Seminary Sunday

Pastor Barry is calling this coming Sunday "Seminary Sunday," I think because it is the anniversary of when he got ordained or something. Since I am half a class and a few transfer credits into an M.Div. myself, he wants me to say something to the congregation about my "calling" to the ministry, so one of my projects this week has been to try figure out what I'm going to say.

I feel that the paltry number of blogposts I have written this year so far is disgraceful, but it's mostly because I'm having a little trouble getting my head round the things I want to write about, enough to write about them, so I'm going to cheat a little and once again post something in here that I have written for another purpose entirely. This is my little "talk" for Sunday. (If you go to GPC, you might want to avert your eyes, so that my delivery on Sunday is not extra-boring for you.) Critiques are acceptable. So are theological debates, if necessary. Just try not to get the two of them mixed up.

So . . . I’m taking this seminary class? One of the most recent lectures touched upon how the earliest of the early Church didn’t make a distinction between sacred and secular vocation. To be called by God meant first of all that He had called you to repentance and forgiveness and reconciliation with Himself and with other people. Then that influenced your calling for what to do with your life. Early Christians lived out their Christianity no matter what they were doing; they all wanted the people they rubbed shoulders with every day to know about the love of God for them through Jesus Christ. So every job was important, whether you were a ship’s navigator or a carpenter or a seamstress or whatever, because every job was an opportunity to work toward excellence and to show people the love of Jesus.

I was listening to this lecture thinking, “Yes! That’s how it’s supposed to be!” It reminded me of this time at another church when I had just started working at Starbucks, and I really believed that that job was how I could best serve Christ at the time. This man came up to me and, knowing I had been a missionary once, said, “But don’t you ever think about going back into the ministry?”

I got so angry, it was all I could do to keep from losing my “Christian” cool and yelling, “Are you completely blind?! How can you be so narrow-minded?” Instead I said calmly, “Well, I think Starbucks is the ministry, too.”

And it was, so you might wonder how I ended up back working for a church and now starting seminary, if I feel that strongly about it. Sometimes I wonder that, too, but I guess even though I do feel strongly that God can reach people through any Christian doing anything and that no task is more noble or more “called” than another, I think I have been called to kind of church-y ministry, mostly. I don’t really know how old I was when I found out that not everybody knew about Jesus, but however old it was, I knew right then that I needed to make sure they found out about Him. I don’t think anyone told me this . . . although my parents were missionaries, so maybe I picked it up by osmosis.

Anyway, I’ve always had a very strong sense that God was true, and that Jesus was, too, and even though a lot of things have changed about me since I first made that decision to tell people about Jesus . . . I still like to talk about Him. And I find that I still care whether or not people know He loves them, and whether or not they know what it is He did for them, through His life, death and resurrection. And whether or not they know He is calling them and wants to make Himself known somehow through them, too.

I didn’t always think it was Biblical (and therefore “okay”) for women to be pastors. If you want to know how my mind changed on that one, you can ask me about it sometime, but anyway, it did, and as soon as it did, I wondered if maybe one of these days God might call me to be a pastor, too.

I’m still not 100% sure He has, except in the sense that “pastor” means “shepherd” or “caretaker,” and in reality I’ve been spiritually “taking care” of people in some way or other for years. Since it seems like I’m going to do that for the rest of my life anyway, I don’t think it could hurt to get some more training to help me do it better. I do know that sometimes He calls people to work at coffee shops or at Norton’s or at Shaw’s, but other times He calls people to buckle down and study about Him so they can provide strength and guidance for all those people working hard and rubbing shoulders with folks who don’t think they’ve met Him yet. I believe He has called me to GPC at this time, and I’ve sort of stumbled into the opportunity to get more training. The doors keep opening, so I’ll just keep walking through them and we’ll see where I end up!

