Autumn

photo from stocksnap.io

I love autumn. Ever since the day many years ago when I decided that the best way to curb my impulse to begin listening to Christmas music in September was to fall in love with fall. And it's been a glorious relationship.

Sure, I'm all about wearing flannel, sprinkling nutmeg in my coffee, lighting candles, eating pumpkins, and sipping hot cider on cool, crisp evenings. But this morning as I was thinking about autumn (while drinking nutmeg coffee from an orange mug), another reason struck me. Autumn is when things start slowing down and dying. Stick with me here.

Winter can feel desolate after everything has been dead for a while, though there's beauty in the barrenness. Spring offers the excitement of new life and fresh growth. Summer tends to feel far more frantic than refreshing. But autumn brings those oppressive temperatures to an end. Autumn offers festive hay rides, cozy campfires, and bountiful harvests. As leaves begin their vibrant death, then flutter to the earth, autumn reminds me of the beauty often found in endings.

I am pretty awesome at taking on new things, over-committing myself to too many good things, and placing too many expectations on myself. I'm significantly less awesome at recognizing when it's time for something to end (whether that's an unhealthy expectation, a pleasant commitment, or a season of pain), helping it die in a beautiful way, and then letting it go.

So I love that autumn reminds me to slow down, to put some things to rest, to let go, and to enjoy that mug of cider as its spiced steam swirls up into the crisp night air.

Gladys Goes North: Road Trip Route and Tips

A few people have asked for our trip itinerary and tips. So here you go! First I've got a map and a few comments about our route, then some detail about each day, then some overall tips and links.

Route

This map offers a rough approximation of our route. Google Maps limited me to 10 destinations, so I couldn't fit everything on there. :)

In general, if there was a scenic byway in the general vicinity of where we were headed (and sometimes even if it was considerably out of the way) we'd take that instead of the most direct route. Because a major goal of the trip was to enjoy seeing and experiencing parts of the country we'd never seen before ... so if it took an extra hour to get somewhere via a pretty road, great!

An atlas was helpful in this endeavor. It's much easier to open to the Western Montana page of the atlas and see where all the national forests, scenic byways, and other such things are, than it is to see these things on an internet or mobile map. 

We moved around a lot and covered a lot of ground. We stayed only one or two nights in each place. Which seemed like it would've felt stressful or rushed, but somehow our pace still felt relaxed. This worked well for two adults who are generally self-sufficient and responsible.

Itinerary

Day 1 

• Drove to Boulder, CO.
• Dinner at Community.
• Stayed with friends night 1 and night 2.

Day 2 

• Spent the day in Boulder area. 
• Brunch at Snooze. 
• Did some hiking from NCAR and accidentally wound up in Chautauqua Park. Tip: NCAR has lots of parking. Tip: read the trail map more carefully than I did, and do not incorrectly assume that the Mesa Trail is a loop. It is not. Hence, our 3-mile hike turned into 6.
• Afternoon treats at Gelato Boy.
• Dinner at Five on Black.

Day 3 

• Leisurely morning and breakfast. 
• Spent much of the day driving to Badlands National Park (Wall, SD, entrance). We took some scenic byways, including part of Needles Highway, and swung by Mount Rushmore because Josh remembered that the road to get there was really pretty. It was.
• Camped in a free camping area that was basically a field with a canyon on either side. I don't know the name of it. I don't know if it even has a name. Pros: beautiful, free, I drank my morning coffee overlooking a canyon. Cons: very windy (this would probably be the case anywhere in the Badlands area), and privacy was a challenge when nature called since there were no trees. 

Day 4 

• Visited Badlands National Park in SD. 
• We did the Notch Trail hike, which I think was about 3 miles total. It was beautiful. It would not be great for you if you're afraid of heights. At one point there's a big wooden ladder you have to climb. This was fun and no issue, but if you do this trail, go early in the day. By the time we came back down the ladder (around midday) the wooden rungs were hot!
• Also did a couple shorter hikes, some of which were wheelchair accessible.
• Tip: do your hiking earlier in the day. It's pretty hot and desert-like, with limited shade.
• Then we just drove around the park and the Buffalo Gap National Grasslands; the grasslands and the national park kind of weave in and out of each other. It was a lovely drive.
• Headed back west and camped at a little, free, public camping area just across the SD-WY state line.

Day 5 

• Visited Devils Tower National Monument in WY. It was really cool! We spent an hour or two there. I'm glad we did, though if it's not on or near your route, I don't know that it would be worth going way out of your way.
• Drove to Bighorn Canyon National Recreational Area in MT, near the MT-WY state line. 
• Camped overnight in a free camping area inside the park, by the Yellowtail Afterbay Dam. This was our first night with bear lockers at the campsite and warnings to be bear aware. There were a bunch of campsites, but we had the whole place to ourselves, which was kind of awesome.

Day 6 

• Did Bighorn Canyon. We did part of a short hike that turned out to be really blah. Drove around the Bighorn area, we think into the Black Canyon area. 
• Tip: if you visit Bighorn Canyon, go to the more southern part in WY. We did the northern part, because pre-trip research suggested the south part was real touristy and the north part was real chill. That turned out to be true, because there's apparently not much to do in the north part ... and the north and south aren't easily connected by roads because of the whole canyon thing. I mean, there are roads, but they have to go around the canyon. It was still pleasant. No regrets. But we'd do it differently if we had to do it over again.
• Drove farther west into Montana. Camped at Pink Creek campground in Paradise Valley. By far, this was my favorite campsite of the whole trip! Quite possibly my favorite campsite ever. It smelled like pine trees and sounded like happy birds. The ground was grassy and soft, and there were lots of trees, which provided privacy and beauty. It was quiet. It was well-maintained, with an awesome host. Even the pit toilet restroom was super clean and actually more pleasant than a lot of public restrooms with flushing toilets. Highly highly highly recommend Pine Creek!

Day 7

• Took a scenic drive through the Paradise Valley (down 540 South to Emigrant, MT, or thereabouts, then back up 89 North. Almost dipped into WY. Definitely recommend Paradise Valley; it's so pretty.
• Drove farther north and west into Montana. Enjoyed the drive. A nice thing about Montana is that a whole bunch of the state (especially the western part) is national forest, scenic byways, and general beauty.
• Camped at a KOA just outside Glacier National Park (in St. Mary) because that's all we could find. I must say, I wasn't a fan. It was $60 (compared to $20 or $0 nearly everywhere else), and the site was basically just a field. They do have showers that are included, which was nice but not worth an extra $40. They also have other amenities like pool and playground, but we just wanted a quiet, pretty place to pitch our tents.

Day 8

• Glacier National Park!
• Driving down the main road (Road to the Sun) is a treat, simply because Glacier is gorgeous.
• Did the Johns Lake hike, which was about 3 miles (?) and included some wooded areas, some running water and waterfalls, and even a tunnel. Met a random couple at the trailhead and enjoyed their company throughout the hike. My new life goal is to be in half as good a shape now as they are at age 70.
• Also did the Rocky Point trail (2-ish miles), mostly wooded with a massive lake at the end of the trail.
• Camped night 8 and night 9 in Glacier National Park, in the Avalanche campground, which was relatively central. 

