LifeExegesis

A Few of My Favorite Words

2011-04-15T10:09:00.000-07:00

I love words. They are delicious, thrilling, amusing, and delightful. And these are just a few of my favorites:

Acumen
Buffeted
Capricious
Chortle
Craven
Cretin
Crinkling
Curmudgeon
Dazzle
Elasticity
Erudite
Esoteric
Fizz
Gaggle
Goggled
Hackneyed
Jocular
Loped
Mercurial
Mollify
Neophyte
Pithy
Plucky
Putrid
Quotidian
Retrograde
Salacious
Schlep
Sordid
Umbrage
Whimsy
Wonk

And there are so many more! Every day, there are new words to be discovered and used. Now what are some of your favorites?

On the Pleasure of...Pleasure

2011-04-07T15:56:00.000-07:00

I have a confession: I'm addicted to chocolate.

And cheese.

And ice cream. (Particularly to ice cream with chocolate and nuts and mini-peanut butter cups)

I just love these things. A perfect meal for me would be pizza and brownies--yum! But here's the problem: I know these foods are not good for me. I suppose they would be all right in moderation, but there is nothing moderate about a full-blown addiction. But why do I crave these things? Why do I think that cheese and chocolate make up a food group of their own?

C.S. Lewis, in his classic Mere Christianity wrote this: "The Christian attitude does not mean that there is anything wrong about sexual pleasure, any more than about the pleasure of eating. It means that you must not isolate that pleasure and try to get it by itself" (105).

Now, add this idea to C.S. Lewis': "What if someone invented a chemical that could trigger your pleasure circuitry--a chemical that did not make you stronger, or assist you in any other way--but still gave your brain a feeling so warm and pleasant that you would want to repeat it over and over again? Well someone did: someone invented chocolate bars, wedges of cheese, cookies, and doughnuts. The fact is, we've been a bit too clever for our own good, refining food products to the point where they provide all the pleasure and very little of the nutrition we need." (Breaking the Food Seduction, 18)

Aha! All of my favorite foods, including chocolate and cheese, have been engineered to provide pleasure, but little nutrition. The food engineers (is that what they are called??) have done exactly what Lewis warns against: they have isolated the pleasure and gotten it by itself. Chocolate is pure pleasure, no nutrition.

This speaks to me on a very deep level. If I am wanting to seek one chocolate bar and pizza after another (this seems to be my example of choice today) then what other pleasures am I seeking away from the "nutrients"?

And now to talk about another perennial topic of conversation: pornography.

I just sat through a series of pastor's meetings where a speaker was brought in to share his struggle with pornography and how he was finally able to break free of it. It's not that sex and intimacy are bad; I believe they are a beautiful part of marriage. But it's when you try to get that pleasure all by itself--outside of marriage, or without your spouse--that's when a person gets into trouble.

I'm realizing there is an abundance of pleasure in life: the smell of the air after a spring rain, a long conversation with a friend, laughing with a child, and yes, even chocolate. But life is not one continuous pleasure after another. These things are sprinkled throughout a life of sin and pain.

On the other hand, one day I will live in a world where there is nothing but pleasure. "At His right hand, there are pleasures forevermore" (Psalm 16:11). Until then, I want to be fully present in my life--not seeking one pleasure after another, for happiness comes with a little bit of sadness, and pain with pleasure.

Risk, Perfectionism, and Bureaucracy

2011-02-09T12:22:00.000-08:00

By nature, I am not a risk-taker. I am a perfectionist.

If you combine perfectionism with words like "cautious" and "conscientious" then you will arrive at a person who is slow to take action or to enter a risky situation.

That's been me up until now. Instead of making New Year's Resolutions this year I decided to have a word that would sum up what I want to accomplish in 2011. That word is risk.

In the past, one of the ways that I have avoided taking action is by gathering people's opinions. I would talk with my parents, my professors, my friends, my friends' friends, my mentors, my mentors' mentors, ad infinitum. I would usually end up at a stalemate because of all the conflicting advice I had received. But this week I read this:

Bureaucracy was born out of the human desire for complete assurance before taking action.*

This statement hit me between the eyes because I have made my life a bureaucracy. Really though, it all comes back to the fact that I want reassurance. I think this is what being a perfectionist boils down to: reassurance that in whatever you do, you will do perfectly. You will not make mistakes. You will not be embarrassed. You will not fail.

But no one can guarantee that. Not even God.

I'm not saying that God causes us to stumble or make mistakes, but I am saying that I don't believe you can have 100% certainty when you are following God or following His instructions. It's probable that I will need to say in the future, "I think I misunderstood what God wanted me to do," or "I think I wasn't listening to God at all, but rather my own ego."

If this wasn't enough, here's one more statement I read:

Taking action helps expose whether we are on the right or wrong path more quickly and definitively than pure contemplation ever could.**

Is it possible that making decision, taking risks, and following God is somewhat like operating GPS? When I put an address into my GPS and it calculates the direction for me, it is dependent on me pointing my car in a direction, stepping on the accelerator, and venturing out into traffic. My GPS can't say, "Turn left now" if I'm still in the parking lot and it can't say, "As soon as possible, make a U-turn," if I'm not moving.

I'm realizing that my relationship with God and doing is His will is much more dynamic than static. I'm also realizing that it is okay to take risks and that by taking risks, it is also okay to make mistakes.

I think I will call myself a recovering perfectionist and God-follower from now on.

* Making Ideas Happen: Scott Belsky (72)

** Making Ideas Happen: Scott Belsky (73)

The Problem with Pascal

2011-01-17T14:07:00.000-08:00

Maybe you've heard of Pascal's wager. I think I first heard about it in high school and then again in college when it was espoused by a prominent evangelist visiting Southern. It goes a little something like this:

We cannot know through reason if God exists, Pascal said, but a person should wager that He does because one would have everything to gain and nothing to lose.

But I've realized that I have a small problem with Pascal's wager and that is this: I view God like an investment. I buy shares and wager lots of things such as my career, potential relationships, security, and eternal salvation. But here is where the metaphor breaks down: Sound investment principles warn against investing your entire fortune in one type of stock.

I realized that I say I believe in God, that I trust Him enough to wager my entire life or as the Message puts it, "To throw your whole lot in with Him," but then I invest in other things like intellect, relationships, and self-sufficiency. Just in case.

Just in case the market crashes... just in case...

But in the deepest, most innermost parts of my soul, I don't want to be a sound investor; I want to be a risky investor. I want to put everything on the line. I want to throw my whole lot in with God.

Tales from an Accidental Liberal

2011-01-04T19:38:00.000-08:00

I didn't plan on becoming a liberal.

I was born into a moderately conservative Seventh-day Adventist family. Our family became progressively "conservative" over time as we stopped celebrating Halloween and became vegetarians. My sister and I were home-schooled. We never got to the place where the women of the family wore long denim skirts, but I knew people who did. My parents were (and are) Republicans and growing up, I just assumed that I was, too. One of my career ambitions was to become a sort of Elisabeth Hasselback on CNN (although I didn't know who Elisabeth Hasselback was at the time... needless to say, we didn't watch Survivor or The View, either).

I also spent my high school years being a part of teen prayer ministry. Together with my friends, we would travel on the weekends to schools and churches and share our testimonies with other teenagers and young adults. We led out at teen prayer conferences. We encouraged students to get rid of their secular music and to fast from TV and movies.

And then something happened in the midst of my conservative life: I sensed God calling me into full time ministry.

I'd read Samuel Pipim's book Must We Be Silent where he argues that women should not serve as elders or pastors and I'd heard my Grandpa joke that women could be pastors as long as they only had "one wife." I'd also been in enough Adventist and Christian circles to hear of "biblical courtship" and one's husband being the "priest of the home." Even though I was only seventeen at the time and didn't even have a boyfriend (after all, we'd all kissed dating goodbye!), some were quick to point out that my being in ministry would usurp my husband's role in my future marriage and would disturb God's intended order.

But even in spite of this, I could not deny that God was calling me into ministry. God had also placed people in my life who had been observing my gifts and my natural tendency to want to participate in theological discussions and my voracious appetite for reading books on ministry; they, too, were convinced of God's calling on my life.

So off to Southern Adventist University I went... to study Theology. Thankfully, I really didn't have to contend with much prejudice and those who did not welcome my presence never admitted that to my face. But I always felt strange whenever I attended In-Tents or SEYC. I always felt out of place.

I'll never forget visiting a church in the Collegedale area and when the gentleman greeting at the door, shook my hand and asked what my major was, I desperately wanted to answer "nursing." Why couldn't I just be like 2/3 of the female population at Southern and study nursing? But I smiled, pumped his hand firmly, and said without hesitation: "Theology." The look of astonishment and dismay on his face said it all. I don't think he said another word to me.

Being a female Theology student automatically landed me in the liberal camp, and as one of my dear friends, Dr. Kendra Haloviak, once said to me: "It's easier to be a conservative in a liberal crowd than it is to be a liberal in a conservative crowd" I proved by experience to be true.

I started poking holes in conservative theology and lifestyle choices. It was easy to throw rocks. I started attending more liberal churches, going to movies in the theater, and reading books like I Kissed Dating Goodbye made me want to wretch. I participated in the "liberal" side of a panel discussion on women's ordination. I let friendships deteriorate and stopped participating in prayer ministries.