Last fall, I applied to the Masters of Divinity programme at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Wenham, MA. Right now I am getting my feet wet with that church history class I mentioned. You would think that it might be boring, but I find it absolutely fascinating--I love it. So far all this seems to be a good move. As I take it a step at a time, I trust God will keep leading, and I hope you will pray for me when you think of it, that I will learn what He wants me to learn, become who He wants me to become, and do what He wants me to do.

Green Eggs and . . . a Jewish Carpenter? or, What I Got Out of a Facebook Quiz

At various times in my life I've had people who aren't particularly enamoured of Jesus say things like, "Do you really have to try so hard to find Jesus in everything?"

No. I don't. It just kind of happens, I'm afraid. Like last week when I randomly took a "Dr. Seuss Personality Test"on facebook. First of all, let me say that you should never take a facebook quiz too seriously. This one, for example, only asked five questions, and I'm not sure how they related to any Dr. Seuss characters at all, actually. Secondly, if I were going to really do this scientifically (?), I should probably take all the other Dr. Seuss quizzes online, just to see if they match up. There are quite a few of them, I've seen. But . . . I'm not going to bother.

Still, though, when it turned out that, according to this quiz, "I am Sam--Sam I am," and that cute little short guy with the sign and the plate appeared on my profile, I thought, "Yeah! That's me! Sam-I-am!" Well, except for the short part.

Check it out. Here's Sam. He's all stoked because he's got something he thinks everybody would (or, at any rate, should) love. He doesn't give the impression of thinking he's better than anyone. He's just so enthusiastic about green eggs and ham he can't let up until his friend/innocent bystander/person-that-doesn't-really-like-him-much tries them. He doesn't seem to realise that, to an onlooker or an outsider, such a dish looks at the very least sketchy, with any inherent delight being, to that perspective, indiscernible.

Not to be discouraged, Sam tries to "frame" his green eggs and ham in ways that might appeal more to his resistant friend. The two characters, now thrown together under more and more bizarre and extreme circumstances, continue their back-and-forth for several more pages. At the point when the train has driven off a cliff, the boat has sunk, and both Sam, his victim and an entire menagerie of animals and other characters are floundering in the water, the poor beleaguered green-eggs-and-ham-avoider decides that he will try the dish just to get Sam off his case. Then--joy of all joy and surprise of all surprises!--he likes them! Sam is vindicated! Green eggs and ham really are delightful! They're so great that the former hater doesn't even worry about swallowing his pride along with the green breakfast and whole-heartedly thanks Sam-I-Am for, as wikipedia calls it, "his persistence."

I dunno. It kind of reminds me of my life . . . a little . . . ? Here I am, both suddenly and gradually delighted and overwhelmed by the knowledge that, messed up as I was and still easily am, God Himself came here to join in my life and to sustain me through it. He came to be my life, and though life with and through and by Him can often be alarming, I also wouldn't (by His grace) have it any other way. And I just know that He came to be life to everybody, and I just want them to realise it.

So sometimes I can get a little annoying. I'll try to be "all things to all people" like the Apostle Paul, sometimes even to the point of ridiculousness, and sometimes even to the point of some suffering and inconvenience. But I still think that, though they may "swallow" the whole thing differently than I do, that the real source of life for anybody--anybody--is Jesus. And so . . . it's not that I want to be annoying. I just want my friends to experience how worth it this is, in spite of the difficulties and the sometimes sketchy-looking nature of what I'm trying to share. Right now, I guess I'm still pushing green eggs and ham on people in boxes and houses and trains and boats, but one of these days I really hope someone--or a lot of someones--will decide that . . . well look. I don't even care if they decide they want me off their case. I just hope they see that Jesus is for them--and that at the end of the day they'll thank somebody.

Signs

God and Moses are having their little back-and-forth about whether God knows what He's doing in choosing Moses to get the rest of the Israelites out of Egypt, and whether Moses is going to do it, and God says, "Here's how you'll know it was me who sent you to do this: after you guys all get out, you'll come back and worship me on this mountain."

