Going on vacation
I’m heading to Phoenix in a couple of hours to see friends. I hope everyone has a good weekend.
April 13: Faith and Food
Faith and Food
Acts 2:42-47
When I think of tables, I think of eating with friends and family. Through the years these tables have taken different shapes and forms. Sometimes it’s just me and another person and at other times there could be 15-20 of us gathered around. Sometimes it’s quiet conversation and other times a cacophany of chatter, dishes, and someone yelling down the table to get someone else’s attention. I’m Irish-Italian; we tend to be a loud bunch. Of course that didn’t change when I headed off to college, and all of my friends were religion geeks like me. There was still a lot of talking over one another, around one another, and yelling at someone in order to get a word in edgewise. I felt right at home.
The table I normally think of is our family table growing up. Mom, Dad, my sister and me every night for supper. We didn’t have very many family rules set in stone, but eating supper together was one of them. When friends were over, they ate with us. Same thing if family visited: eating supper together never changed except when we slept over at a friend’s or had a school function. Some nights there was a lot of chatter, some nights we played Jeopardy more than we talked, and other nights we ate in relative silence because we were tired. The ebb and flow of activity may have changed but supper itself did not. We ate one meal as a family at the table everyday. Period.
One of the hardest things to get used to when I moved out and started living on my own was eating alone. It seemed odd, wrong. And not just because of family dinner. Before college I had always eaten breakfast with my sister, lunch with friends, and dinner with the family. In college I always ate with friends or the family that adopted me at church. Eating by myself bothered me more than living by myself. In the movie Under the Tuscan Sun her neighbor invites Francis over for supper saying, “It’s not healthy to eat alone.†I absolutely agree with him.
In fact the Mediterranean people know how to do supper. I lived in Barcelona for a year as a Nazarene in Volunteer Service or NIVS for short. I loved their attitude about food. Food was something to be enjoyed, not scarfed down. I am a slow eater. I always have been and I will stubbornly remain so. I get teased because I refuse to scarf my food down in order to “do†something more important. What’s more important than nourishing yourself? And I don’t believe you can nourish yourself if you inhale your food. I fit right in in Spain and with the Mediterranean mindset: food is to be enjoyed and preferably enjoyed with family and bunch of friends. They take supper seriously. There it is a three hour affair with three or four courses and a lot of conversation. Talking, joking, sharing the day, getting caught up. It’s relaxed. Everyone is enjoying themselves. Everyone is enjoying the food. I fit right in. I found out the Italian genes I got from my full-blooded Italian great-grandmother ran true in my blood. They somehow skipped the rest of family.
RevGals Friday Five: Moving
Mother Laura says: We are right in the middle of a move–only twenty minutes away, but we’re still a mix of busy, excited, nervous and surprisingly full of grief about what we’re leaving, for me at least. So this week’s Friday Five asks about your experience of the marvels and madness of moving…
1. How many times have you moved? When was the last time?
I don’t now how many times we move when I was a kid, so I’m going to go with the adult years. I’ve moved six times since 1994. The last time I moved was in ’06 when I married The Hubby. We decided living in the same stat would be a good thing. 🙂 I moved from Kansas City to Chicago.
2. What do you love and hate about moving?
I love the decluttering, and I hate everything else.
3. Do you do it yourself or hire movers?
I wish I had money to hire movers. I’ve always done it myself with help from wonderful, gracious, and did I say wonderful, friends.
4. Advice for surviving and thriving during a move?
A back brace and lots of Bayer Back and Body. Or yeah, and a good set of tennis shoes.
5. Are you in the middle of any inner moves, if not outer ones?
I am moving away from being so negative about myself and seeing myself more as God sees me and in a much more positive light.
Bonus: Share a piece of music/poetry/film/book that expresses something about what moving means to you.
Under the Tuscan Sun. I would so totally buy a villa in Italy on a whim! Or Spain for that matter. And yes, I would still hate moving. 😉
Photo by CBIdesign.
Reflections on the Image of God
Sally has a beautiful poem and a post thinking about what it means for women to be made in the image of God. Here is the beginning of the poem:
Dark am I
and lovely!
Made in Her image
not chiselled,
starved,
or mutilated
by the whims
of fashion…
If you are a woman, what does it mean for you, a woman, to be made in the image of God? For everyone: How do male and female together more fully reflect the image of God than the exclusively male-based images of God we are used to?