The point to me writing all of this is simple: I don't think things like prayer ministries or social justice or vegetarianism or nail-polish wearing should come with affixed tags that read "liberal" or "conservative." I don't think being a woman-in-ministry (though I'm growing weary of that title) should land you in the liberal camp or cause you to lose conservative friends.

I feel today like I did in November 2008 when I was voting for the first time. I agonized over whom I should cast my ballot for. I made pro and con lists. I prayed. I talked with my parents. I talked with professors. I watched debates on tv. But the main struggle I had was that issues I cared deeply about had been divvied up by the competing parties. Did I want to vote pro-life or for gay marriage? Did I care more about the economy or the environment? How are you supposed to choose? What if one party, one label doesn't cut it?

In the end, it should be no surprise that I voted for the Democrats. I hadn't planned on being a liberal, but somehow, I became one.

Engaging the Tension

2010-12-09T08:03:00.000-08:00

There is a lot of tension in my life right now.

I used to think that experiencing tension meant that I was going against God's will, but now I realize I experience tension precisely because I am in His will. Here are a few examples of what I'm talking about:

expectancy ... contentment

mercy ... justice

listening to others ... not being swayed by what others think

Sabbath ... Second Coming

My call to ministry ... my gender and what Scripture* says about women

Acting professional ... being vulnerable

"innocent as doves" ... "cunning as serpents"

I struggle with these things on a daily basis. I believe God calls me to be content with my present circumstances, yet, I believe that He is asking me to move in a new direction and to yearn for that future with expectancy. I also like to listen to other people and to be approachable. I don't want to be above correction, but I also know that I am the only person living my life. I have to make decisions and own them. And once I've made a decision (and I believe that God is leading me) then I don't want to be deterred by criticism or having my motives questioned.

I never fully realized until recently that I live with a tension in my own body. I know that God has given me gifts of leadership and communication and that I feel most alive when I am ministering to other people. Yet, God created me female and because of my gender, there are some who would argue that Scripture prohibits the very act of service I feel called to. (Not to mention that my own denomination is currently experiencing a lot of tension regarding the role of women in ministry: should we allow divisions like North America to move ahead and fully empower women or should we wait until the entire world church is ready?)

What about the tension in the name Seventh-day Adventist. The seventh-day refers to Sabbath which is all about rest, pacing, rhythm, and recreation while Advent refers to the return of Christ which is all about urgency, anticipation, and action. We are caught between those two seemingly opposite beliefs that are juxtaposed in our very name.

I've come to believe that I'm not meant to let go of any of these things. I'm not meant to swing from one side to another, but rather to engage the tension. That it is possible that these tensions I resist is actually by design because it conforms me to God's image.

Sometimes I say to God, You know, I'm not exactly freaking Gumby here. I'm going to snap. And I do think something in me breaks: my selfish heart and more of God, more love, more patience rushes in.

I don't want to resist the tension. I want to engage the tension. The tension is good.

The Line

2010-12-08T19:41:00.000-08:00

I'm funny when it comes to journaling. I don't write every day, but I do my best to completely fill a journal before moving on to the next one. I am not a monogamist when it comes to journals, however, so it can take a really long time before I finish writing on all the pages.

Sometimes, though, there are events in my life where I feel like I need a fresh start. I'll usually just draw a line on a blank page somehow reminding myself that I'm in a new chapter. But then there are exceptions: I haven't completely filled a prayer journal with the previous two journals that I've kept. I loved them-- I loved the feel in my hand, the lines weren't too small or to big, they were great. It was the content I didn't like. The fits and starts, the ups and downs, the struggles, doubts, and leaps of faith. So I did something different. I took myself to Barnes and Noble, carefully selected a new journal, and started writing. The act of buying a new journal somehow signals to me that I'm starting again, that I'm moving forward and growing in my relationship with God.

I feel the same way with this blog. So much has happened in the last six or seven months. There is so much I would like to blog about and so much that I would like to process in this community, but I felt like I needed to "draw a line." I wanted to differentiate between what my life was to what it is know (and how it keeps changing and evolving--hopefully for the better).

So this blog post, albeit a little boring, is my way of drawing a line. It's a way of starting over, but not really starting over. It's a reminder that I am in the next chapter of my life and that I want to tell a great story.

A New Blog

2010-05-04T16:57:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, I haven't given up blogging here at Life Exegesis, but I'm now facilitating a new blog at:

www.churchmeetsworld.blogspot.com

The blog corresponds to a sermon series that I will be presenting throughout May, June, and July and I'm hoping to have great conversations about the mission of the church and engaging the world.

Hope you'll come visit me there!

The Michael Jordan Year

2010-03-23T18:27:00.000-07:00

One of my earliest memories, growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, was watching the Chicago Bulls with my Dad. I was born in '87 so, by the time I was five and six, the Bulls were in their glory days. At least once a week, my Dad would bake chocolate chip cookies in a glass pan (his specialty) and then would serve me at a Fisher Price kiddie-size table set up in the family room where we would watch the game together. Animatedly. My Dad and I do not watch any sporting event quietly. We can quickly clear out a room or a small bleacher section at a game; it's our contribution to the sport--expert analysis and coaching from our seats. But I digress.

Ah, the Bulls. For a while, there was quite a trio in Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman (he was the entertainment factor-- what color will his hair be tonight?), and Michael Jordan. But mostly, when we watched the Bulls, we watched Michael.
With his fierce competitive spirit, and unmatched athleticism, he was the player to watch. Everything about him-his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth to the number of his jersey became a trademark. When you think 23, you think Michael Jordan.

Tomorrow is my 23rd birthday. I thought a lot about turning twenty-three and I couldn't come up with any terribly exciting reason to celebrate. Twenty-three is not the same as twenty-one and it's not as distinguished as twenty-five (not that I want to rush that one!). But twenty-three is a legendary number due to Michael Jordan, so I've declared my twenty-third year to be my Michael Jordan year. I think I'll skip the time in pro-baseball or possibly the smoking of huge cigars, but I'm sure I can think of a few things to emulate... (ideas??)

Anyone else know anything special about the number 23? Or something cool about Michael Jordan that I should incorporate into my MJ year?

For now, I think I'll just wake up tomorrow and see how I feel. Hello, 23.

My Time

2010-01-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

I'm struggling with an aspect of my job as a pastor: Time management.

Time management and productivity take on brand-new meanings when applied to pastoral ministry because as [almost] everyone knows, it is not an 8-5 job. Nor is it an one-day-a-week job. It's the type of work that one could easily fall into a ditch of laziness or workaholism without much effort.

My struggle is that I prefer a tightly structured 8-5 type job versus a more fluid schedule. However, my desire for a 8-5 job is simply incompatible with pastoral ministry. You can't predict when a member is going to have emergency surgery and you'll be called to wait with the family. You can't predict when a conflict will break out and you will be called on to navigate, mediate, and work for a solution. The key to success in this type of work is flexibility.

But I'm not flexible! And if I were really honest, most days, I don't feel like being flexible, either. I liked coming home at a certain time each evening and then calling the rest of the night "my time." I liked having all day Sabbath to myself and deciding where and with whom I would spend the day. I liked being able to manage my time however I wanted to.

Not long ago, one of my best friends and I are were talking about pastoral ministry and time. After listening to me talk (ok, gripe) about my struggle to adjust to a fluid schedule, she gently said this: "Alyssa, you view time as sacred." I don't think she realized the full implications of what she had just said, but I did.

I go around acting like time belongs to me, like I own time. I go around acting like certain hours of the day are "mine"-- that I'm generous if I choose to share them and that it's an inconvenience to have to surrender them. I don't own time; I inhabit time.

In writing the Screwtape Letters C.S. Lewis said this:

"Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him... [this] anger[s] him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours." (111-112)

This adjustment to my thinking about time isn't just for my job. If I'll let it, this experience will shape me as a Christian, too.

"The humans are always putting up claims to ownership which sound equally funny in Heaven and in Hell...in the long run either Our Father or the Enemy will say 'Mine' of each thing that exists, and specially of each man." (ibid, 113-114)

Open wallet, empty contents

2009-12-04T06:52:00.000-08:00

I've been spending lots of money lately.

I wish I could say I spent it on Christmas gifts for all my friends and family. Or on fun items to decorate my apartment. Instead, my paycheck has been going to a string of expensive, unexpected repairs and replacements.

It all started in early October. I was supposed to pick up my sister from the Atlanta airport so she could spend her mid-term break with me in Savannah. Two days before I'm supposed to pick her up, my check engine light came on. My Dad advised me to check the gas cap; I did, but to no avail. I drove around a little bit-- hoping that a few extra miles could work out the kinks, but it didn't. I took it into the Saturn dealer and they wanted $100.00 just to simply diagnose the problem.

When it was all said and done, they recommended another $450.00 for work-- which, thankfully, since the repairs did not need to be done immediately I could save for.

But then this week my cell phone died. A quick trip to Verizon and I'm out another chunk of change. And then last night, my computer decides to die.

After a trip to the Geek Squad and also one of those pesky service charges to simply diagnose the problem, they've decided I need to re-install Windows. Yes, I have a four and half year old Dell and I've been saving for a Mac. But in the mean time, a medium percentage of my paycheck will be left with Best Buy.

I'm grateful that I do have savings. And I'm grateful that I have friends and family who care about me and remind me that "when it rains it pours" but right now, I think being an adult sucks.

Open wallet. Empty contents.

That's my life right now.

[Im]Patience is a Virtue

2009-11-05T18:45:00.000-08:00

I'm not very patient with people. I was noticing this, especially, this week while driving down the road.