Day 9

• More Glacier!
• Did part of the Highline Trail. I highly recommend this one! The trail itself is 7 miles one way (not a loop). The shortest way to do the whole trail is to hike the 7 miles, then connect with another trail that intersects with Highline, and you end up with 10-11 miles total. I am not in good enough shape for that, and neither of us had come prepared for such a lengthy hike. So we hiked for about 3 miles, then turned around and hiked back. It was beautiful and wonderful. It's marked rigorous primarily because it's so long. I thought there was a really nice mix of up, down, and flat, and only in a couple parts was it a very steep incline for very far. 
• Drove out to Many Glacier, another portion of Glacier National Park. We started a hike there but turned back because the clouds looked ominous. It looked like there were a lot of great hikes in Many Glacier, including several with good views of glaciers.
• I loved Glacier and could easily have spent the whole vacation there. It's beautiful. There's tons of hiking with varying levels of rigor. The park was lively with visitors, even crowded at some parts, but still felt relaxing and awesome.

Day 10

• Bid farewell to Glacier.
• Brunch at Jam! in Bozeman, MT.
• Late lunch and internet at Post Creek Steak and Tap House in St. Ignatius, MT. It was in the middle of nowhere, and I had low expectations, but the food was outstanding.
• Camped at Jocko Hollow Campground near Arlee, MT, which was great. It was basically a souped up backyard, with some amenities added (like electricity at each site, very reasonably priced laundry facilities, and super clean and awesome bathrooms), all for just $20. We had been planning to find a laundromat the next day anyway, but suddenly we no longer had to. Win.

Day 11

• Drove to West Yellowstone, MT, and set up camp (Bakers Hole campground) for nights 11 and 12.
• Drove around Yellowstone National Park. Saw some geysers (including Old Faithful), hot springs, and bison.
• Tip: it takes a very long time to make your way through Yellowstone. The park is big, but also the roads get really congested. Most of the roads are just one lane each way, and very often someone will be driving around, then they'll spot an elk or a bear or something else interesting off in the woods. So they'll stop their car in the road (because no shoulder) to watch the animal and take pictures. And then a couple more cars come along, they get interested, too, and stop. And pretty soon you have 20 cars lined up, at a complete stop, and only the front 3-4 cars can see anything, so the rest of you are just sitting there speculating about which animal is being viewed this time. Of all the places we visited, I think Yellowstone is where we would have been wise to be more strategic about planning ahead. Because our normal method of just showing up, looking at the park map and pamphlet(s) for things to catch our eye, and meandering through the park, wasn't as conducive to a park that takes 2-3 hours to get across.

Day 12

• More Yellowstone National Park.
• Saw Mammoth Springs Terrace, which was cool.
• Picnic lunch in the park (curry ramen).
• Drove up Beartooth Highway, a scenic byway that goes from the NE corner of Yellowstone up into Red Lodge, MT. It's 68 miles and took us about 2 hours one way. Hands down, 2 of the most beautiful hours of our trip. The highest point is just shy of 11,000 feet elevation. It's full of crazy hairpin turns. And the views are just sick. I cannot recommend Beartooth Highway enough!
• Dinner at Carbon Fork in Red Lodge, and then we took a rather roundabout way back to West Yellowstone because a storm had dropped a lot of hail and fog onto Beartooth Highway, and we didn't really want to die that night.
• We had planned a hike but ran out of time and chose to prioritize Beartooth Highway. No regrets.
• Yellowstone was really cool and unique, with geothermal formations/activity unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I'm glad we went. I'm also glad we weren't there long. Because of how crowded and touristy the park is, there was a low level of stress and mild frustration while there. Also, the restrooms there are straight-up nasty, especially in the more crowded areas like Old Faithful. 

Day 13

• Moved to Grand Teton National Forest in WY; it's just south of Yellowstone. 
• Drove around the park, stopped and looked at things that seemed interesting.
• Hung out at Schwabacher Landing, which was a lovely, peaceful place to spend a good chunk of the evening.
• Camped in the park (Colter Bay area) for nights 13 and 14.

Day 14

• Did a couple short hikes in Grand Teton--one in the String Lake area, and the other was the Lake Creek/Woodland Trail loop, with Phelps Lake at the far end of the loop.
• This article was helpful in identifying some good hikes and such.
• Pretty chill day.
• Saw a bear ambling through the campground.
• Grand Teton was probably the most relaxing of the parks we visited. Mountains, lakes, and pine trees are my jam, and Grand Teton has plenty to offer. The campground felt energetic and happy without feeling noisy and crowded. The park smells nice, which I especially noticed on our hikes. We did agree that it was nice doing Yellowstone between Glacier and Grand Teton (because we loved Glacier so much, and Yellowstone is so unique, so it served as a sort of palate cleanser). We think we would have enjoyed Grand Teton less if it had come right after Glacier (since they're more similar). Also, Grand Teton was a nice one to go out on, because it's smaller and less touristy and just felt really chill the whole time.

Day 15

• Breakfast at Picnic in Jackson, WY.
• Drove back to the Boulder area. Stayed with the same friend.

Days 16-17

• Breakfast at PJ's Diner in Superior, CO.
• I abandoned Josh in Colorado, spent the night at an Airbnb in Amarillo, and drove home on day 17.

Tips and general observations

• For food, we ate out sometimes and cooked at the campsite sometimes. Fresh Off the Grid and REI have some great camping and backpacking recipes. Backpacking recipes are sometimes more likely to use only shelf-stable ingredients, which was handy because we decided not to bring a cooler. I brought stuff to make this Chicken Marbella twice, an edited version of this Fiver Can Chili twice, and this Coconut Curry Ramen once. 
• I also made a big batch of this basic pancake mix (using rolled oats in place of buckwheat flour) ahead of time, and I also bought some of those little single-serve fruit cups. Each time we made pancakes, we'd scoop out some mix, add cinnamon, dump in some peaches, pears, or mandarin oranges, and add enough water to get it to desired consistency. Once we added a hot chocolate packet along with the orange segments. And one morning we went the savory route with mild green chilies and cumin-type spices.
• When camping in bear country, you'll need to take some precautions. Like, properly store your food, dishwashing stuff, sunblock, lip balm, etc. All the places we camped in bear country provided secure bear boxes at the campground, and in many places it's fine to store smelly stuff in your car. Glacier and Grand Teton also had specific places to dump any gray water (like dirty dish water). Campgrounds were good about providing information about bear safety in general, as well as any specific guidelines for that area. Be sure to watch for those and heed them.
• When hiking in bear country, be sure to brush up on bear safety beforehand, and be sure to carry bear spray with you. The main goal is to avoid encountering a bear in the first place, but also to know how to react if you do meet one. A simple Google search yielded a number of helpful articles and discussion boards, and REI has some helpful videos.
• Also, don't approach the wild bison. Or really any wildlife. We're guests in their home, and they often don't take kindly to pushy visitors.
• If you are someone who menstruates, I found this article about bears and menstrual products to be helpful. Tip: for the most part, if a campground has flush toilets they usually also have trashcans in the restroom, but if they have pit toilets (or composting toilets) they usually don't have trashcans in the restroom, which requires some extra effort to properly dispose of used products. 
• If you're a woman, trans man, or nonbinary person with anatomy similar to mine, a pStyle or similar is awesome when nature calls while on the trail. Also great for nasty bathrooms.
• With each place we visited, we went into it with the mentality that 1) each place was great and had many many things to see, do, and appreciate, 2) we would experience many of these great things, 3) we would come nowhere close to experiencing all the things, and 4) that was perfectly good. We visited each place with the hope of enjoying it but with few (if any) specific goals for that place. I highly recommend this mentality!

