not meditate hard enough?  Did I not have enough faith?  Does God not love me enough?

Obviously, I don't think any of the answers to the above question are "yes."  I may still have wayward brainwaves, but I still feel like I've been healed through my faith, and through God as I've seen him expressed in the love of my community.  Healing can be so much more than a cure; I think healing is whatever enables you live with hope beyond your circumstances.

I just wish my professor talked about it that way when she shares testimonies about the healing she's encountered.  Especially because I know everyone in the class with me has been touched, directly or indirectly, by the devastating reality of our mortal bodies.  "Healing," as she talks about it, is not theoretical--it calls to mind specific people, places, grief, and hope in everyone present.  And while I know I have found my own healing, when my professor said today that she thought "Jesus was going to heal someone in our class," it felt like one gigantic carrot hanging in front of my nose, just out of reach.

So next time she brings up healing, I wish she'd talk about it as more than just a cure. I wish she'd honor the complexity, knowing that for as many people are healed by the power of God, many more aren't--and I wish she'd talk more clearly about how that does not represent a spiritual deficit on their part.  "Healing" is a loaded word; I wish she'd use it more carefully.

A heart full of love

What is there to say about these last few weeks?  It's been a roller coaster of experience and emotion.  After the crash of finals came the much needed pause, time for reflection and the opportunity to sink into rest.  I feel peace again.  I'm not speechless anymore.  I'm able to close my eyes when I pray again.

I'm taking a summer class at a seminary that is very different than what I'm used to.  It's not bad, by any means, and while there are some things that startle me, overall I'm enjoying the opportunity to see God through the eyes of this place.  I'm especially thinking more about how, and where, God speaks.  "God is still speaking" may be the mantra of the UCC, but I think this little Presbyterian can claim it, too.  God is still speaking.  And where He speaks is usually surprising.

God spoke to me yesterday through an 86-year-old man, whose hunched, tired body stood in stark contrast to his feisty personality.  This is a man who has 7,700 verses of the bible memorized.  And I really do believe that God spoke to me through him yesterday when he looked me, right in the eye, and with no pre-knowledge of my life or circumstances said "Lindsey, shut the door on your past and open the door on your future.  You're about to give the performance of a lifetime."  

God also encourages in different ways, too.  He spoke to me through the voice of my mother.  Just a few weeks ago I was sitting in an airport feeling broken, discouraged, and I told her with my face buried in my hands that I was having a really hard time believing in myself.  And she said to me, "Lindsey, get on that plane and go home with a heart full of love."  

I feel like I'm in a place of transition in my life--and I feel like it's been a long time coming.  I am shutting the door on certain parts of my past, but am starting to feel brave enough to open the door to my future.  While some people may be fading slowly into the background of my history, others relationships are forming and sustaining me.  And I'm grateful that I've been blessed enough to step forward into all the joys that lie ahead with a heart full of love.

No words

It's the end of the academic year for me.  I am 3/4 done with my seminary career--what a blessing that is.  While some of the nuts and bolts have yet to be fixed firmly in their place, it is with mostly confidence that I say I will graduate next year.  Hallelujah amen!

I haven't written in this blog for awhile not just because I've been busily writing other things that have pesky little deadlines attached, but also because there's been a lot going on outside of school.  It's one of those situations of abandonment, loss, and grief that leaves you with everything to say and nothing to say all at once.

And as those sorts of situations are inclined to be, it's coupled with amazing reminders that I live surrounded by the reality of divine love and radical hope.  I see God in my incredible family, my friends who are stepping up for me despite the myriad of commitments and responsibilities they already carry on their shoulders, and the communities of accountability that challenge me while helping to hold me together.  I am seeing God everywhere these days.

But I don't know what to say to Him.  And that's why I haven't written in awhile.  I feel with keen awareness that God is here, that He is around me, that He loves me, and that he is not letting me go.  But I don't know how to talk to God when I am speechless.  I feel like I'll have a lot to say when the words come back.  

Stay tuned.