When I get stuck behind a slow driver, I start talking to them, "Oh come on!" or "Get out of my way" or other phrases not worth repeating here. Sometimes I get so exasperated that as I finally fly past them, I think about shaking my fist in their direction.

But I never do it.

Not because I am restrained by righteousness or by a guilty conscience, but because I as I'm passing, I finally see the driver. Sometimes it's a Granny, who's hunched over and who can barely see over her steering wheel. Sometimes it's a mother, desperately trying to drive and reach in the back seat to entertain her baby. Sometimes it's a teenager who looks apprehensive, nervous, and feeling sorry that they can't drive any faster and their parent is sitting in the front seat-- white knuckled.

And then I feel badly. Why couldn't I have just had more patience, more grace with these people? Why couldn't I have stuck it out with them just a little longer? Why was I in such a big hurry?

I'm realizing that I do the same thing in friendships and relationships a lot of times. I'm guilty of being impatient with my church members. When my limited patience has finally run out with others, I tend to want to leave, just as I zoom past others down the highway. I don't want to deal with these people any more.

And then I really see them. My friends, my members-- I see them. Their pain, their hidden addictions, the struggles and joys they each experience. I tap on my breaks, as I remember:

If you want to go fast, go alone
If you want to go far, go together

And ultimately, roadtrips are so much more fun when you are traveling in a caravan, rather than in a car all by yourself.

Here's to the journey.

TLAR

2009-10-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

How do you decide when something is good enough?

I remember in grade school that if I got a 97 or 98 on a math test that those scores were unacceptable. It was good, but not good enough.

In college I always felt like there was something more I should be doing. I made good grades, I spent time with my friends, I tried new activities, but at times I felt those things were good but not good enough.

Living on my own for two months has been a lesson in good enough. I'm paying all my bills and on-time, but I'm not necessarily living off of a budget. I'm cooking a few times a week, but I'm still eating out more than I should. I clean my house fairly regularly, but I still haven't unpacked all my boxes or gotten all of my books and papers off of my living room floor. I have stacks of papers all waiting to be filed away. I'm doing okay; things are good, but are they good enough?

Last year at Southern, my friend Jon Tillay, redefined what was good enough. He would write a paper for a class and then pronounce it TLAR. I asked him once what that meant and he said, "That looks about right." In other words, it's good enough.

Maybe I need to evaluate my life and my home in terms of TLAR. The books in the corner? That looks about right. The stacks of papers needing to be organized? That looks about right. The fact that my refrigerator needs to be cleaned out and restocked with groceries? That looks about right.

Perhaps good enough for me right now is just that I am getting up each morning, working, eating, talking with friends and family, taking time to read and reflect, and sleeping. Maybe my life doesn't need to look like a Real Simple magazine spread where every thing is neatly organized and picture perfect. Maybe what I have right now looks about right.

Celebrating Shallowness

2009-09-30T18:14:00.000-07:00

How do you live deeply in a world that celebrates shallowness? (And at this point in the evening, I am second-guessing myself as to whether or not shallowness is actually a word. Let's say it is.)

I consider myself to be a deep person. That's not to say that I can't be shallow, selfish, or that I am a twenty-two year old sage; I'm not. I am, however, the kind of person who doesn't want to have 400 friends on Facebook that I can read about their lives through status updates. I'd rather have a close group of friends that I talk to on a regular basis, see as often as I can, and who know me and who still love me.

But the world that we live in champions breadth and not depth. It's like the action song, "Deep and Wide" where you get to the part where you sing, "Hmm and wide". Our culture loves to leave out the deep part.

But maybe it's not only the surrounding culture that we live in-- maybe it's the church, too. I am working as an associate pastor and if someone were to ask what my job description is, I think my best reply would be: Jack of all trades, master of none. I preach, teach Sabbath schools, lead a baptismal class, attend plenty of committees and board meetings, head up the registration tables during our current evangelistic effort, visit members in their homes, counsel young women who want to know "how far you can go without sinning" with their boyfriends, attend funerals, greet people on Sabbath mornings, pray, and for good measure, occasionally, design an invitation to a prayer breakfast.

The fact is I am not gifted at doing all of those things. I'm probably competent at doing most of those things, but gifted, no. And I don't necessarily like doing all of those things either. I called my ministerial director today and asked him what he was expecting out of my time in Savannah working as an associate. He said he wanted me to have a "broad exposure" to pastoral ministry.

But what if as people and pastors we didn't place such a high emphasis on breadth and instead placed equal balance on breadth and depth? Or just focused on depth for a while? What would that look like? How would our lives be different? As Christians, as human beings, is this worth thinking about? Maybe so.

"And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you'll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ's love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God." -- Ephesians 3, Message

Body and Soul

2009-09-24T17:37:00.000-07:00

I get itchy when Christians talk about souls. Not as in "we are concerned for their souls" or "their soul has now departed and they're looking down on us now." I raise my eyebrows and scratch my clavicle when someone prays, "Lord, thank you for all the souls that are making decisions for You."

They aren't merely souls; the people we are referring to are human beings who have souls. They are embodied souls. I think my itchiness flares up because it can come across that we only care about people's salvation and we care nothing about their lives in the here and now. This is precisely where the social gospel comes in, which if I understand it correctly, says, "We don't see you as a soul; we see you as a human being and as Christians, we care about if you have enough to eat, if you have a place to sleep, and other bodily matters-- because your soul resides in a body."

Of course I want people to know Christ and to trust in Him for salvation. And I think it would be wrong and careless of me to feed, clothe, and provide shelter for someone only to neglect the condition of their soul. But the bottom line is that the bodies we all now reside in are not temporary trappings until we are set free to float off to meet God. The last time I read 1 Thessalonians 4, I'm pretty sure I read something about resurrected bodies.

Does anybody else break out in hives when you overhear talk about souls?

Change of Plans

2009-09-14T11:17:00.000-07:00

I think it is entirely possible that God called me to pastoral ministry simply to strip away my selfishness and to sanctify me. My call to ministry may or may not have anything to do with God using me to minister to others; I think it's entirely possible that God is using my time and experiences in Savannah to save me. For instance:

I was at potluck on Sabbath, standing in the kitchen attempting to scarf down remnants of mysteriously vague potluck dishes, when a young woman with her three young children in tow, comes and asks me for the key to a storage closet. I quickly pasted a smile on my face, set down my plate of food on the kitchen counter, and as I walked out of the kitchen, I whispered to one of the ladies cleaning the kitchen, "Please don't throw out my plate! I got interrupted, but I'll be back."

My comments sound polite enough in written form, but unfortunately, we derive more than 57% of the messages content from a person's tone and body language. So really, my comments would have been something like this:

"Please don't throw out my plate! [whine] I got interrupted [roll of eyes], but I'll be back." And with being said, the woman requesting the storage key turned to me and said, "Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting."
No, now I'm sorry. Really sorry.

Even though I had been up since 7, at church since 9, just finished preaching a twenty-five minute sermon, greeted every church member, and had arrived at potluck to cold, remnants of potluck dishes, and had to eat in the kitchen standing up, somehow none of that justified the way I had just made this young woman feel. I was tired, but I was selfish and stingy in the way I had responded to someone who simply needed to check the storage closet for supplies. As in supplies she wanted to use to volunteer her time and energy to bless our church with an Adventurer's program.

Or take my plans for this evening for example: We just started a Revelation Seminar evangelistic series and I haven't had an evening at home for the last six nights or so. But tonight is an off night and I made plans. Big plans. I had already plotted out that I was going to wear my pajamas and my New England Patriots cap to watch the Patriots play in the season opener against the Buffalo Bills. I was really feeling ambitious because I planned to do laundry and clean my house during the commercial breaks. A well-deserved evening at home, I thought.

And then my phone rang with bad news. One of our church member's mother was tragically killed in a car accident on her way to church this Sabbath and they are having the funeral home visitation service tonight. From 7-10 pm.
Good-bye pajamas and Pats cap; hello black suit and heels.

I know in my heart that I need to be with this family. I've experienced sudden tragedy like this before, too. I know that my response and presence should flow from a good pastor's heart, but instead, I find myself in awe of my rotten selfishness. I'm angry. Frustrated. On the verge of throwing a fit and claiming that I am "exhausted." Threatening (only to myself) to quit and become a journalist. Or work as a cashier at Target.

I remember attending a women's leadership conference last fall and hearing a hospital chaplain describe a moment in ministry that nearly split her in two. She had scheduled a hair cut for herself in the afternoon and had been looking forward to it all day, but as it came time for her to leave for her appointment, she found out one of her patients was dying. In her heart, she knew she needed to be there with the patient and with his family. But she also found herself angry and asking, "What about my hair appointment?"
I remember thinking at the time, "Wow, something like missing your hair cut could cause that much inner conflict and turmoil?" And now I know the answer is yes; look what a canceled evening of pajama-wearing, football-watching, laundry-doing, house-cleaning has done to me.

Dr. Parker told us in Church Ministry class that as pastors you must set boundaries within the context of sacrifice. Nice platitude, but how do you quantifiably measure that? Does that mean I give of myself and my evening off 3 out of 4 times? Do I not take a day off for five weeks during our evangelistic series? Strangely, I am reminded of Peter's response to Christ: "Shall I forgive my brother seven times?" After all, Jesus had just spouted off a platitude, too, "You must forgive one another." And Peter wants to know the limits; he wants to know a quantifiable amount of times he will be asked to forgive. Jesus' response shows He is concerned about Peter's heart and him developing a heart of forgiveness.