Grace, Perfectionism, and Enneagram One-ness

Grace has a way of weaving itself through the fabric of my life. In fact, the earliest threads emerged before I was born, as my parents chose a name for me--one derived from charis, a Greek word often translated as grace. They hoped that I would be someone who lived fully into God's grace and extended that grace to others.

As I've grown older, I've found this theme of grace increasingly meaningful ... and increasingly ironic.

On the meaningful side of things, I recall moments like one during my college years, when a young woman (almost a complete stranger) told me that I had presence of grace about me. That when she saw me, she saw grace.

On the ironic side of things, perfectionism is one of my greatest strengths and greatest weaknesses. With this perfectionism comes often unreasonably high standards that I place on myself and others, and with those high standards come the potential for disappointment, criticism judgment, and resentment. When I'm striving to earn favor through my achievements and perfect results, or when I'm frustrated with someone for letting me down by not being as perfect as I want them to be ... it's hard to find grace. In those moments, grace is not what I instinctively offer or receive.

And as a bonus: on the coincidental side of things, a significant portion of my job is to manage a blog named Charis.

Within the past 18 months or so, I climbed aboard the Enneagram bandwagon, and dissolved into tears about five words in to Suzanne Stabile's description of the One type in her Know Your Number workshop. Digging into the Enneagram has both exposed a whole lot of my ugliness and offered me tools for becoming a healthier version of myself, with all my strengths and faults. Several weeks ago, a friend introduced me to a series of songs inspired by each Enneagram type, in which the artist seeks to celebrate the beauty of each type, offering a word of redemption. The whole song about Ones resonates with me, but especially the sentiment in these lines:

But the list goes on forever,
of all the ways I could be better, in my mind.
As if I could earn God's favor given time,
or at least "congratulations"... 

Now, I have learned my lesson;
the price of this so-called perfection is everything.
I've spent my whole life searching desperately
to find that grace requires nothing of me. 

--One, by Sleeping At Last, from Atlas: Year Two 

My natural inclination is to run myself ragged in an attempt to earn favor--or, at the very least, a pat on the back--from God, from others, from myself. Which leads to super fun things like burnout (yep, dealt with that twice in my adult life, and I'm not that old), pure exhaustion at the end of a workday, smoldering resentment toward those who don't measure up to my unrealistic standards, and the inability to resist pointing out typos on restaurant menus.

And yet. Grace is just sitting there, a gift waiting to be accepted. Receiving it "requires nothing of me."

The day after I first heard the song "One," a coworker complimented me on something. It was almost as a throwaway comment, but I responded with far more gratitude and "are you serious?" than the simple comment warranted, probably because I was feeling all tender and reflective about my One-ness and, therefore, extra critical of myself. (It's extra fun when you catch yourself criticizing yourself for being critical.) In that moment of vulnerability as I reacted to--even pushed back against--my coworker's kind word, two other teammates who were there chimed in with their own affirmations. In this area, these friends viewed me far more graciously than I viewed myself! In that moment, grace was freely offered. All I had to do was accept it.

I suspect I'll spend the rest of my life wrestling with my perfectionist, living into my charis-inspired name, and practicing the art of giving and receiving grace. (Side note: in the back of my mind, I'm juxtaposing everything I've just written with Bonhoeffer's concept of costly grace. My perfectionist won't let me end this blog post without acknowledging Bonhoeffer, but I'll leave that exploration to someone with more wisdom and theological training than I have.)

In the meantime, it's comforting to hear a song asserting that "grace requires nothing of me" and to have work friends who embody this truth by extending grace when I lack the ability to offer grace to myself.

The Nerdiest Christmas Album Ever

Gather ‘round, ye children come
Listen to the old, old story
Of the pow’r of death undone
By an infant born of glory.
Son of God, Son of Man.

By far the nerdiest Christmas album I own—and hands down one of my favorites—is Andrew Peterson’s Behold the Lamb of God. It’s usually the first CD I listen to each Christmas season (yes, I still use CDs) because it does such a good job of setting the scene and putting Christmas in context. Now, I like Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree just as much as the next person, but ultimately Christmas is about a God who craved relationship with and wholeness for God’s people—so much so, that this God did the most radical thing I can think of, and became human, stepping into our shoes, into our swaddling clothes, into our mess. And Behold the Lamb of God does an excellent job of telling the story of this God, this people, and this baby. It begins with a teaser of the story to come. A movie trailer, if you will, highlighting the hero of the story.

Instead of going straight to Bethlehem, we instead begin in Egypt, where we meet Moses, Pharaoh, the enslaved people of Israel, and a Passover lamb. We hear the cries of a people who long not only for deliverance but also for God’s mercy and closeness even as they find deliverance.

Lord, let your judgment passover us
Lord, let your love hover near.
Don’t let your sweet mercy passover us
Let this blood cover over us here.

This longing continues as these people enter the Promised Land and seek strong leaders: Moses is dead, Joshua isn’t kingly enough, and what they need is a king. Saul is a disappointment, though David is pretty awesome. But eventually exile happens and “the people of God are scattered abroad.” They ask the prophets if they’ll ever have another king like David—one who’s wise, loved by the people, and powerful “with a sword in his fist.” And Isaiah responds that yes, a King is coming, but he’ll be different than expected. As the years stretch on, Israel’s longing for Messiah—for ruler and deliverer—intensifies:

Our enemy, our captor, is no Pharaoh on the Nile,
Our toil is neither mud nor brick nor sand.
Our ankles bear no calluses from chains yet, Lord, we’re bound.
Imprisoned here we dwell in our own land.

Deliver us, deliver us, O Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight.

Our sins they are more numerous than all the lambs we slay.
Our shackles, they were made with our own hands.
Our toil is our atonement and our freedom yours to give.
So, Yahweh, break this silence if you can.

And at the end of this song, we catch a glimpse of Yahweh’s longing that mirrors Israel’s:

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often I have longed
To gather you beneath my gentle wings.

I think that what I like so much about this first portion of the album is the desperation and the honest treatment of pain in the lives of God’s people. Most Christmas music is festive, happy, celebratory. These songs revel in the pleasures of sleigh rides and jingle bells, marvel over a child in a manger, and paint pictures of angelic choirs filling the sky with their brilliance and good news. And this is good! God becoming human is remarkable and worthy of every praise we can muster!