The first time I really noticed that (and many times subsequently), I thought, "What kind of a sign is that? It's after the fact." You really have to step out in faith for that kind of thing . . . only finding out if you went the right way or made stuff up after you've tried it.

Well, Moses and the Israelites got out of Egypt, and they did worship God on that mountain, but it wasn't exactly easy sailing (or hiking, or whatever) anyway, and the Israelites were more prone to say, "Why didn't you let us stay in Egypt? Huh? At least we could eat leeks and garlic there." (I like leeks and garlic--a lot--but I have often thought that was a strange thing to choose as a consolation for slavery. You'll say anything when you're desperate, though, I guess.) Even though that worship-on-the-mountain sign was after the fact, it ended up being before a lot of other challenges, in the end, and I wonder if Moses hung onto that when the people he was more or less babysitting for forty years got particularly annoying. "Well. I'm not entirely sure how wandering around with this lot is God's will, but He did say we'd worship Him on that mountain, if it were true he sent me to get them out, and we did it, and here we are. I guess I'll carry on then." I suspect there were times, though, when he wished for a few more signs to keep him motivated.

Right now I have a much less history-altering (I think) application of this same after-the-fact-but-you-aren't-out-of-the-desert-yet-honey sign principle. Remember how I was trying to figure out if I should get that car? And I was wondering if the $2 over the monthly amount I was wanting to spend was significant or not? Then I made the decision to get the car after all, and took out a loan from a local credit union. Not only did I get an excellent APR (relatively speaking, of course), but I also learned that the amount I thought I'd have to pay per month was $27 less that $202. (It is not difficult to do the math. I just wanted to write it that way. So there.)

This, I thought, was kind of like one of those retroactive signs: "As a sign that I have chosen this car for you, you will have smaller monthly car payments that you asked or imagined." Pretty cool.

Only . . . then I discovered I'm not out of the desert yet. My car insurance rates just jumped up with this purchase, and I didn't realise just how much excise tax and all that stuff was going to cost, so I probably should've asked for a slightly larger loan, and in the meantime, my health insurance changed hands, so I'm now paying for premiums and deductibles again, and I have no financial buffer. Is this evidence that I made a bad decision and should have waited on the car? Or is it the Red Sea and dearth of water and the plague of poisonous snakes and the battle with the Amalekites? These are just some of the things I'm thinking about these days . . . but I'm kind of a fan of Moses.

Iron Sharpens Iron

Here's an idea to keep you honest:

Make a really close friend whose worldview is totally opposed to your own and who isn't afraid to say so, and with whom you aren't afraid to disagree either.

I don't know that it's possible to go out and intentionally do this, but I would just say that if you find yourself in this position, you might want to consider thanking God for it and learning from Him in it, instead of running away from it like I tried to do that time (and sometimes keep trying to do). Particularly if you have been intentional about finding people who do share your worldview and can make sure you're not running off the rails somewhere.

The Milk Guy's really good at calling my bluff. I don't get to start sounding all super-spiritual without having to think about what I'm saying, and if I really mean it, and if I even begin to live up to it. And every once in a while he'll come up with a zinger of a theological insight that will set me on my heels.

This week has, as I keep mentioning, been a little rough for me, and actually the weeks leading up to it haven't been exactly stress-free, either, as we at Starbucks scramble to get enough work hours to support ourselves, for example. This kind of scenario makes me grumpy and weepy and I start making up new rude words out of existing rude words and find, to my chagrin, that I am kind of delighted with them because they are clever, even if thoroughly inappropriate for a Christian. (The Milk Guy doesn't help with that so much, because he thinks they're clever, too, and has no such scruples.)

The thing about all that is that though it doesn't make me look--or feel--very good, I don't get to make excuses for myself, like I might if I were going to go to a prayer meeting that night and rehash the day in Evangelese to my friends. The Milk Guy sees my moods and reactions in all their un-glory, and there's no explaining away with him.