I want God to work in my heart and to strip away the selfishness that lines my heart like outdated wallpaper. God, give me an unselfish heart.

"Create in me a clean heart, O God." -Psalm 51:10

"A broken and contrite heart You will not despise." -Psalm 51:17

The Things that happen at Church

2009-08-29T19:08:00.000-07:00

Oh, the things that happen in church! Have I ever mentioned that I love the people at my church? Really, truly do; I see Christ in them and I want Christ to be formed in them. But sometimes the things that happen in church when juxtaposed with each other are humorous. Take today for example:

I taught one of the adult Sabbath School classes today. We had a good discussion, I was able to read a couple of excerpts from Mere Christianity, and all in all, I think it went well. After the class, I had a few people tell me that they enjoyed the class and one woman hugged me and said, "I'm so glad you are here."

Then as I was heading back to meet with our worship participants and to pray with them, one woman from the class stopped me and uttered this rebuke:

"You have got to stop cracking your knuckles."

I was dumb struck, actually. Not because I don't crack my knuckles, I do, and my Mom is one of those people who is chronically annoyed by people who crack their knuckles in church. But I was surprised because I had no memory of any obnoxious cracking during class. I meekly asked,

"Oh, did I crack my knuckles during class?"

"Yes." She then shoved one of her hands towards me and I looked to see swollen, arthritic fingers and joints.

"I used to crack my knuckles all the time and see what it has done to me? You have got to stop today!"

I didn't think it would be a good idea to point out the fact that she is easily in her sixties and that her swollen, arthritic fingers could also be related to age. Instead, I nodded dumbly and thanked her for her reproof.

After the worship service, I was flagged over by a middle-aged woman who attends our church. I I like her, she's from the Mid-west, and is fairly straight to the point. But you can never tell what the next thing out of her mouth will be. Her opening question to me is:

"How old are you?"

I have no problem with people asking me that question. I'm twenty-two. And I hope when I reach thirty-eight or fifty-two that I won't mind people asking me, either. Age is age. However, this is the South and generally speaking, asking someone their age, without preface or permission is usually not considered good manners.

I smile back at her and say, "I'm twenty-two."

I half expected her to say, "Oh, wow! You are so young..." and then maybe make a comment about how I don't have enough life experience to be teaching the Sabbath School lesson (where she was a participant in class). Instead, she continues:

"My husband's brother is single..."

Not "May I ask you a personal question?" Or "are you in a relationship right now?" But a statement of fact: her brother-in-law is single right now. If only that were all, because she added:

"Yes, he's single, but he's about my age."

Now it's my turn to feel sort of awkward. This woman is middle-aged, but thanks to the modern miracles of make-up and plastic surgery, I have no idea how old she is. (Not saying that she has had plastic surgery; just the prevalence of said elective surgery make age-guessing much more difficult.) I don't feel right asking her or trying smoothly to comment about her age. Thankfully, she filled in the gaps for me.

"I'm forty-six."

Oh my word. Forty-six? This guy is forty-six? Like as in twenty-four, almost a quarter of a century older than I am? As in only a couple years younger (and I do mean just a couple) than my parents? I hope the shock didn't register on my face and thankfully, I didn't have a chance to say anything before she concluded:

"Well, I just know that it is hard to meet people once you've graduated from college."

Help me, God. If I were to try and draw a lesson from these two conversations in church today it could be this:
A) Stop cracking my knuckles before I get ape hands
B) Hurry up and get married to someone who is forty-six who won't be able to see when my hands do turn into ape hands

Once again, I smile politely, thank her and say, "Thanks for thinking of me."

Thinking of me? Yes, my church prays for me and thinks about me and apparently the Body of Christ is concerned about my bad habits and marital status, too. I think these are only conversations you could possibly have at church.

Why I Like My Job

2009-08-26T07:47:00.000-07:00

I have been working in Savannah for all of twenty-six days now. And I think I really like pastoral ministry. Not love, though. Not yet.

I think a clear sign of why I like pastoral ministry and some of my colleagues, undoubtedly, love pastoral ministry could be measured by what we loved, pursued, and excelled in while taking classes at Southern. I loved biblical languages, exegesis, and systematic theology. Many of my friends and classmates liked the practical classes like Personal Evangelism and Church Ministry-- I did not share the same affinity, but then again, they weren't all that thrilled with learning Hebrew paradigms, either.

And yesterday, while attending a ministerial meeting, one of the Georgia-Cumberland VP's asked me if I was enjoying my time in Savannah. I said yes, that I was having a great time. I also added that being a pastor was different than being a full-time student. He then remarked that I had probably passed the point where anyone was ever going to ask me what my GPA was or whether or not I remembered systematic theology.

I was aghast. I loved systematic theology. And I enjoyed the challenge of earning good grades. If I were to cut out the Hebrew, Greek, exegesis, and systematics out of my life as a pastor I would be depressed. They are a part of pastoral ministry just like administration and committees are too.

I don't know if it's fair to say that I only like my job-- there are parts that I love. Really, really love. Like visiting members, studying for a sermon, preaching, discerning what God is doing in the lives of my members and in our city, and praying for and with my church members. And most of all, I love the people in my church. I really do. I walked in to the sanctuary on my second Sabbath here and thought, "I am going to love these people. I really am." And I do.

But there are also parts that I strongly dislike about my job, too. Like the arguments over where to place the church bulletin board. Or whether or not we should all bring our own hot-dogs to the church bonfire. Like the committees that drain me of energy and consume four or five evenings of my week. Like having to spend so much vital force on simply maintaining our church building and programming.

I hope, one day, that maybe I will love pastoring and will truly love it, different from the way that I love pizza or reading a good book. As for right now, though, I am truly contented to be in Savannah and to have the job that I do.

Agony and Adventure

2009-07-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

I've done some calculating since my last post and have compiled my traveling adventures in to the abbreviated lists to give you all a full taste of my travels.

* I spent 33 days living out of a suitcase

* I flew on four airlines: Southwest, Continental, United, and Delta

* The ranking for those airlines from best to worst is as follows: Southwest, Delta, Continental, and United.

* I took off from, landed in, or had a lay over in these cities: Chicago, Indianapolis, Cleveland, Portland (Maine), Washington, D.C., Kansas City (Missouri), Atlanta, and Savannah.

*About day 24, I exchanged my duffel bag for a new one at the awesome L.L. Bean located in Freeport, Maine. My parents had bought me a turquoise, over-sized, rolling duffel for my fifteenth birthday and that thing had seen a lot of airports, college roadtrips, and domestic travels. The wheels were cracking, the straps were fraying, and it was looking pretty worn--understandably so. I took it into L.L. Bean and told them that I had the duffel for over seven years and that it had been around the world and back. Literally. The customer service lady reached over and took the bag and offered to replace it. For free.
The only sadness I felt was parting with a bag that had been a part of all my travels for the last seven years.

* I swam in the Atlantic Ocean in Harpswell, Maine. I had gone for a walk down to the shore and spontaneously decided to go for a swim. It was freezing-- I was shrieking the whole time I was in the water, which was probably only about six minutes. I might have stayed in longer, but my arms and legs were going numb. Not even kidding.

* The total days I saw the sun while spending 14 days in Maine: 3

* The amount of Ben and Jerry ice cream cones I consumed while in New England: 2 (but I was tempted to have a lot more!)

* I spent a good chunk of my time in Maine on "sabbatical." I stayed with a long-time friend and mentor of mine and we prayed together, celebrated Communion together, read Scripture and other books, went for long walks, and asked each other questions. She also requested that I teach her how to preach on a Bible passage; I did and I think Dr. Lake would be proud.

* Books I read while traveling: Go Green, Save Green/ Blink/ Tuesdays with Morrie/ The Life You've Always Wanted/ The Contemplative Pastor

* I ran into Dr. King, one of my favorite professors, at Indiana campmeeting. I caught the last part of his "Life and Teachings" seminar that he was presenting.

* I stayed out at some friends house (who, incidentally, are all night-nurses) until 4 am. Needless to say my mantra of "early to bed, early to rise" was pretty much shot out of the water. And as I was riding with my friend, Amy, back to her house, we got pulled over by the police. I thought this was ironic considering the first (and only time thus far) time I got pulled over, Amy was with me. Apparently, the police have something against the two of us traveling together in the same car.

* I helped Amy cook a very delicious Italian meal at her house. I discovered thatlistening to and singing along with Pavorotti can make cooking a whole lot more fun.

* I ran into one of my friends from high school that I hadn't seen in at least four years or more. We had a great time catching up and I was reminded just how much we had both grown since high school!

* I flew to Savannah, Georgia and met my senior pastor, Mark, his wife Elbie, and their two girls, Adeline and Cherise. I was introduced to the Savannah First Church where I will be working and managed to sign a lease on a new apartment.

* The disparity in temperature between Maine and Savannah, Georgia: 40 degrees.

* Coming back home to Bloomfield, Iowa: Priceless.

(Okay, the last one was cheesy!)

What I have written above was all about the adventures I've had and if you can stand to read anymore, then read on to find out about my current agony.

I'm in the throws of packing to move to Savannah. That doesn't sound too bad, right? I mean, I've moved back and forth between Southern numerous times. And I usually pack and and study for finals simultaneously. Not this time.