Also, sometimes life is hard. And it’s comforting to find a collection of songs that doesn’t gloss over that. It’s been a rough year for me and some of my close friends. As a community we’ve dealt with loneliness, burnout, many miscarriages, work and financial uncertainties, death. And it’s been a rough year for our country and our world. It’s nearly impossible to log onto Facebook without seeing some fight break out over whether we’re destroying our planet, or whether refugees and immigrants are coming here as terrorists and/or freeloaders, or whether members of the LGBT community are abominations, or whether racism is still a thing, or whether this religion or people group or political party or fill-in-the-blank is offending me or challenging my rights, or . . .

Deliver us, deliver us, O Yahweh, hear our cry
And gather us beneath your wings tonight.

I love that in this album, there is longing and deliverance, sorrow and praise. Because the centuries of slavery, imperfect leaders, exile, and growing distance from God made the arrival of the Messiah that much more powerful and miraculous.

As the story continues to unfold, we get a review of Christ’s lineage through a playful little song called Matthew’s Begats. You know, Abraham begat Isaac who begat Jacob and so on? Kind of a brilliant song, if you ask me, and unlike any other Christmas song I’ve heard! We then meet Joseph and Mary and follow them to Bethlehem. We hear Mary’s pained cries and see her and Joseph in a non-glamorous and far more realistic birth scene: in a cold, unclean stable, with “blood on the ground,” “tears upon her face,” and “no mother’s hand to hold.” We join the shepherds in marveling at the angels’ proclamation that the Savior—this king from David’s line, this long-awaited Messiah—has arrived! We join in the angels’ unfettered hallelujahs, then slip quietly back to the stable for the ballad that serves as the climax for this story that has taken centuries to unfold.

Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away our sin.
Behold the Lamb of God, the life and light of men.
Behold the Lamb of God, who died and rose again.
Behold the Lamb of God, who comes to take away our sin.

There’s a celebratory reprise of the album’s opening song, calling us to “sing out with joy for the brave little boy, who was God but made himself nothing,” followed by a no-frills recording of the simple chorus of O Come All Ye Faithful. And then tucked away at the very end of the CD is a recording of Andrew Peterson’s little boys singing a song that many of us learned as kids: “Our God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.”

I always assumed Peterson threw that in there because he wanted to show off his sons’ cuteness. And maybe that was part of his motivation. But if you think about it, the song actually fits pretty well. Because our God is so big! Our God is mighty enough to do crazy things like delivering an entire nation out of slavery, bringing them priests and prophets to facilitate relationship, sharing their griefs, fiercely pursuing a fickle bride, and dwelling among us as a baby, then a kid, then a man who overturned social and religious norms and demonstrated his power by choosing humble sacrifice over political and military prowess.

Indeed, there is nothing our God cannot do.

Even so, come, Lord Jesus!

All quotations taken from various songs on Behold the Lamb of God by Andrew Peterson, originally released in 2004.

A First Time for Everything

Last Sunday, I got to preach for the first time. I’ve been wanting to write about the experience but have struggled with how to write about it and what to say. Because there is such a tangle of thoughts and feelings tumbling around in my heart and head, it’s hard to pull them apart and identify each one in a coherent way. But having the opportunity to preach for the first time is a significant milestone for this egalitarian, CofC-raised girl, so it’s worth trying. So here are some reflections, which may or may not be cohesive, but they are reflections nonetheless.

After being told (explicitly and implicitly) for 30 years that I would never preach—or at best being told that I should be able to preach in theory, but would never actually have the opportunity—it was terrifying and affirming and exciting to suddenly be asked, “Would you like to preach next week?”

At times, I felt a bit like an imposter. I don’t know how to write or deliver a sermon. I’m not a preacher. I’d never done this before. I didn’t know what I was doing. And yet, there I was, doing it. My sermon-writing training consisted of an invaluable 10-minute conversation with a friend, where he shared his own sermon-writing process and a few tips on study resources and sermon construction. Beforehand, I told virtually no one outside my house church that I was preaching, because I was a little afraid that one of my friends would show up that morning to support me, and I’d do a bad job in front of them. And the morning of, I was afraid to tell anyone I’d never preached before, because I was afraid they’d be disappointed in me.

And yet, this community of people embraced me as their preacher for the day. One woman, Wanda, introduced me to as many people as she could, and every time, it was, “This is Karissa, our preacher.” Not, “This is Karissa, who led our service today,” or even, “She preached for us today,” but, “She’s our preacher.” It still feels weird and special to me that, for many of the people who met me that day, my primary identity was that of a preacher.

It was good to have some of my assumptions about people challenged. I generally assume that the older people are, the more conservative they are. And the more conservative they are, the more they oppose women having an equal voice and equal opportunities to serve the church. And yet, the elderly folks at a retirement center were the first people who allowed me to preach.

The lectionary is a wonderful thing! There is basically an infinite number of possible sermon texts, topics, and combinations thereof. So having that infinite number narrowed down to just four texts was a glorious thing.

My sermon focused on God as our Shepherd and on our responsibility to shepherd and care for one another. Wanda perfectly embodies the “shepherd one another” part! She is very clearly a shepherd within her community—she gathered up people to come to the church service instead of going back to bed after breakfast, she greeted everyone we passed in the hallways, she invited me to join her for lunch in the cafeteria and welcomed me into her apartment for coffee and dessert, she talked with and encouraged people as we stood around waiting for the cafeteria to open for lunch. After spending several days thinking intentionally about this shepherding theme in order to prepare a sermon about it, it was especially cool to see Wanda living out this role in such meaningful ways.

Several people have asked how preaching went, and I think it went well. There are definitely some things I wish I’d done differently or done better, but I think it was pretty good for being my first time. My prayer going into it was that something I said would be meaningful to at least one person. And a couple people came up to me later and shared some ways that something I said resonated with something in their lives.

Though the experience as a whole was a little terrifying and made me feel like an imposter, it also made me feel victorious for marginalized women everywhere. Because preaching is a role that is off-limits to so many of us, even in churches that are at least somewhat gender-inclusive. So it was meaningful to join the growing ranks of CofC women who’ve had the opportunity to preach, and to be a small part of continuing to normalize the idea of having both women and men in the pulpit.

Beautiful Things

Lately I've been reflecting a lot on the past year.

This time last year was the beginning of the end for my friend and boss. After a triumphant month of May when Charles stuck it to his cancer and made it back into the classroom after almost dying a few months earlier, he almost immediately began declining again. Drastically. He spent the month of June in and out of the hospital, went into hospice care in early July, and died a week later.

At the time, it felt like my world was crashing down. And in some ways, it was. This was the first time I'd lost a close friend, so there was all this grief to deal with, with little to no experience with or knowledge of how to grieve. On top of the grief was a whole lot of uncertainty about my job—who would my new boss(es) be? how well would we get along? would I even still have a job?

Some friends at house church introduced me to Gungor’s song Beautiful Things, and it's kind of been my anthem these last 18 months.

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found?
Could a garden come up from this ground at all?