What Are You Saying to Yourself?
Over the last couple of months I realized how negative my self-talk is. If someone else said the things to me I was saying to me, I’d deck him or her. Or at least walk away. But for months I let my personal demons and critics beat me up over and over again. No wonder I never felt good and always thought I was sick. I was running myself into the ground and wearing myself out.
All I did was tell myself I couldn’t do whatever it was I was working on. The book proposal was never going to be finished, let alone a book written and published. My sermons sucked: all of them. Who did I think I was to plant a church? Regularly posting to my blog and drawing attention to it? A pipe dream. It’s no wonder I was depressed and had no energy. My inner critic was wearing me out.
I am slowly changing how I talk to myself. For the last couple of months, I’ve started to pay attention to what bounces around in my head. It wasn’t good. I am slowly stopping the negative thoughts in their tracks and replacing all of that negative chatter with positive affirmations:
- I am a good writer.
- I’ve already written a book: my graduate thesis. (The book proposal I’m working on is rewriting my thesis for the general public. That’s how Career Women of the Bible was born.)
- I can write another book. And another book. And another….
- I am a good pastor.
- I am a good preacher.
- If my sermons sucked, my PK Hubby would have said something.
When I’m working on Career Women of the Bible and I think, “This will never happen, I cut off the critic. Then I say (if I’m alone out loud): “I am a good writer, and I am going to finish this book proposal.” I’ve also set up a little group to be accountable to daily, so I do write instead of psyching myself out.
Self-talk is very important. How we talk to ourselves makes all the difference. If we don’t believe we’ll succeed, then we don’t try very hard, if at all. At one point, I’m not sure I could have seen that due to the depression. But now that is under control with antidepressants, I am able to stop, look at what I’m saying to myself, and say, “No. That’s not right. That is not who I am. This is who I am.”
What have you been saying to yourself? Is it good? Positive? Or are you running yourself into the ground? How do you deal with negative self talk? What do you say to build yourself up and live into your potential?
Click here for more posts on depression.
April 6: Peace and Wounds
Peace and Wounds
John 20:19-31
The nurses at NIH thought it was horrible that we had to spend Easter there and couldn’t go home. But it was sunny and up in the 50s in D.C. Chicago had a white Easter from what I hear. In fact, when the nurses apologized about us having to stay there over the holiday, my response was, “It’s snowing in Chicago. The weather is much better here.†And for the the first time I saw what Craig Kocher talked about in last week’s Blogging toward Sunday: “Peace and wounds dine together on Easter.†Peace and wounds dine together on Easter. I didn’t have the words for it Easter Sunday, but that is what happened. For the Easter service at the NIH chapel, there were some very sick people. Two of them wore masks to protect them. They were probably in one of the cancer programs, and had little to no immune systems from their treatments. The young boy was also in a wheel chair, and you could tell by his eyes, he was so happy to be there. Sitting among people who were so sick, and yet so filled hope, this was an Easter where the resurrection, its power and hope were center stage, believed and proclaimed in full faith. Peace and wounds dined together.We normally don’t think about wounds on Easter Sunday. That’s what we did on Good Friday. The resurrection has happened. Now it’s time to get on to the “hallelujahs,†pretty dresses, hats, and Easter egg hunts. We are quick to move from the nails and spear of Good Friday, forgetting that Jesus still carried those wounds on the first Easter. It was when the disciples saw Jesus’ wounds that they knew it was him and began to rejoice. It wasn’t the glory of heaven that tipped them off: it was the nail and spear wounds that still showed, even after the resurrection.
Peace be unto you.†These are the first words Jesus says to his disciples after his resurrection. He appeared to Mary early that morning, but for some reason, he does not come to the disciples until that night. They’re huddled up in a room with the doors locked still scared of the authorities. Apparently they have not believed Mary’s story or her testimony, “I have seen the Lord.†They are sitting, locked in a room, trying to figure out what in the world has happened the last couple of days. Then out of nowhere, Jesus is there. There was no knock on the door. They didn’t hear a footstep. Jesus didn’t wait to be invited in. He was just there. In the midst of them. Giving them peace–his peace. The peace he promised them on the night before he died. Before his death, Jesus told the disciples: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.†Jesus gives peace that isn’t dependent on what’s going on in the world or who is in charge. This peace flows from Jesus’ resurrection, not his political takeover. This peace flows from God’s power, not ours, not the government’s, or even the power of religious authorities. This peace comes from God, is given by God and sustained by God.