All the stuff I have accumulated over the past four years has all come to reside in my closet and judgment day has come. I've been forced to sift and sort through books, papers, financial statements over the last four years, nice cards people have given me, deciding between what counts as "memoribilia" and what is just junk. And I've decided that I hate excess.

There is this old Southwest Airlines commercial that comes to mind. A woman is helping her husband get ready for a business trip and for some reason he is wearing five dress shirts, three belts, a couple pairs of suspenders, and the woman is helping him ease on his fourth suit jacket. As you can imagine, he was perspiring like crazy. I think the moral of the commercial for Southwest was "Don't be afraid to check your bags. We don't charge!"
My new moral for the story is this: Why do I need 10 hats when I only have one head (right?) and can only wear one hat at a time. Or why do I have three pairs of gloves when I lived for four years in Collegedale and for four years in California before that? I only have one pair of hands.

Maybe that's where the agony comes in. I'm trying to inventory all of my things and re-evaluate whether or not they need to be a part of my life anymore. I don't want to have a lot of excess stuff when I could be giving it to people who do need it or giving it to Good-will.

And that's why the packing is going so slowly and the agony continues. But I guess when I re-open my boxes in Savannah it will be like Christmas morning for me. I just want to be able to hold all my possessions in open, unclenched hands. That way, if Jesus calls me to give my things up or to let them go, I can walk away freely and not be clinging to all my stuff.

And that's a very, very long-winded update on my life.

The Adventure Begins

2009-06-10T07:45:00.000-07:00

I left my home in Iowa on June 4 and headed for Chicago over the weekend. On the way, my Mom and I had a couple of failed attempts to cross the Mississippi River, but managed to cross into Illinois in time to see Sarah Hayhoe for dinner and excellent conversation.

On Friday, I picked up my best friend, Linda Ferguson, from the airport. I hadn't seen her in almost ten months as she had been serving in Peru as a student missionary.

Sabbath: I revisisted the church that I knew as a little girl and got to see the Hinsdale Seventh-day Adventist Church's House of Prayer, which is literally in a house next door to the church.

Sunday: Andrew Dormus' and Gaby Parra's beautiful and unique wedding.

Monday: Flew to Indianapolis and met up with another one of my best friends, Amy Jacobs.

And now I'm off to make some more memories!

I know where I'm going!

2009-06-01T06:05:00.000-07:00

After months of knowing that I was going to be working in Georgia-Cumberland and months of people asking me, "Have you heard from the conference? Do you know where you are going to be?" I finally have an answer.

Savannah, Georgia.

Let those words roll over you, just like the waves from the Atlantic Ocean roll over Savannah's beaches. I am going to the Savannah First Church and will be the associate pastor (job description to follow in coming posts).

I'm going to live near the beach. I could keep a boogie-board in the back of my car. I'm going to swelter in the humidity. My hair will always be curly. I'm going to master the Southern drawl.

I should be going down to Savannah in early July to look for an apartment and will be starting my new job on Sabbath, August 1. I also want to give an open invitation to anyone who happens to be in the area and needs a place to stay, or purposefully comes to Savannah to take advantage of the weather and beach. You would be welcome in my home anytime. And as they say in the South, "Y'all come back now, you hear?"

In other news, I'm about to head out on a road trip. Iowa to Chicago to Indianapolis to Portland, Maine to Kansas City to Iowa. Rest. To Savannah. I will be posting pictures over the month of June to document my trip and all the cool things I'll be doing and all the wonderful people I will be re-connecting with.

At this point, I'm just stoked about moving to Savannah, but enjoying my summer before the real work begins.

Could it be that simple?

2009-05-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

I found a series of cassette tapes in my Mom's room today. I found myself chuckling over the out-datedness of cassettes and scanning the back of the cassette holder. It was series of sermons given by a well-known, well-respected Adventist speaker. In fact, he spoke at Southern just this year, and I attended a few of his presentations. I might have been tempted to pop one of those tapes into our tape player when I read something that completely turned me off. The description of the presentations went something like this:

"These are the recordings of a series of lectures that Pastor ________ gave at the Michigan Campmeeting in 2003. Instead of pop music, entertainment and 'sanctified' drama to reach the youth, the youth who were in Pastor's _____ meetings were in rapt attention, as evidenced by their open Bibles. At the conclusion of the lectures, hundreds made decisions for Christ."

I wish I were kidding about the description even though what I wrote was a paraphrase. Well, almost all of it. I remembered the "sanctified drama" part pretty clearly. Aren't there enough ways to advertise and highlight that particular sermon series without making a dig at those who have used drama as a medium to convey the Gospel? And why does the only genuine conversion hinted at by these cassette tapes have to come as a result of hearing apologetic-oriented presentations? Couldn't you be genuinely converted through Christian contemporary music or through a "sanctified drama?"

I thought about the smiling pastor's picture on the back of the cassette packaging and wondered how he felt about endorsing such comments. But unfortunately, the antagonists of "sanctified drama" aren't the only ones who engage in such digs and jabs. Their more liberal counterparts are just as guilty; I've witnessed the verbal sparring on the other side as well.

Perhaps what troubles me the most is when the jabs become labels and I am encouraged to pick a side. Whether the pastor on the cassette tapes wanted to or not, he had chosen his side. I have friends in California at La Sierra University who have urged me to join "their" side and I've had a professor at Southern tell me that I was "nothing like" a certain professor (who I greatly admire) at La Sierra. Choose your side and crusade boldly for the cause.

Yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, there is a Rebecca St. James song that keeps playing. The chorus is catchy:

"We believe in the Son, and that's what makes us one."

Sweet words. But clearly she hasn't checked out the Christian scene lately. We are anything, but one. Anything other than united. Yet, those words are haunting me. Could it really be that simple? All Christians could be one simply because we believe in Jesus Christ?

What about Christ's nature? Was it pre- or post-fall? What about pre-destination or free-will? Pre-trib or post-trib? Conservative or liberal? Choose your side.

But what if it's not about sides? What if it's about allegiance to Jesus Christ, the second Person of the Trinity, and belief in His historical life, teachings, death, and resurrection? Could that really be enough? Could it really be that simple?

Would it be possible to be united with other Christians even if we don't agree on all doctrines? What will happen with the divides in the Seventh-day Adventist Church when it becomes clear that some members do not believe all 28 fundamental beliefs? Will we disfellowship those who only believe 25 of the 28? Or could we still be united even though we don't see eye-to-eye?

Where does uniformity end and unity begin?

Could it really be so simple? Could we stop taking sides, stop our verbal sparring long enough to embrace? Long enough to stoop to wash each other's feet and to reiterate Jesus' last prayer for His disciples:

"May they be one just as You and I are one"

Is it possible? Will Jesus' prayer ever be answered?

Keep it down!

2009-05-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

I have a friend who has suffered with bulimia through the last few years in college, and it's been really difficult to watch this eating disorder take its toll on her.

When I first met her, she was alive, vibrant, and thin. I was continually amazed at all the food she could eat and retain her slenderness--which I wrongly attributed to genetics or the fact that she was active and athletic. What I didn't know was she was also going to the bathroom and purging after every meal. She was obsessed with her looks and while it appeared like she was healthy, she was, in fact, starving.

The road to recovery has been long and painful for my friend. After being confronted by her concerned father, she started treatment for her eating disorder. I have felt really awkward around her; I want to tell her to eat something or take her out to an all-you-can-eat buffet, but that's not what she needs at all. Apparently, she has to recover by eating really simple foods and then keeping them down. This process reminds me of my finicky stomach after I've had the flu. Invariably, I beg my Mom for something other than saltines or dry toast and her response is the same: Wait. See if you can keep your crackers or toast down. And now, it's the same for my friend.

I think she's had a few relapses; this disease has such a vicious cycle. She's used to binging on all the food she wants and then purging it from her system. Now, she has to re-learn healthy eating habits. She has to learn to swallow and to allow the food to digest and nourish her body. Every day, every meal, is a struggle.

Actually, this story is not about my friend at all. I don't have a friend who is bulimic. This is a parable about me and my walk with Christ. I have been convicted of being spiritually bulimic.

I was first convicted of my disorder while reading Shane Claiborne's book, "Irresistible Revolution" and the phrase of spiritual bulimia is one that he coined, as far as I know. I recognized my spiritual condition by the symptoms almost immediately: Binging without digestion.

My primary binge comes from reading-- I have this insatiable hunger to read, know, and understand. I gorge myself on books about theology, spiritual formation, missional living, and discipleship. But then I can't digest all that I've read. My reading sets up a false dichotomy that I can consume all that I want, but never allow what I've read to shape and form me as evidenced by my un-changed life and practices. The irony is that while it appears like I'm really healthy because I read a lot and want to grow spiritually, I'm slowly starving myself.

I wrote that a bulimic person doesn't recover from their disorder by going to an all-you-can-eat-buffet; it starts with PB&J that you can actually swallow and your body digests. I feel like God has been saying that to me: Can you swallow what it means to take up your cross and follow me and actually keep it down? You've just read five books on justice and hospitality, but are you living rightly and being hospitable to others? You say that you believe in the Sabbath, that you keep the Sabbath, but your life practices don't reflect the pace and rhythm that Sabbath-keeping brings. Are you allowing My Word to nourish you and to give you energy to run the race with perseverance?

There is truth to the idea that bulimia is primarily about appearances and so is its spiritual counterpart. You look like you are a healthy Christian. You appear well-read and intellectual. You look like you've been eating. But the truth is I've become spiritually thin all while gorging myself on a feast of Christian teachings and theological studies. Irony abounds.