It's kind of a lot of pressure. And sometimes I feel like I'm making a complete hash of reflecting Christ to anybody, let alone him. (And . . . I probably am.) But he doesn't let me wallow in "I'm such a horrible Christian" mode either. Recently I said, "I feel like God's trying to communicate with you . . . but He sure could have picked a whole lot better representative . . ."

The Milk Guy paused (understandably, as I think about it), and then said, "Aren't you kind of making yourself out to be more powerful than God when you say that?"

Oh. Right. And so we keep talking. And so he challenges me and I appreciate that, and I remember from time to time that not only am I not the perfect representative of Christ on earth, but that I don't have to be--because, as the Milk Guy himself reminded me whether he meant to or not, God is God and He'll cause whatever transformations He sees fit. Including in me.

Reprising the Good of the City

Last summer I wanted to get out of here.

On the other hand, I couldn't forget the fact that one of the reasons I had moved back in the first place was a sort of grudging affection for my city, and a sort of idea that maybe God wanted me to be there. Maybe, I thought, Starbucks was the only reason, and maybe that reason was winding down and I could escape. But . . . maybe not.

In case not, I decided I was going to start church-hopping--not because I'm unhappy with my home church (quite the contrary), but because I was curious to see what God was doing in and around the city. The church-hopping thing didn't go so well, because I actually do like my home church, and because I have a really hard time visiting other congregations. And even if I had been more disciplined about it (which just sounds ludicrous--who ever heard of church-hopping as a discipline?), I'm sure I would have missed out on some places. I probably would have missed out on the church down the street from my Starbucks--even though it is just down the street.

But my pastor's wife knew about it. Furthermore, she knew that they were looking for someone to work part-time to fill a need with their youth. It was only part-time, and when she told me about it, I was still faint-heartedly hoping one of the other full-time (and maybe further-away) jobs for which I had applied would come through. But by the time I got back from my vacation in Ireland and England, it was clear they wouldn't, and meanwhile, I kept thinking about this church and their no-longer-existent youth group.

So I applied. As it turns out, the position title is "Director of Christian Education," and the position itself is about as defined as the interim pastor and I decide to make it. Given the number of things he enthusiastically feels I can and should be involved with, I'm not sure how realistic it is for this to be part-time. But for now it will have to be, because Starbucks is still the way I'm going to get my health benefits.

Anyway, on Wednesday, the pastor offered me the job, and I accepted it. I'm a little nervous. I've visited the church a few times now and have enjoyed the people I've met there, but it's certainly a different type of church than any of the many I've been involved with before (no--it's not a cult, if that's what you're thinking!), and I'll have to move out of my safe home-church community to involve myself in this one. I have very little idea what it means to direct Christian education, and I don't feel I have the charismatic personality usually associated with youth leaders.

But I'm excited, too. Here's a way to seek the good of the city which I never would have thought of myself. And I'm looking forward to getting my creative juices flowing again, planning events and service projects and decorating my office (I'm going to have an office?!) and hanging out with kids. It doesn't seem like an End, necessarily. But it does seem like The Next Thing.

Tomorrow I leave for two weeks of work at a camp owned and run by the church (but outside of the city). I'll get to know some of the adults I've already met, a little better, and I'll get to know the kids for the first time. I'm excited about that, too. It means I won't be around for a while, though. But I suppose that's okay. I haven't been around much all summer, have I?

Journeying

My second Blog-day is coming up this month, and I just googled my blog; one of the listings that came up is my first-ever post, in which I discuss why I started a blog and in which I mention talking to my friend, Author-Sarah (aka Sarah Arthur, interestingly), "who is a published author, unlike me." (Incidentally, I feel I should "shout out" to the great people who commented on that first post, proving that they were with me at the outset, and all of whom still are. Yay, you!)