(chorus)
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

Chorus

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

Chorus

For months I sang this song, resonating so much with the pain and uncertainty of the first part of the song, and clinging desperately to the hope of the later two-thirds of it—the promise that God does make beautiful things out of the dust—that hope does spring up from dry, cracked ground.

And you know what? Beautiful things have come out of all this pain. Hope has sprung, and life has grown out of the chaos.

The last year has been filled with sweet, refreshing newness. With hope budding up out of desolate ground. Countless friends have surrounded me with tender support and encouragement. My new boss is pretty great, and I’ve found dear friends in him and his family. I got promoted into a position that didn’t exist before now. And in a couple weeks I’ll be moving into a new house.

At times like this, when I’m surrounded by beauty and feel like I’m getting a fresh start, I sing this song in praise of the beauty God has made from this mess. I sing it to remember the pain and the desperation, and I sing it to rejoice in the beautiful things that have come from it.

And during seasons like mid-June to mid-July, when I miss Charles like crazy and can’t help but think of all how awful this time was last year, I sing this song to remind myself afresh that God already has brought beautiful things from this hurt, and to cling to the hope that there is more beauty yet to come.

Women of Valor

Recently I've been moved by ways that some women who are very dear to me have been invited to use their voices to enrich the church and to honor God.

One of my friends led singing for the first time in her life a couple weeks ago. God has given her a beautiful voice and a heart for the church, and in this act of leading the gathered congregation in worship, these two gifts got to work together. Not segregated to using her voice outside the church in musical theatre and using her ministry heart behind the scenes in a church . . . but to share her voice with us--the church--in leading hymns and songs of worship.

Another friend was asked to read a Scripture and lead a prayer in front of a different church-like gathering. Only within the last month or two have women been permitted to serve in these ways in that particular context! Many of us are guilty of treating public prayer almost flippantly, wandering up to a podium to spit out a laundry list of requests for health and safety and the like, with little to no forethought about what we'll say to God on behalf of the congregation. This friend spent days thinking about what to pray in that moment, feeling the weight of the responsibility to approach God on behalf of a crowd of people, and considering the impact her words might have on people--both because it was a prayer and because it was a prayer being spoken by a woman. It was a joy to witness the intentionality with which she approached this opportunity.

Because I think her prayer was so beautiful and wonderful, I'd like to share it with you, along with the Scripture she read before the prayer:

From Psalm 36:
But your loyal love, LORD, extends to the skies;
your faithfulness reaches the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the strongest mountains;
your justice is like the deepest sea.
LORD, you save both humans and animals.
Your faithful love is priceless, God!
Humanity finds refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast on the bounty of your house;
you let them drink from your river of pure joy.
Within you is the spring of life.
In your light, we see light. 

God our father, God our mother, today we drink from your river of pure joy.
You, who saves us.
You, the loyal, the faithful, the righteous, the just.
Fill us with the joy and peace of your refuge.
Pour into us the spring of life so that, just as people look at my daughter and see my face, people will look at us and see your face.
Thank you, God, for your mercy. Thank you, God, for your sacrifice. Thank you, God, for Jesus.
Amen.

Several hours before actually leading this prayer, she circulated what she'd written to a handful of friends and colleagues, asking for our feedback. Two of the women (myself included) suggested she take out the "God our mother" phrase, for fear that it would be too shocking to some and would distract them from the rest of the prayer. (Though both of us are big believers that God is both Mother and Father.) Two of the men, though, encouraged her to keep that phrase in the prayer and leave it up to the congregation to decide for themselves how to react to it. I'm so used to language and efforts like this being suppressed, that it was so unbelievably refreshing to see these two people defend this depiction of God so adamantly.

Somewhere in the midst of my friends leading in these amazing ways, I came across this article on When We Need Women behind the Pulpits on my Facebook mini-feed. I appreciated and identified with many things in the post, and here are some favorite tidbits:

• Put a woman behind the pulpit so I can hear the words of God in a new voice.
• Put a woman behind the pulpit so I can hear what it’s like for Mama Mary to watch her Son bleed.
• Put a woman behind the pulpit so I can hear He is risen! in the tone it was first shouted.
• Put a woman behind the pulpit so I can see that the kingdom of God is bigger than my expectations.
• Put a woman behind the pulpit so I can know that this long line of Faith handed-down came from Mothers and Fathers.

While reading these exhortations, I couldn't help but think about these two friends of mine--and the many female friends I have who are exceptionally gifted in public ministry. I couldn't help but think of the ways they intone God differently than my male friends (not necessarily better, just different; I'm not hatin' on the guys here!). I couldn't help but think about the ways that they, as mothers who cherish their children, provide glimpses of the way God mothers me.

I'm glad to see them at the front of a church, leading the congregation in song and prayer. I appreciate getting to hear a voice like mine from the pulpit. I'm grateful for the opportunity to glimpse in each them another little piece of God. 

Fall (Happy Sigh)

I can't wait for fall. For the crisp nights, cozy meals, and frosted windshields. I wish I could say I've always loved fall, but in actuality, I used to view fall as simply cooler weather (good), going back to school (blah), and gearing up for the main event: Christmas. But within the past few years, fall has become my favorite season. One year, in an attempt to keep myself from breaking out the Christmas music in September, a friend and I wrote a blitz of fall-themed parodies of Christmas carols and church songs. Another friend invited me to her All Saints Day pumpkin parties (yes, we're theology nerds even when it comes to food-themed parties). Starbucks' pumpkin spice lattes happened. And I discovered the exquisite joy and versatility of cooking fall/winter squash and roasting vegetables.

This year, I'm especially ready for fall. My heart skips a beat every time I see predicted high temps below 85. I love the sound of the marching band practicing during lunch. I've been drooling over pumpkin recipes that keep appearing on my Facebook feed and favorite food blogs. And a couple weeks ago the smell of roasting garlic nearly drove me to tears (not exaggerating; yes, that was a particularly tough week with some emotion that seriously needed to be acknowledged).

But more than the lower temps and nutmeg-infused baking, I'm looking forward to the start of a new season in my life. This summer was hard. Sure, there were bright spots like taking part in a childhood friend's wedding and vacationing in New Mexico. But I spent the first half of the summer watching (and walking alongside) my boss and friend as his health rapidly deteriorated, while fully expecting him to not live through the summer. And I spent the second half of the summer mourning his death and dealing not only with my own emotional upheaval, but also with all the practical upheaval at the office. Someone had to cancel his five thousand email subscriptions, break the news to people who called the office asking for him, go through hundreds of his files, and help empty his office while not knowing who would be moving into it or when.

So I'm ready to close the chapter of summer 2012. Sure, there will still be grief for a long time, and nothing will ever fill the Charles-shaped void in my heart and life. And there are still days when I need to cry over something as emotionally neutral as roasting garlic. But the grief is becoming less intense with each passing week. This week I get to help move a new boss and friend into the office next to mine. A new semester is underway. And soon I will be burning my favorite Pumpkin Carnival candle and cooking my way through recipe lists like these.

Waiting for Bread . . . and for God's Future

I read this prayer this morning and wept. Once again, I feel like Walter Brueggemann has looked into my soul and expressed my thoughts, tears, and anxieties in such a beautiful, eloquently raw way.