After Jesus gives them his peace, he shows them his hands and side. It is only then that the disciples believe that this is Jesus–raised from the dead–and they begin to rejoice. Jesus once again gives them God’s peace, and then commissions them: “As the Father sent me, so send I you.†In John the disciples do not have to wait until after the Ascension onto Pentecost for the Holy Spirit. The giving of the Holy Spirit is also less spectacular in John and much more intimate.
Craig Kocher notes that you have to get close to someone to breathe on them. You have to invade their personal space. Sharing breath is something couples and families share. It’s a familial intimacy; an act shared by lovers. It’s normally not how we pass the peace in the church. There are social graces to keep after all. Jesus did not think so. He comes close to the disciples. The same ones who abandoned him two days ago are now receiving the Holy Spirit through Jesus’ breath. The Spirit Jesus promised them would give them the words to say, would teach them all things, and always be with them was now fulfilled. They were equipped to go into the world as Jesus had and share the peace of Christ with that hurting and broken world.
But one of the disciples is missing on the night of the Resurrection: Thomas. Poor Thomas. I think he is one of the most maligned people in the Bible, and really for no reason. He’s nicknamed “doubting.†But which of the disciples believed that Jesus had been raised from the dead without first seeing him? None of them. The eleven didn’t believe Mary when she told them she had seen Jesus that morning. And Thomas didn’t believe those who told him they had seen Jesus earlier that night. Thomas wanted to see and touch the same thing the others had. They hadn’t believed until they saw Jesus’ wounds. Thomas is no different than the others. No more or less doubting. No more or less unbelieving. He’s just the same.
And Jesus gives him what he wants. Eight days later the situation hasn’t changed much. The disciples are still shut away in a room. Doors locked. Once again Jesus appears to them. Once again he doesn’t use the door or knock. He just comes. He once again blesses the disciples with peace. Then he turns to Thomas and says, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” There is no scolding or berating. There is no disappointment. Jesus simply gives Thomas what he needs to believe. He comes, and he shows his wounds. Seeing is apparently enough for Thomas, and he calls Jesus his Lord and God.
In our self made hells in our fears in the corners we get ourselves backed into, Jesus comes. Jesus comes and he shows us his love–see his hands, his side. He comes into fear and trepidation, and he says: “Peace.†Peace. Through the locked doors, the fears, the “what ifs†whispered behind hands. Into this fear-filled, cowardly crowd, Jesus comes. Jesus appears to them. There is no chiding. There is no “why didn’t you believe Mary?†Or “why didn’t you believe the others?†No, Jesus comes to the depressed and frightened disciples–he just appears. Locked doors no more. He appears in our midst and says one thing: Peace. He came to the men who did not believe the woman and said peace. He came to Thomas who did not believe the men and said peace.
He comes to us and says peace. He comes to our little worlds, to our locked rooms, he finds us walking and fishing, and he says peace. Jesus comes and gives us peace–his peace. But he doesn’t give us his peace to hoard and keep for ourselves. Like the disciples, with his peace, Jesus also gives his Spirit to go out in the world and share that peace. Easter is a triumphant celebration, but it is not always pretty. It is not all Easter lilies and bonnets. It comes with wounds. Not only the wounds of Christ, but the wounds of the world. We are sent with the peace of Christ to share that peace with a broken, wounded, and dying world.
I skipped over verse 23 the first time Jesus visited the disciples. After Jesus breathes the Spirit on them, he says, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.†Of course Protestants, particularly Evangelicals have a big problem with this. Like the Pharisees, when Jesus healed the man lowered through the roof by his friends, we say “Who forgives sin but God alone?†Listen to how Eugene Peterson paraphrases this verse: “If you forgive someone’s sins, they’re gone for good. If you don’t forgive sins, what are you going to do with them?” When a person repents of sin, the sin is forgiven, and we are to recognize that. Parker Palmer wrote that “the mission of the church is not to enlarge its membership, not to bring outsiders to accept its terms, but simply to love the world in every possible way–to love the world as God did and does.†Of this verse Gail O’Day says, “The faith community’s mission is not to be the arbiter of right and wrong, but to bear unceasing witness to the love of God in Jesusâ€
Our job is to live the love, peace, and forgiveness of Jesus in our world. It’s not always easy, and it’s not always pretty, but that is what we are called to do. This wounded world will only be healed through and by the wounds of Christ.