I want to be changed by all that I absorb-- I want to be transformed by Christ and His Word that is nourishing me. I refuse to read a book, regurgitate its thesis to others, and remain unchanged. I want to be healed of spiritual bulimia.

Alyssa M. Foll: Human After All

2009-04-20T16:42:00.000-07:00

I was reminded today that I am not a machine.

I feel that one of my strengths is organization, and I'm usually very on-top of things at school, work, and in my social life. I knew this week was going to be exceptionally stressful, however, and I tried to brace myself for it. In my attempts to be efficient today I did the following things:

1. Missed a class
2. Caused my friend, Ben Schnell, to miss the same class
3. Was one day late in turning in some important paper work and had to file a petition to get it sorted out
4. Remembered as I was brushing my teeth this morning that I had a meeting at 4 pm (thankfully, I remembered before and not after)
5. Wrote a Responsive Reading for this weekend
6. Worked on my upcoming sermon for Collegedale Church
7. Started to bake cookies for tomorrow night (then my Mom pointed out I should let someone else do that or get the slice and bake kind-- she has a point!)
8. Going to a prayer group because God knows I need extra prayer right now!

This afternoon when things were looking particularly bleak, I called my Mom and told her my sob-story. She kindly reminded me of my first-grade-kernel incident.

When I was in first grade, our teacher rewarded us with colored popcorn kernels (weird, I know) and we got to keep them in tupperware dishes on our desks. When you got a certain amount of kernels you could get to use the gumball machine or have a trip to the treasure chest.

Kernels were earned and lost on a daily basis for good and bad behavior. I think I went the majority of the year before I ever lost one single kernel. Friends of mine lost kernels on a daily basis for their disruptive behavior. Some probably even lost them hourly. But not me. I religiously guarded my tupperware and watched how I acted in class. So conscientious for a first-grader, really. But one day, I did something that caused me to lose a kernel. I have absolutely no memory of what it is now-- all I remember is that I cried.

Not boo-hooed. Cried. Sobbed, in fact. I think I caused my teacher so much alarm that she called my Mom later in the evening and explained to her what happened. Then she uttered the words that my Mom reminded me of today:

"Alyssa needs to learn that she's human. We all make mistakes."

It feels good to remember that I am only human. I'm not a machine. I can't just re-boot and everything will be great. Sometimes I forget things and sometimes I disappoint people or accidently give them the wrong information. I do make mistakes--usually on a daily basis. And it's good to remember with all the pressure in the final weeks of school that I am human. Which means I still need to sleep, eat (reasonably) healthy food, shower, and do all things related to basic humane treatment.

And I'm especially thankful that God remembers we are human-- only dust really. And I can happily live as a human: forgetful, flawed, but beautifully forgiven.

Is Christianity Safe?

2009-04-18T05:35:00.000-07:00

"Don't do that; it's not safe!"

I'm sure those were the words that Hudson Taylor heard-- a young British man, who set sail for China. He left his family, possessions, and a comfortable life as a physician behind to go reach the unknown, unexplored regions of China.

Those same words were most definitely used when Shane Claiborne, author of the Irresistible Revolution, went to Iraq during the time of the invasion of Baghdad.

And those are the words I hear in my mind when I think about going on an adventure with God. There is a huge part of me that would love to live in a downtown apartment and to serve my community incarnationally. Or I've thought about if I never marry that I would adopt children anyway. Those plans probably do not sound smart or safe to many people, including I'm sure, my parents. On most days, they don't sound safe to me, either.

As much as I think it would be great to go on an adventure with God, there is another part of me that says I'm not using common sense. And I'm caught between those things. Should I never move into a lower-class downtown neighborhood because I'm a young, single woman? Should I never serve as an International Volunteer for Peace in Palestine because of all the terrorism? Should I never risk because it is too risky?

My question is: Why exactly am I so set on living "safely"? What am I trying to stay "safe" for? Death? Shane Claiborne quotes one his college professors who said, "Many people tip-toe through life to arrive safely at death." Is that really what Christianity is all about? If we believe on Jesus and know we have eternal life, then what are we trying to be "safe" for? And while I'm probably doing eisegesis on this text, didn't Jesus Himself say, "He who tries to save his life will lose it?"

I would really prefer to live ninety or one hundred years and be able to enlarge and advance God's Kingdom during all of those years. I would rather not have my life cut short by foolishness or stupidity and I don't think God calls us to purposeless reckless behavior. But when did Christianity become so altered as to make it "safe"?

It's not safe for Christians in hundreds of countries around the world. According to organizations like the Voice of the Martyrs we live in the worst era of persecution for Christians ever. I don't think it was safe for the early Christians under the Roman Empire. I'm not sure Jesus called His disciples to a "safe" existence when He told them to pick up their crosses and follow Him. What makes us, 21 century-American Christians think that Christianity is "safe"?

I guess what I'm really wrestling with is following God when it makes no sense and whether or not it is safe. I don't want to be so concerned about saving or preserving my life that I miss what life is really all about: Following God on whatever adventure He takes me on. I don't want safety to be a cop-out for complacency or an open door to apathy. Because as C.S. Lewis wrote in the Chronicles of Narnia series, the Lion is not safe. But He is good.

I don't want to be a "safe" Christian.

How I've been feeling lately...

2009-04-09T15:39:00.001-07:00

Sermon Illustrations

2009-04-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was the Senior Awards Banquet at Southern. But I had a surprisingly exciting time getting ready for the banquet; I had gone out shopping with my friend, Amy, who was in town this weekend, prior to the banquet, but noticed my car was running on "E".

E as in Empty. Not as in Extrovert. Or Excited. Or Enthusiastic. As in Empty. Warning, warning! Fill up soon, kind of empty. But I thought that I could make it back to Southern Village, get ready for the banquet, and then later in the evening or the next time I drove my car, I could go straight the gas station.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

As I was coming back into Collegedale, past 4 Corners, I coasted down one last hill and went to press on the gas, when I sensed I had no power, no more gasoline. I quickly jerked on my turn signal and pulled over to the wide shoulder, right by the McKee's plant and the City of Collegedale center, about quarter a mile from the Duck Pond.

"What an idiot!" (these are the words I say to myself) I know I'm not supposed to drive around on E. Obviously. Amy is chuckling at me and looks like she is ready for the adventure. So I call around and try to find a Good Samaritan friend to take me to the Exon in Four Corners. I finally reach my dear friend, Grace Lee, who promises to be there in five minutes to come rescue me. She's a Social Worker and I appreciate her good heart and prompt action.

Grace came and took me back to the Exon while Amy stayed and guarded the car. (Actually, I think she was so chill about the whole thing she was reading a book) The service workers at the Exon were super friendly and helpful. They set me up with a recycled bottle of some sort, made me a funnel out of an empty bottle, and were just otherwise helpful. So Grace and I went back up the road to my car and filled up my car with about one gallon of gasoline.

After thanking Grace profusely, I turned my car around and headed back to 4 Corners and the nearest gas station. But I realize that I have plenty of gasoline and could easily make it to RaceWay in Ooltewah, so that I won't be ripped off by the super-helpful-but price-gouging Exon.

I'm driving down Ooltewah-Ringgold Road over the railroad tracks, talking to Amy, interspersed with a few prayers of thanks, when I pass a police officer coming the other direction. Immediately, I have a sense of doom. I check my rearview mirror and see him turn around and pull back out behind me. "He's coming for me!" I announce to Amy, who is thoroughly amused by the whole ordeal. "Pull in here," she commands and I turn into a parking lot adjacent to Sonic.

"Oh man, this is just not my day." Amy calmly reaches into my glove box and pulls out my registration and insurance card and I fumble for my license. The Collegedale Police Officer strolls over and says, "Ma'am, I'm with the Collegedale Police and I clocked you going 41 miles an hour in a 30 mile an hour zone. Is there a particular reason for the hurry?"

"Yes," I answer meekly. "I just ran out of gas by the college..." "Oh," he interjects. "So that was you on the side of the road." (Apparently, one of his other police buddies had called in my car) "Yes, sir. That was me. And I was just shaken up by everything that had happened. I was hurrying to Raceway, sir." All the truth. Even though, I do routinely speed. I didn't mention that part.

"Raceway doesn't close, you know," he said with a smile. "Yes, sir, I know. I'm sorry, I was just worried about my car." "All right, ma'am. Let me have your license, and just stay in the car and I'll be back with you."

As he walked away, I felt somewhat relieved. I hadn't cried. I hadn't argued or been rude. I had a good excuse. Maybe I was going to get off lightly.

After what seemed like an eternity, he walked back to the car and said, "Well, I have some good news for you. I'm going to give you a warning." After heaving a huge sigh of relief, I managed, "Thank you, sir. Thank you." He looked at me and then continued, "Well, this is sort of like a progress report in school and right now you aren't doing too well." I looked at him and decided to press my luck, "But I have time to pull it up before the final?" He seemed amused and then said, "I hope you don't mind me making jokes. I figure I can do that since I gave you a warning." "Yes, sir, you can."

Then he told me to take a deep breath, relax, and drive slowly to Raceway. I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane and Amy was probably shaking from laughter. I envy her cucumber-cool persona.

Needless to say, I drove like a grandmother to Raceway and all the way back to the school. I annoyed myself, let alone the people behind me, for driving so slowly. And all of this transpired between 4:00 and 4:45 with the banquet beginning at 5:30.