Waiting for Bread . . . and for God's Future
On reading Micah

We are strange mixtures of loss and hope.

As we are able, we submit our losses to you.
   We know about sickness and dying,
                   about death and mortality,
                   about failure and disappointment.
   And now for a moment we do our
               failing and our dying in your presence,
               you who attend to us in loss.

As we are able, we submit our hopes to you.
We know about self-focused fantasy
                and notions of control.
         But we also know that our futures
                are out beyond us,
                         held in your good hand.

Our hopes are filled with promise of
        well-being, justice, and mercy.
Move us this day beyond our fears and anxieties
        into your land of goodness.
                We wait for your coming,
                we pray for your kingdom.
        In the meantime, give us bread for the day.

Walter Brueggemann, Prayers for a Privileged People, page 167

Song Leading

I got to lead singing in chapel last week, which was both awesome and terrifying. I appreciate graduate chapel SO much, and one of the biggest reasons is because it's one of the only places I've worshipped where gender really, truly doesn't matter. Any and all positions of leadership--from planning to praying to preaching--are equally open to women and men.

But back to last week...

As many experiences are apt to do, it got me thinking about women in church leadership. You see, this was only my third time ever to lead singing. No one has ever taught me how to do it. I don't know how to do the hand-waving tempo-keeping thing. It didn't even cross my mind to direct the congregation to stand or sit. Everything I know about song leading, I've just picked up by watching other song leaders over the years. Because, while we do an excellent job of training our boys to lead from a young age, girls just don't get that same training (maybe things are better now, but when I was kid, that kind of training wasn't an option for girls). So while many men my age have been leading singing for 15+ years, I didn't start until last year. When little Billy Bob gets up, leads a song, and bombs it, people think, "Aww, he's 12 and cute! Let's encourage him to keep doing this and keep getting better!" It's less cute when a 27-year-old leads singing and bombs it.

I was talking about this with a friend last night, and she made a really good point. For us women, it feels like there's more pressure to be excellent at any act of leadership we perform. Since there are so few women doing public leadership tasks in church, each woman who does do something up front--at least to an extent--sets the tone/expectation for how women do that particular thing. For instance, say Billy Bob grows up and never becomes very good at leading worship but still volunteers every now and then. When he gets up and leads poorly, people just kind of accept that he's not awesome at song leading, but most people probably don't make assumptions about the rest of the male population's ability to lead singing. But as a woman, I feel like my performance--however good or bad--is a reflection on ALL women who may want to lead. "She really messed up the tempo on that last song. Maybe Paul was on to something when he said women should keep silent." Or, "She did a great job! We should get more women to lead singing!"

So here are my pleas:

Church - bear with us. So many of us desperately want to lead but don't know the ins and outs of how to perform certain functions within a worship service. Just because we're adults doesn't mean we've ever led a public prayer or served communion--much less done so lots of times. When we stand behind the pulplit and read a passage of Scripture, extend the same level of grace and encouragement you would extend to a 12-year-old. Oh, and starting teaching girls how to lead from a young age.

Worship planning teams/individuals - be intentional about inviting women to do things. Since public leadership roles in church are new to us, we may be hesitant to volunteer because we fear we'll do a bad (or even a mediocre) job. So we may need some extra pushing and encouragement. And if a woman bombs a Scripture reading, ask her to do another one anyway! Pretend she's 12 years old.

Women - jump in there and lead! Yes, it's terrifying. But it's also wonderful, and it gets less terrifying with time and experience. And the more your sisters in Christ see you lead, the easier it may be for them to step up and do the same. The church so desperately needs to hear your voice. Let it be heard.

Cancer and Community

I’ve been thinking a lot about community lately, largely because I’m in a rough patch right now and have experienced incredible support from the community around me. Let me share with you a few glimpses of that community:

A few Sundays ago the communion thoughts really hit home—the young woman leading us talked about her struggle with her mom’s cancer, tying that in to the passage about Jesus grieving with Lazarus’ family before bringing him back to life. Her prayer started with, “God, I’m sick of cancer. And I’m sick of death.” That did me in. I wept for basically the entire rest of the service. At the end of the service, a woman I barely even know stopped me and said, “I saw you crying. Are you okay, and can I give you a hug?”

From there, I went straight to small group. For our devotional time, we each shared something we hope to accomplish in the coming year. We had such a mixed bag of emotions in the room: excitement and anxiety about moving, worry about raising support for fulltime mission work, stress of finishing college and applying for grad school, happiness about reaching a significant milestone in thesis-writing, uncertainty about jobs and income, joy and fear about having a baby, stability of no major life transitions coming up, grief over loved ones losing their battles with cancer . . . That night, we all came from vastly different places emotionally, and despite our own individual emotions, we were able to be fully present with each other in all of the wonderful, terrible, happy, unsure feelings swirling in the room. Even now, I’m sitting here trying to put into words the amazingness of the genuine community that took place that night. We didn’t try to make the tone of the group homogenous. Someone who was happy didn’t ignore or minimize the obvious grief of others; and vice versa. We were transparent and raw. The masks were off, and we were able to throw wide the doors of our hearts and invite the group to enter into the good, the bad, and the ugly inside.

The women in that small group had a lunch date a couple weeks ago. That morning I sent an email to let them know that I’d be coming from a prayer vigil for my boss/friend Charles and therefore might be late or emotionally unfit to come at all. But I ended up going, and one of the girls commented, “I read your email and thought, ‘Then it’s even more important that you come be with us.’” Yes! In true community we don’t have to hide our emotions—or avoid said community if we’re going through unpleasant emotions—but instead can bring our puffy eyes and rubbed-raw noses and experience love and support.

Yesterday I attended a memorial service for a seven-year-old boy, Liam, who died of leukemia. Liam’s death and Charles’s worsening cancer have messed with my faith. Charles is such a faithful servant, doing incredibly good things for the kingdom; Liam, in the face of his illness, rallied an army of people to participate in his well project and give life to communities of people who don’t have access to clean water. Literally thousands of people have been praying for Liam’s healing for over a year, and for Charles’s healing for over two years. Why wouldn’t our all-powerful God step in and heal them?

Randy, who did Liam’s eulogy yesterday, said many pertinent things, but I’ll just share this one that especially hit home for me. Randy asked Liam’s parents if they felt like God had sat this one out. But, to his surprise, they answered, “No.” God hadn’t shown up to heal Liam, but God had shown up in countless other ways—through hugs and encouraging calls from friends; through kids who sent care packages and their own artwork to Liam, who also loved to draw; through compassionate, competent doctors and nurses who cared not only for Liam but for their whole family; through thousands of dollars donated toward Liam’s wells; through the countless ways their community of family, friends, and friends of friends who have showered them with love and support. Randy went on to assert that God doesn’t just work cancer magic, and God isn’t a god who is at our beck and call to do whatever we want, exactly when we want it. But God is so very present—and God’s power is so very prevalent—in the ways we rally around each other.