The picture is from the He Qi Gallery.
Short Hops: From Going Green to the PMSing Church?
Over at Lifehack, Dustin Wax does more than go green by buying into all the current marketing hype of “green products.” He gives us foundational principals for being better stewards and more ethical shoppers.
Too much of our world market is out of sight, and therefore out of mind. Since we don’t see the lives of the Bolivian granny who makes our chic shopping bags, or the Indonesian teenager who makes our shoes, or the Chinese mother who assembles our iPods,we don’t think about it. And we don’t think about the tremendous amount of resources it takes to get raw materials from Africa, North America, Asia, and somewhere in the Pacific to some factory in China to put together an mp3 player which will then be shipped (using resources again from all over the world) to some store in Oregon (that is again assembled using materials from all over the world) and into our pocket (of pants made in the next town over from the iPod factory, using cotton grown in Africa and rivets made of steel from Japan on machines made in Europe from materials mined in…).
On the other hand, if you’ve ever had the pleasure of attending a local farmer’s market, you’ve experienced something few of us do these days: an encounter with a part of your community, an actual living and breathing person, who made something for you to eat. There were some global resources used (even organic farmers use tractors, and they needed a truck to bring their stuff to market) but most of the labor and material involved came out of your local area — the soil you’re standing on, the person in front of you. You have a relationship with this person, and with their land. Your land.
In the last couple of months, I came across Pam Hogeweide’s site: How God Mess Up My Religion. She is ruminating about many things in her current post including:
- Is the church like this woman I once knew who was so easily offended? You had to tread lightly around her or you’d set her off and get a scolding. I can be like that myself. At particular times of the month. Is the church like this? Like a woman at particular times of the month? Is she touchy?
- My friend Kim said to me once that the church offers a cultural-like transition, showing people that they need to dress a certain way and talk a certain way. But where’s the gospel? she asked.
Sally has some pretty spring pictures and poetry up on her site.
At Chicago Carless, Mark Doyle is pondering how long do you need to live in Chicago before you are a Chicagoan?
On the other hand, drawing a distinction between Chicagoans by birth and Chicagoans by choice could just be the result of surprise. Let’s face it, how sane can anyone be who adopts as his home a place with a six-month winter? (I always say, Chicago taught me what cold is: in New York, 20 degrees keeps us indoors; in Chicago, 20 degrees opens our coats to the heat wave).
Yet so many are drawn to Chicago and stay. Generations of families, tens of thousands of families, began here with the arrival of immigrant parents from Italy and Ireland and Poland and Mexico. When innumerable Midwestern farm kids and children from teeny, tiny prairie towns go to sleep at night and dream of someday finding fame and fortune in the big city, it’s the Windy City that billows through many young minds.
And very occasionally a New Yorker finds his way here, too.
How long does it take for them all to become Chicagoans? Years? Lifetimes? Generations?
Resuming Office Hours
I am back to my office hours this week, although I am changing the time from 2-4 p.m. to 3-5 p.m. Those hours work better for me, and gives me to time at the library if I need to do research.
I will be at Caribou Coffee at 8th and Wabash today 3:00-5:00 p.m., and at Hi Tea on 10th and State on Thursday. I hope everyone has a good week.
Shawna
RevGals Friday Five: A Million Dollar Friday Five
Singing Owl wrote: Lingering effects of a cold have me watching more television than usual. There appears to be a resurgence of the old daytime staple–the quiz show. Except they are on during prime time, and a great many of them offer the chance of winning one million dollars.
I think it started with Regis Philbin and “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” but now we have a half dozen or so.
My husband and I started musing (after watching “Deal or No Deal”) about what we could do with a million dollars. I thought I’d just bring that discussion into the Friday Five this week. It’s simple. What are five things you would want to do with a million dollar deposit in your bank account?
1. Pay off parents’ homes.
2. Invest.
3. Buy larger place where we can take one room, put in floor to ceiling bookcases with the ladders that slide along the bookcases. 🙂
4. Buy books! We’ll have room for them.
5. Travel, travel, and travel.
Coming home!
I will be coming home tomorrow. Yeah! Now I just have to decide what I want to preach on this Sunday…and through Pentecost for the matter.