The irony of this whole thing is that I made it the Awards Banquet and went on to win the Excellence in Biblical Preaching Award. I think I feel a few sermon illustrations coming on.

Objection!

2009-03-28T08:54:00.000-07:00

I attended one of the best Sabbath School classes of my life this morning, maybe even the very best, right at my own church and usual Sabbath School class, Saltworks. Pastor Alex Bryan, my mentoring pastor, led the conversation about the idea of being a witness. Most of what follows is a reiteration of the rockin' conversation that we had in class and a few of my own thoughts:

What if I were called to the witness stand to testify about a crime that was committed in Collegedale and when the attorney began his/her examination, I started off my testimony by saying: "Well, my roommate told me that..." Immediately, the attorney would call "Objection!" because what I had just said is legally known as hearsay. I can just imagine the attorney asking me, "So you didn't witness this crime being committed?" "No, my roommate saw the whole thing happen. She had the experience."

But what if as Christians that is how we live our lives? We are hearsayers to the great stories and teachings of Scripture, but we are not presently living and experiencing what God is doing in our generation. I thrill at stories of Jesus' miracles and the work of the Holy Spirit in the book of Acts, but if I can only recount those stories and have none of my own, then I am participating in hearsay.

Kessia Bennett wrote a really great blog a while ago (kreyne.blogspot.com) about chasing lions. She recounts the story of Benainah, an obscure Old Testament character, who apparently chased a lion into a pit, on a snowy day, and killed this lion. But her reflection on this story really resonates with me:

"I don't want to chase lions, although I wouldn't mind reading about the success and failure rates of various strategies for chasing lions, or watching a documentary on chasing lions, or even viewing stuffed lions in a museum honoring the great lion chasers of history."

I identify completely with Kessia. Couldn't I just visit the museum of how God has worked in the past? Can't I go on a Reformation study tour and visit all the monuments erected to great movements of God? How about I read the biography of Hudson Taylor, a British man who wanted to win China for Christ?

Or is it possible through my participation in museum-visiting, biography reading, documentary watching, has led to my innoculation? Is it possible that I have engaged in just enough of God's work and mission in the world that now I am immune to it?

I vividly remember a time where I was living in God's mission, the story of what God was doing in my life and in the lives of several of my friends. I was a freshman in high school, barely fourteen years old, and I was asked to serve on a teen-led prayer ministry team. The idea was our adult sponsors would disciple us and then get us out in New England to lead prayer conferences, preach, share our testimonies, evangelize, but above all, to lead others to pray. Almost every weekend of my freshman year was spent in discipleship training or on the road. I look back and feel like I lived spiritually "hand-to-mouth". Whatever I learned in my devotions was what I shared and used to minister to other people. I had no storebank of great theological wisdom and knowledge; I just had my relationship with Christ. And I have never felt more alive or in the center of God's work in my generation.
I also look back at my prayer journals from that time and see completely outrageous prayers that I prayed in genuine, sincere faith. I prayed that God would raise up 100,000 Spirit-filled youth to finish His work in our nation. I prayed for a 15-passenger van so all my friends and I could travel together on the road. I even prayed for things like going shopping at the mall, mundane, but necessary, since I didn't have my driver's license. Some of those prayers were answered and others I'm still waiting on. The point is for a time I was a lion-chaser. I was living an adventurous life in God's mission. For a while, I was a witness to what God was doing in my life and in all the experiences I was having.

Then somehow, so subtly, so deceitfully, I began to live off of hearsay. I began to recount the great stories that had happened to me through my teenage years and my involvement in ministry. I wasn't actively telling stories that were unfolding all around me. I began to recount stories of the past and wondering why God doesn't seem to work like that anymore.

But today shook me up. It shook me to my core. What on earth am I doing here if I am not going to be a part of God's work and mission in the world? What on earth am I doing if I'm not going to be involved in God's work in my generation? Give me a lion to chase. Give me a battle and don't hold back on the guts, gore, or glory when it's all over. Make me a witness and not a hearsayer.

"I admit I once lived by rumors (hearsay) of you; now I have it all firsthand--from my own eyes and ears!" -Job 42:5, Message

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run..." -Hebrews 12:1

"Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, O Lord. Renew the in our day, in our time make them known." -Habakkuk 3:2

22

2009-03-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

It's great to be twenty-two. I just like saying that word. It sounds responsible, mature, yet it's still on the young side of the twenties. I thought to commemorate my twenty-second birthday, I should post a list-- 22 reasons to celebrate life.

1. God

2. Family

3. Friends

4. Education

5. Good Health

6. My car :)

7. Never-had-a-speeding ticket (doesn't mean I don't speed; it means I haven't gotten caught!)

8. Graduation

9. Travel

10. My new job/ future plans

11. Laughter

12. Spring

13. Music

14. Opportunities

15. Being an American and all the freedoms and responsibilities that brings

16. Having a voice

17. Memories

18. Maturity

19. Youth

20. Dreams

21. Writing: which is almost like breathing to me

22. Lists!

I regret...

2009-03-17T12:36:00.000-07:00

...that I don't have 100 lives to live for Jesus, my Savior.

Just one.

"That were an offering far too small" (When I Survey the Wondrous Cross)

I want to make my time on earth count.

So, "Teach us to number our days" (Psalm 90:12)

Speak Up!

2009-03-10T07:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I'm astounded at the amount of sin and brokenness that exists in the world. I don't like to dwell on negative things-- I'm a "the glass is half full" kind of person. After all, as a Christian, I believe that where sin abounds, grace abounds more. (Romans 5:20).

But lately, as I've been seeing more and more of the brokenness of the world, I've been asking myself, "Where is the Church?" And maybe an even better question to ask is, "Where are the Christ-followers that make up the Church?" For example, I'm taking the Sexual Abuse Awareness and Prevention class this semester and every week, we look at some of the ugliest sins right in the face, things like sexual abuse, rape, domestic violence, and other violent sexual crimes. I routinely come out of that class enraged, heartbroken, despondent, yet desperately wanting to help heal a broken world.

But is the church speaking to this? Is the church speaking about God's purpose for sexuality and exposing sin's misuse of it? Why is the church silent? It's not like we don't have anything to say. We do. We claim that Scripture is authoritative and that the Incarnation of Christ means something. Even as Seventh-day Adventists, we claim that we have a message for this time and for this generation. Then, why, as Christians are we silent in addressing the brokenness of the world? It's not like we don't have healing balm; we do! I believe with my whole heart that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is meant to heal and save broken people.

There are a whole host of things that should have been heralded from the Christian church starting with non-violence, civil rights, and equality between genders. These are all ideas contained within Scripture and modeled by Jesus. Yet, somehow, we have swept too many of these things under the rug, pretended they didn't exist in our backyards, and tried to get on with life. God help us.

I don't mean to rant with this blog-- I'm just as guilty as the next person. Instead of working to change culture, I create sub-culture. Instead of speaking up, many times, I'm silent. I act like I don't know what's going on or I allow other things to take a higher priority than justice. But I don't want to anymore. I want to be a Christian who brings light and speaks truth to a broken generation. I want to speak up.

After all, didn't Jesus say, "You are the light of the world. People do not light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand and it gives light to everyone in the house." (Matthew 5:14) This our chance to be that light. Church, be the light. God help me to be a light.

Following the Shepherd

2009-02-21T14:10:00.000-08:00

It seems in my prayer times, as of late, I've been calling God "Shepherd." Somehow that title seems to encapsulate my desire to hear His voice and to follow Him. It also evokes my desire to be gently led and prodded by a good Shepherd, whether over rough terrain or beside still waters, or having God pour His oil over my wounds.

I think it is also fitting that I've been reflecting on God being my Shepherd, seeing as come this August, my primary job will be to shepherd other people and to lead them to Christ, the Good Shepherd. But all of this talk about sheep-herding, sheep-tending, and sheep-counting makes me think of two very different types of Shepherds.

I heard of this first shepherd when I was very young through a rhyme, which goes like this:

"Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
and doesn't know where to find them,
But leave them alone and they'll come home,
wagging their tails behind them."

I am very thankful that I am not a part of Little Bo Peep's flock. What kind of irresponsible shepherdess is she, anyway? She lost all of her sheep? And she doesn't even have a clue as to how to find them? I think the kicker is that she isn't going to look for her sheep; she expects them to come back home again and they should be happy about it, as evidenced by the wagging of their tails.

Long before Little Bo Peep ever came on the scene, there was a different Shepherd, named Jesus Christ, who proclaimed Himself the Good Shepherd. His approach is a little different:

"He calls His own sheep by name and leads them out. When He has brought out all His own, He goes on ahead of them, and His sheep follow Him because they know His voice... I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. I know my sheep and my sheep know me-- just as the Father knows me and I know the Father-- and I lay down my life for the sheep." (John 10:3, 4, 11, 14-15).

This is the Shepherd that I want to follow. The One who promised to leave ninety-nine sheep in safety to go in search of one stray lamb. The One who promised safe pasture, where we could come in and go out. The One who literally answered Isaac's words spoken to Abraham, more than a thousand years earlier, "Father, here is the wood and the fire. Where is the lamb?" (Genesis 22:7). Christ's first appearance in John's Gospel is "Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!" (John 1:29).

I have never been so humbly thankful to be a part of Christ's flock and it is my highest privilege in life to be an under-shepherd.