That reality has been so true for me in this season of grief. Liam died, and Charles doesn’t have much time left. God didn’t wave a magic cancer wand for either of them. That reality is awful, and I’m pretty upset with God for not providing healing in the way that I thought God should. But in the midst of all this pain and anger, God is providing me with healing through the supportive calls, emails, hugs, “I’m thinking about you”s, and offers of help from this incredible community of people around me.

Snowpeople

I wonder why it is that we refer to snowmen as "snowmen"? What is it about them, really, that makes them male? True, some wear top hats and smoke pipes, which are stereotypically masculine behaviors. But what about the snowpeople who simply have a smiling face, twiggy arms, and no gender-specific accessories? A friend and I gave Christmas socks to the rest of our coworkers, and one design had a snowperson with a pink scarf. Pink = stereotypically feminine. Yet at least one person still referred to her as a snowman, and when some of us intentionally called her a snowgirl or snowwman, it felt really weird.

I also noticed this assumption of masculinity (for lack of a better term) while playing a card game with my dad this week. The cards have pictures of various kinds of bean characters on them (for instance, the black-eyed bean is in a boxing ring and has a black eye, and the blue bean is dressed like a police officer). There are eight or so different bean characters in the deck, some of which are decidedly male, but most of which are fairly gender-neutral. Yet we both kept saying things like, "I'll plant this guy but let you have those other two guys."

I also find myself talking this way while driving. If I talk about (or at) another driver on the road, I almost always refer to him or her as male. "That guy was nice to let me in," or, "Dude, what are you doing?" It's almost never, "She cut me off," or even, "That person cut me off"--and I'm normally pretty conscious of gendered language.

Just an observation. Well, a few observations, really. I just wonder why we are so inclined to use masculine language over feminine.

Note: In case you've missed it in other posts or conversations, I don't hate men. I think men are pretty awesome. And I have nothing against the term "snowman," or against referring to beans or drivers as guys. I'm just observing speech patterns in myself and others . . . and I think there must be some connection between our language and our societal norms about gender hierarchies.

Privilege

Not too long ago I had a frustrating conversation with a colleague of mine. It started innocently enough with us mutually asserting that churches should be more inclusive of women in their services. Usually these conversations about women in the church fit into two categories:

1. We fundamentally disagree on so much about what Scripture says about women, neither of us budges on our respective positions, and we both end up at least a little frustrated with each other.
2. Or, we agree on basically every point, and rally together in hoping for a better situation in our churches.

I thought this conversation would be more like the second category, but somewhere in the middle of our discussion, it became more like Category 1. Which was strange because we agreed on the main point that women are created equal and, therefore, shouldn't be treated as inferior and limited to potlucks and the nursery . . . but we disagreed on several of the sub-points leading up to that ultimate conclusion.

Of all the things that frustrated me and caught me off guard in the conversation, I think the thing that got me most was his refusal to acknowledge his position of privilege as a male. Most of the men with whom I've talked extensively about gender freely admit that their maleness automatically gives them an advantage in myriad situations. Even if they don't fully grasp the extent of that privilege, they know it's there. (Or they fall squarely into Category 1 above and may know they're privileged but think that privilege is ordained by God.) This colleague, though, was willing to admit that--just maybe--he might be privileged, but he didn't really think he was.

For a while I pushed back, but eventually just stopped talking because we were going in circles and I didn't want to say something ugly. And I left the conversation exceedingly frustrated.

Upon reflection later, I got to wondering . . . in how many ways am I oblivious to the positions of privilege into which I was born or have earned? I'm not in poverty. I'm white. I have a good job with a consistent paycheck. I live in a country with a (comparatively) stable government. I have a college education. I have clean water and easy access to food. I have friends and family who love me unconditionally and will be there for me no matter what.

While I consciously know these privileges exist in my life, I know that I take them for granted, and they're definitely not in the forefront of my mind. And I don't feel the weight of my privileges in the same way I feel the weight of others' privileges that I don't share (maleness, greater wealth, a more important-sounding job title, etc.). 

I wonder how many times I've unthinkingly opened my mouth and hurt someone who doesn't share these privileges that I take for granted. 

Top 4 weird characteristics of reality shows

Confession: I’m a sucker for reality TV shows. I love the adventure of Survivor and Expedition Impossible; the artistry of MasterChef, Food Network Star, and HGTV Design Star; the mock value of True Beauty and America’s Most Smartest Model. I even went through a Bachelor/Bachelorette phase until Jason Whatshisface put me over the edge by proposing at the end of his season, breaking up with his new fiancée in front of a live studio audience on national TV, and then asking out the runner-up after the next commercial break. Maybe it’s the competitive aspect of these shows. Maybe it’s the ridiculousness of some (okay, nearly all) of the characters. I don’t know. But I just keep coming back for more.

As I was watching the final few episodes of MasterChef this week, I couldn’t help but notice some of the characteristic traits that are unique to reality shows, particularly in the way they’re edited and promoted. So I bring you the top 4 list of things that reality shows do that would be downright silly on a normal show:

4.  Recapping the most dramatic parts of the entire season before every single episode. True, many other shows do a quick “previously on ___” to catch the viewer up on key plot points, especially if the show is about to revive a previously-dormant plotline. But the clips are selected based on the plot elements they reveal, rather than because they involve a high concentration of yelling, fighting, crying, or bleeped-out words.

3.  Precapping the rest of the season at least once at the beginning, middle, or end of the episode’s air time. In an attempt to convince the viewers to watch the rest of the season, The Bachelor/ette parades every possible catfight scene, HGTV Design Star highlights clips of paint spills and furniture that won’t fit through the door. What if Grey’s Anatomy started flaunting all their upcoming breakthrough surgeries and one-of-a-kind patients?

2.  Coming back from a commercial break and replaying the exact same footage from the last 15 seconds of the segment before the commercial break. In case you forgot, Chef Ramsay was counting down the final seconds of the Mystery Box Challenge while the contestants hurried to complete their soufflés. This is especially great when watching the show on Hulu when the commercial breaks are usually under a minute.

1.  Previewing the most dramatic parts of the remainder of the episode before each commercial break. If normal shows followed suit, it might look something like this: “Coming up next on Law & Order: SVU . . . Benson and Stabler discover new evidence on the kidnapping case, but the ADA Cabot claims it’s not enough for a warrant. Will they find seven-year-old Tommy in time? What will happen when Elliot and Cragen go head to head? Find out. Next!”

What other reality-show-specific norms have you noticed?

This guy believes in women preachers

Earlier this week I was chatting with a faculty coworker who had recently been contacted by a church that wanted to know if he believed in women preachers. He wrote them back saying he absolutely does and pointed them to some web-based materials that express his views on women in ministerial leadership.

While telling me the story, he had a carefree attitude that I appreciated. Many people in his position might have tried to avoid rocking the boat by watering down their beliefs about women in ministry. Yet this professor unapologetically shared his views and moved on without fear of backlash and with no concern for his own reputation with that congregation. In his typical laid-back manner, he shrugged and said something along the lines of, "If they send me a nasty email or corner my family member who attends there, that's nothing compared to what some women who want to be preachers deal with."