Hey! I thought. I'm a published author now, too! I'm not sure exactly how instrumental this blog has ended up being in that process, but I do feel better connected and like I have another community and outlet and forum of accountability, not to mention a whole lot of other people's stories to share in. I like this journeying together, and I like the idea that, even though it's taken a few years, we've all learned things and experienced things and even maybe moved a little bit in our journeys. Things have happened. A lot of times, from the close-up view, it seems like things don't.

Here's something else that's "happened" since my first Blog-day, last summer. Starting Labor Day weekend (ironically), I have a new job.

Oh no. I'm not leaving Starbucks. Seriously? I don't think anyone really leaves Starbucks. I've been at my store longer than any one person has, but in the last year, at least four people who once quit and left have all come back. And anyway, this new job is only part-time. But you know, I've been wrestling with and praying about and mulling over my calling (again) for the better part of a year. This new job looks like it might just be the next thing. I'm really kind of excited. I'll have to tell you about it . . .

What? Now? No--of course not! But probably tomorrow.

Photo by jennw2ns: Thames facing East, without a tripod

Messiah Complex

The other confusing thing about a "missional" bent is that it really does look like arrogance at some point. I already blogged a little about how I don't think it ultimately is arrogance to say, effectively, "I have Good News for you that you can't live without" (well, it might be arrogant to say it that way), although I definitely see how it can look like it is.

If there is a God, and He's the God portrayed in the Bible, particularly through Jesus, then the Good News surrounding that comes from Him, not from any of His so-called representatives, and so there's not a lot to do with arrogance there.

It's the so-called representatives part that seems a little off. I mean, I can say that I used to pray for movie-stars after movies when I was a kid, so in some sense I'm "wired" to pray for and care about whether or not people have a relationship with God through Jesus. And it's sort of hypocritical to say I care about something if I'm not going to try to do something about it, I suppose. But at some point I have to wrestle with the question about why I think I'm the one God wants to use to help other people get to that point. Particularly when I haven't seen Him actually do it very often, to my knowledge.

It might be a better question than "Where or to whom am I called?" More like "Am I called?" Who do I think I am? Seriously. I have lots of questions in my faith, and not a lot of answers, and the answers I feel like I have don't translate very well into dialogue with people who are disinclined to agree with me on this to begin with. Besides, my attitude is very often not "the same as that of Christ Jesus," and so I'm not sure how excellent my witness-by-example really is.

I would like to assert here in all honesty that this question did not arise from an outside source; I've been mulling it over a little (and avoiding it a lot) for quite some time now. What kind of messed up Messiah complex did it take to make me think I myself had something to offer the people of East London--or does it take to make me think that somehow the Milk Guy or the people of my city in general need me in their lives to show them that Jesus loves them?

I really do think sometimes this ends up being more about me than about Him--or even about the other people I care about.

On the other hand, one time, within my first few months in London, I messed up. (I don't mean I only messed up once in London. I wish! I'm just talking about this one time.) I honestly don't even remember all the specifics, but I know that I ended up looking somewhat hypocritical and I was keenly aware of how that was, in that moment, going to make all my nice words about Jesus up to that point, sound. I walked home that night feeling all self-flagellating and I remember articulating in my head the words, "I don't deserve to be a missionary!"

And suddenly it was like my brain stopped and Someone else thought into it, "Bingo!" Or "You sure don't!" Or, "Well, duh!" Or, "Seriously? Is that why you thought you were here?" Something like one or a whole bunch of those. And then the thought went on to assure me that, regardless of my inherent merit or ability to do the job, He was the one who had brought me there, and I just needed to keep going.

Even saying that sounds a little arrogant. It's a weird position, this one that Jesus puts us in. As soon as I'm humble enough to go there, I notice . . . and then I'm not humble anymore.

So strange.

Can I get, um, a witness?