"'Simon, son of John, do you love me? He answered, Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.' Jesus said, 'Shepherd my sheep.'" (John 21:16)

"We are His people, the sheep of His pasture." (Psalm 100:3)

I can't believe it

2009-02-12T03:55:00.001-08:00

"I can't believe it" has become my new mantra.

Yesterday, I was offered a pastoral position in the Georgia-Cumberland Conference. And this morning, I accepted the offer. I can't believe it.

I spent at least four hours on the phone yesterday afternoon calling my parents (who I think almost cried), my mentors, professors, and friends. My best friend, Angela, came over, and we jumped up and down and screamed together. It was a very girly thing to do, but I think it adaquately expressed the joy we both felt.

I had been praying about this particular opportunity since the beginning of January, and God really caused everything to fall into place. I feel almost like His rubix cube-- as long as I'm in His hands, then I can be twisted and clicked into place, wherever He needs me. I just can't believe that I'm finally going to be a pastor.

After being called to ministry nearly five years ago, studying for four years at Southern, through the initial disappointment of interviewing with various conferences this fall, through tears, disappointment, but also joy and amazement, I am finally going to be a pastor. I can't imagine doing anything else, but getting to minister to people and watch God change my life and my congregations through His Spirit.

And now for all of you who like details, read on:

I will always remember my interview because of the weather. I drove down to Calhoun (where Georgia Cumberland's executive offices are located) just ahead of a huge thunderstorm, but I hit pockets of intense rain and wind. Then later, during the first few minutes of the interview, the tornado sirens went off and all the executives and I had to reconvene in the stairwell of the basement. Since I'm from the Mid-west and this is normal, I was relatively unfazed and apparently, so were the executives, because the interview continued. We just all stood around in a huddle and they kept asking me questions. If there is one thing I have learned from studying at Southern, it would be to roll with the punches, and that's exactly what I did yesterday.

After the interview concluded, one of the VP's took me down to Human Resources to show me what my FTE package will look like. Now, let's just be honest, no one goes into pastoral ministry to become rich. But let's just say, that this package includes a larger salary than the one I currently make grading Hebrew papers for Dr. Hasel at Southern.

I also found it to be wildly humorous that at the age of 21, HR showed me their retirement plan. I guess I've entered the real world now... and speaking of the real world, I also came down to earth when I saw I get two weeks of vacation each year. I guess I'm still used to having entire summers off, so this will be really different.

Lastly, I'm thankful for this opportunity for a couple of personal reasons, the first of which is that I have a cousin who will be a senior at GCA this fall, and my sister who will be a freshman at Southern. I am so excited to get to spend time with each of them and to be within a close driving distance. Secondly, I'm looking forward to being apart of the General Conference in Atlanta in 2010. I think it will be great experience to work with the conference as we prepare for that event. And lastly, I'm just thankful because this new position doesn't start until August so it will give me an entire summer off to attend friends' weddings, visit my mentor in Maine, go on a family vacation, and maybe even take a small sabbatical.

I also just want to thank all of you, my friends, for being apart of this journey with me. Even if we haven't met in person, but you take the time to read this blog, I'm thankful.

"May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; confirm and establish the work of our hands for us— yes, confirm and establish the work of our hands."-Psalm 90:17

Waiting for Stillness

2008-11-24T07:47:00.000-08:00

I love opinions. I love listening to people express their ideas--some well formed, others not. Sometimes I cringe. Other times, it turns out to be valuable. When it comes to making decisions in life, I always seek counsel from a variety of people. I think my leadership style is collaborative and I like getting a consensus before proceeding on anything. But when did my life come to be a board meeting?

Lately, I've had a sense that I've heard enough opinions. I have sought enough godly counsel. It has gotten to the point where I have looked to anyone and everyone to have answers for me. I've polled enough people. I've decided that Proverbs 11:14 "in a multitude of counselors there is safety..." must be taken in context with God's promise of a still, small voice that will guide me.

I've been trying to be still and wait for God. I'm not expecting a flash from heaven or even a huge epiphany, but I am listening for directions like "Take a right here." I think part of my struggle with opinions comes from my affection for maps. I was raised to read maps, trace alternate routes, and plan vacations across the country using a US atlas. Only recently have my friends introduced me to GPS systems and I have to admit, I hate them! I don't want to hear, "Take a right turn here"-- I want to know all the directions up front. I want to know I will be on this road for 41 miles and then I will be exiting onto a different freeway which I will follow until my destination.

I think opinions have been functioning like maps for me. They've given me the false security that I won't make any mistakes if I just listen to godly counsel. They've given me the false idea that I can map out my life and everything will be fine. On the contrary, God, I believe reveals Himself more like a GPS system. And you have to quiet the noise in your car to hear the directions. And you have to start moving in a direction, too.

I don't have the answers to what I will be doing after graduation on May 3, 2009. I don't have answers to a lot of things that I would like to have answers for. But I do have a Counselor who has promised to come and to stay; He will show me the path of life (Ps. 16:3).

For now, I think I've heard enough opinions. It's time for God and I to set out on a roadtrip.

Definition: Life Exegesis

2008-10-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

I like to have things in order. Loosely translated, this means I prefer life to be manageable, mysteries to be solvable, and things to make sense. I like to take messy, complicated problems and put them into brown paper packaging tied up with string. I like to make things predictable and routine and apparently, I’m not the only one with the same fixation.
If you were to look around American culture today and exegete it, that is to say, try to capture the essence of it, I think we would find the same desire for the orderly, predictable, and manageable. Notice the signs advertising, “Loose 10 pounds in 30 days!” I’m not railing against obesity in American, nor am I railing against the quick and easy fix, instant gratification ideologies our culture is obsessed with. I’m talking about taking a complex, involved, and sometimes difficult process like losing weight and turning it into a manageable, marketable product. Think about other areas of life that used to be more mysterious, say the sex of your unborn child. Not only can we find out the sex of our unborn children but we can even manipulate the genes to end up with a pink or blue baby accordingly. We’ve stripped life of its beauty; we’ve robbed it of all mystery.
Yet, all around us, culture is becoming more and more bored and dissatisfied with status quo. We wish there was more mystery to life; we regret that our lives are planned out to the very last milli-second every day. We long for serendipitous occurrences to punctuate our lives and break up the monotony. Americans have become our own worst enemy: We have single-handedly removed all complex, mysterious problems out of life only to find ourselves creating innovative ways to put the mystery back in.
As a theologian and exegete of Scripture, I’m not surprised that we have taken the same approach with God. I can't help but notice how idolatrous this country has become, creating God in our own image. This certainly is not a new phenomenon but the rise of it even among Christians is staggering. We have taken God, a Divine Being, and turned Him into a watered-down Mr. Nice Guy who doesn’t really know how to run anything. We certainly wouldn’t make Him the CEO of any important company, let alone the Lord of our lives! We’ve turned the mystery of prayer, an intimate conversation between a Holy God and mortal man and turned it into rehearsal time. Instead of humbly presenting our needs and wants, we come to the table prepared to make wagers and bargains. A quick field trip to the religion section of Barnes and Noble would reveal this: “The 6 Prayers God Always Answers” or “31 Days to a Better Prayer Life.”
At a time where God and “doing Christianity” has never seemed more manageable why are people leaving the Church in hordes? At a time where every mystery of spirituality has been spelled out why are people bored with God, thus leaving them to think they need to pursue something or someone more exciting? Isn’t this what we wanted? No more mystery, no more uncertainty? Didn’t we want a God who was orderly, routine, and predictable? Now that we have fashioned a god that way, why are we unhappy, unsatisfied, and unfulfilled?
This seems to be a never ending Catch 22, an ongoing process of removing mystery, reducing both life and Christianity to trite clichés that we rehearse continually, and thus despising our lives. We have single-handedly stripped mystery out of life and with it joy, meaning, and surprise. My unpolished simple answer to this would be, Let God be who He says He is.
God has and does communicate with human beings and He is willing to reveal Himself to those who seek. There is plenty of mystery in life if we let it be and there are things that take us completely by surprise. There are also things that leave us completely chagrined and we shake our heads—we didn’t see that one coming. This leads us to another question, if we allow mystery to be what it is, how will we interpret what we see around us?
This is the second obsession of American culture. If we cannot possibly find a solution to make mysteries explainable then we will create an interpretation for why it is the way it is. In my twenty-one years of life, I have heard some of the most detrimental and flawed theology possible spring from lips of professed Christians who couldn’t live with the mystery. We assign meaning to things that we should never profess to know about. We determine why God has acted the way He has. We look at God’s actions and guess at the meaning behind it. Even in a secular film like “P.S. I love you” Holly Kennedy, a grieving widow, finds herself wondering why God took her husband and asks a family friend. His reason: “Maybe you were too happy.” While most Christians would reject that idea, as did Holly in the film, that answer does resonate in the back of my mind. “I’m being punished. I had it all and now God has to take it all away.” “I didn’t deserve what I had. I wasn’t grateful enough.” We attribute meaning to things that are simply beyond our comprehension, beyond our understanding.
This is where my faith and personal calling intersects. While I am primarily a theologian and exegete of Scripture, I am also called to accurately discern and exegete culture around me. I must understand why culture is moving the way that it is; I must understand the trends and thought patterns whirling around me. I like to think of myself as doing life exegesis: the interpretation of life events in light of Scripture. I want to understand why things like mystery and explanations are prevalent in today’s societies. I want to understand what is happening all around me. This is what we call life exegesis.