Things I appreciated about his response to this congregation:

• He knows what he believes, and he stuck with it. He didn't try to sugarcoat the aspects of his beliefs that might be offensive to the congregation.
• He championed the inclusion of women in the pulpit.
• He recognized that what women go through in our struggle with identity in the church and ministry (particularly in traditions that don't make a habit of being gender-inclusive) is significant. And he recognized that that ongoing pain is more significant than the short-lived hurt feelings that may have been caused by backlash from this church (and more significant than the temporary discomfort created for his family member if he/she gets cornered because of what he advocates).
• He acknowledged his own privileged status--he's a white male with a comfortable income, who is tenured and therefore guaranteed this job until retirement. And rather than focus on protecting his secure privilege, he advocated better treatment of a marginalized demographic. 
• He placed the interests of others above his own. 

How Sweet, How Heavenly

Side note: I wrote this from my desk, which I don’t recall using since I moved into this house in September 2007.

Several months ago in chapel, we sang “How Sweet, How Heavenly,” a hymn that celebrates unity among believers. It praises Christian unity and genuine community in which people truly know and care for one another. I’d sung this hymn many times, but this particular time, the second and third verses kinda rubbed me the wrong way:

When each can feel his brother’s sigh,

And with him bear a part;

When sorrow flows from eye to eye,

And joy from heart to heart.

When, free from envy, scorn and pride,

Our wishes all above,

Each can his brother’s failings hide,

And show a brother’s love.

Now, maybe I was feeling particularly sensitive or feminist or critical that day. And I know the song was written in the 1700s when songwriters didn’t care about gender-inclusive language. But I still felt a little excluded from the song and, therefore, from the community with whom I was singing it. These verses paint a beautiful picture of what Christian community should be: deeply sharing each other’s joy and pain, and loving one another despite each one’s failings. But all the Christians in these two verses are male. I find it sadly ironic that this song about unity actually excludes half the members of the community.

Since I was already distracted, I indulged my imagination, wondering what would happen if that masculine language had been written as feminine:

When each can feel her sister’s sigh,

And with her bear a part;

When sorrow flows from eye to eye,

And joy from heart to heart.

When, free from envy, scorn and pride,

Our wishes all above,

Each can her sister’s failings hide,

And show a sister’s love.

My suspicion is that one of the following things would happen: 1) we wouldn’t ever sing the song in church—it would be one of those songs that no one is quite sure how it made its way into the hymnal; 2) we would still sing it, but only the first, fourth, and fifth verses; 3) women would occasionally sing the full song at women-only gatherings (women’s retreats, women’s Bible classes, mother-daughter banquets); or perhaps 4) we would occasionally sing it corporately as part of a woman-focused service, such as on Mothers Day.

And if we sang those verses with feminine language, I suspect that the vast majority of the men present would (understandably!) feel the song didn’t fully include them because of the exclusively feminine language.

If it were just this one song that was infused with exclusively masculine language, I would be mildly annoyed but would move on fairly quickly. But it’s not just in this one hymn. It’s in many of the hymns/worship songs we sing corporately. It’s in our translations of the Bible. It’s in ancient writings and prayers of antiquity. It’s in our sermons, our communion thoughts, our everyday conversations.

I wonder (worry about) what we as a church can do about this. Even if we all agreed that gender-inclusive language was important and formative, how would we incorporate it into our worship services that include songs and prayers that are rich with history and filled with non-inclusive language? We can’t just turn “Faith of Our Fathers” to “Faith of Our Fathers and Mothers” or “Faith of Our Ancestors.” Not only do the inclusive options contain too many syllables, but changing these words penned in 1849 just feels wrong. It would feel weird to suddenly alter the words of songs we’d grown up singing a particular way. (And don’t even get me started on the use of gender-inclusive language for God, because that affects pretty much every song in the Christian tradition.)

This post has gotten far too long. So I’ll end by asking your thoughts. How can we use more inclusive language (particularly in our songs) without compromising the rich history of these songs (or throwing them out altogether)? Especially given the reality that not everyone in our churches is on the same page about the importance of inclusive language.

Mother God

This morning I had a new, very exciting, experience. For the first time I can remember, I had the joy of participating in corporate worship specifically directed to God as our heavenly Mother as well as our heavenly Father. I have often privately prayed or sung to God as a mother, but this morning was my first time to sing to Mother God along with other people. It was exciting, touching, moving, and weird, all at the same time.

In our various types of Christian gatherings, we do an excellent job of celebrating and honoring God as our heavenly Father, and most of us could probably rattle off at least a dozen passages (even if we can't quote them exactly) that depict God as a Father. But we're not as good at celebrating the less common and less accepted metaphor of God as Mother. Yet there are a handful of biblical passages that do depict God that way. For example:

"For a long time I have kept silent,
   I have been quiet and held myself back.
But now, like a woman in childbirth,
   I cry out, I gasp and pant."
--Yahweh speaking in Isaiah 42:14

"As a mother comforts her child,
   so will I comfort you;
   and you will be comforted over Jerusalem."
--Yahweh speaking in Isaiah 66:13

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."
--Jesus speaking in Matthew 23:37

I appreciate the metaphor of God as our Mother, and I hope we will become more comfortable with using maternal language to describe God. There's certainly nothing wrong with the Father metaphor, but, as with all metaphors we use to try to understand and talk about God, it's incomplete and should not be used as the exclusive metaphor to describe God. Because when we limit God to just one image, we miss out on the vast array of other qualities that don't fit that particular image. For two excellent discussions on the language we use to describe God, check out this Metaphor, Idolatry, and Theology blog post by Jamey Walters and this Why Language for God Matters article by Naomi Walters.

Also, as a woman, it's sometimes easier to relate to a female image rather than a masculine image like King or Father, or an inanimate one like Rock or Shield. I will never be a dad, and I can't necessarily identify with how Fathers (or men) think and act. But I might someday be a mom, and I do know what it's like to think and feel and act as a woman. And speaking to and about God with female language helps me feel just a bit more like I actually am fully created in God's image.

So, this morning's experience was an exciting one, to first sing to God as Father, and to then sing to God as Mother. Hopefully my first time to do that corporately will not also be my last.

Singing the Women's Part

I had a new experience today in chapel. We sang one of those songs where the guys and girls split, singing completely different lyrics and melodies, for much of the song. Neither part is really the lead--we just take turns with who sings what. I have always sung that song either led by no one, or led by a man who naturally sings the guys' part, leaving the women in the congregation to band together from our seats and hope we come in at the right time and can hear each other well enough to carry the tune correctly. This morning, however, the worship leader was a woman. And for the first time in my life on a song that split like that, I sang with the worship leader the entire time and sang the girls' part the entire time.

There are other songs where the women's part leads and the men echo, and I've usually seen the male song leader sing the female part along with the women. Which kind of makes sense but also sounds a little weird.

Now, I have nothing against men or male worship leaders. But my experience this morning in chapel was refreshing--and kind of validating! This once, I wasn't just singing the extra part that wasn't important enough to have a worship leader, and I wasn't singing the women's part that still had to be led by a man so the song wouldn't fall apart.