My Next Point

Jeff, who, one might say, has some personal knowledge of these matters, left a comment on my second-to-last-post that set things up well for what I was going to say next about the Milk Guy's charge of arrogance. I don't know how to link to comments, and he delineated the argument better (or more concisely) than I was going to, so I'm just going to quote him here. He said:

It might not be thought out in this way, but I think the "arrogant" argument goes like this:
A) There are many people who are in circumstances that make it easy for them to know Jesus.
B) There are many people who are in circumstances that it literally (or atleast nearly) impossible to know Jesus.
C) Many of the determining factors of A. and B. above have nothing to do with the actions of the person.
This seems to leave open only the following conclusions:
1. Somebody who is in circumstance A. is more loved by God than somebody in circumstance B: If God loved them both the same he would have put everybody in circumstance A. This is where the claims of arrogance come in: it can be said that if you're in circumstance A, in some sense you're claiming to be better, or more loved than circumstance B.
2. The alternative is God is quite random and capricious about who is in A. or B.; if this is the case his love, fairness, and wisdom are all called into question.

I do think that, really, this is what the Milk Guy was talking about. And, as Jeff further says, I don't know exactly how to tease all this out. I mean, I believe God really loves everybody, so I don't understand why some people are in situations where they get to hear about Jesus easily and others don't. But I will say this (and this, and this).

First, just because you live in a place where it's easy to hear about Jesus, doesn't mean you'll accept him. Clearly. So something else has to be in play here, too. Also, there are all sorts of evidences that God has made Jesus known even in places where it should be impossible. I think that (for reasons I still can't get my head around) God would rather use His Church to communicate Jesus' love. But I personally know people from ideologically closed countries who have had visions and dreams of Jesus, and I've read plenty of other historical accountings of other supernatural communications to tribal peoples or individuals, which were only interpreted later. I guess I imagine that God judges us on the information (or relationship) we're granted, and it's His business how much information He chooses to give, though I don't really understand all that.

But anyway, the other irony of this version of the arrogance argument is that it's always linked with what we were talking about before. So . . . people get upset that not everyone has an equal chance to hear about Jesus . . . but then they also get upset when we try to tell them? I'm sorry. This makes no sense.

I wonder if the Milk Guy would be appalled to know that this discussion with him is making me consider going back into traditional missions overseas . . . ?

You Called?

Jeff mentioned narcissism in a comment on the previous post, and I was going to say more about that . . . along the lines of how it occurred to me just yesterday that while I've never wanted to be rich (just solvent), I think I've always wanted to be famous, though I can't think why. But . . . that's really all I have to say about it, at least right now. I could be verbally self-bludgeoning about the pride inherent in this, but it would probably only amount to another skewed demonstration of narcissism--which I'm too proud to indulge in right now. (Huh?)

So instead, I've decided to pose a question to you which came to me from Barry's comment on the same post. Barry said, "Achieving publication . . . is inarguably a vindicating sign. It is an evidence, at least, of gifting and skill, if not calling."

To which I retorted, "If it's a gifting, is it possible for it NOT in some way to be a calling?" (You can check this dialogue out below if you don't believe me.)

But then I started thinking about this, and I got about as dizzy as I just did above with the narcissism thing, so I thought I'd pose the question more broadly. Well--is it?

I mean, I used to have some skill with the flute. And some time around the turn of the year I decided I needed to re-hone this skill, but that little endeavour got sort of mowed down by Christmas and New Year's--or at least, that's my excuse. I'm aware I'm making an excuse about it, and I feel badly about it in the sense that I'm not sure I can successfully play "Syrinx" anymore, but I don't feel guilty about it in the sense of burying a gift in the ground. Whereas, with writing, I've had to journal since I was 13 or I would have exploded, but I don't feel that way about writing for the public. (Well, except for wanting to be famous enough so that everyone would want to read my--very boring, samey--journals after I died, of course.) However, I have spent a vast proportion of my not-so-vast life feeling somewhat under a cloud about the writing thing--as if I were squandering something by not spending it. But is a slight emotional malaise about something the same thing as a calling?

Is there a difference between a gift and a skill? And if there is, how do you know? And if something's a gift, does that instantly make it part of one's calling? And if it doesn't, why not?