Theology Thursday: My friend, the Millennial

Apparently, I am odd.  For many reasons, to be sure, but for one reason in particular.  
I am 30, a millennial (on the upper end, since my 12 year old baby sister is ALSO a millennial), and an ordained pastor in a mainline denomination. My close proximity to generation X might make my cultural context and vocational choice even more unusual.  
Also, I have a lot of odd friends--Hello, young adult clergy friends!

Often, as if my age gives me expert status, I am asked questions about an anxiety in the church over a missing generation in the pews: 
"where are the young people?" 
"why do they leave the church?"
"what can we do to get them to come back?"

I give my best Rachel Held Evans answer (she is right on target, go Rachel!)... but a part of me feels like a medical student diagnosing a real illness that I have only studied in books. 

This does not mean I have never doubted.  This does not mean I am especially holy.  This does not mean I have deep theological insight.  This does not mean that I have not experienced pain. This does not mean that I am ignorant or naive.

Now, I find myself a clergy-person on a denominational ship that is threatening to be pulled apart in the same young waters that led to its earliest adventures.  We are left with every meeting and every book to frantically scoop out water while we continue to sink.

What I really want to say to all the searching or annoyed or apathetic or hurting millennials out there is simple...
Don't give up. Please, come back. 

The church is not good at a lot of things, and unfortunately we are still trying to figure out the difference between an "issue" and a person whom God calls us to love and accept.  We are not always kind, and we don't love our neighbor, much less our enemy. 
Lord, have mercy.
We often try to neatly box up our faith and we have yet to figure out that being a disciple of Jesus does not mean we have to align with one political party over the other.   
Christ, have mercy.
We fight over silly stuff like parlor decorations and windows and flowers and preaching styles, and in doing so we ignore the really important conversations at the expense of those we should be serving.
Lord, have mercy.

And yet, like a well-meaning relative that usually says the wrong thing, or an over-grown house that used to be a well-used home, I love the church because I have known the capacity into which she is capable of beautifully being and living.   I hope that is true about me, too.  That God loves me even as I am so painfully broken.

Millennial friend...find a church near you, and give it a real try... a more than 2 clicks on a website sort of try.  You will find a community that will surprise you, make you angry, inspire you, defend you, walk with you, love you, and if you stick around long enough, there will be moments when the Kingdom of God is near enough to see.

Wildcard Wednesday: Naming

I'm a traditionalist, I can't help it.  Maybe its part of being the oldest and wanting everything to be fair, everyone to have the same experiences, and to cross the same milestones.  Maybe its just in my DNA. 

When Daniel (also a traditionalist) and I found out we were expecting, naming felt like such an important task.  Everyone has their own process and qualifications for doing this, but for us it was an opportunity to bestow a special blessing.  We made lists of names with special meanings or that represented special people.  We called our parents and learned of funny family names, like one of Daniel's relatives called "Allie," short for: Alabama Georgia.  Bless her southern heart.  

When we got news that our little bundle would be a girl, the list was cut in half and we spent weeks deliberating.  For some reason, this felt like the most important thing-- our girl needed a name!  Pregnancy hormones have a way of assigning urgency to pretty much all things, you know, like dusting baseboards or organizing rarely used cabinets. 

We finally settled on two names.  It went down something like this...

Sarah: "Ok, which of your names is the most important to you?"

Daniel: "Forced to choose: Grace, I really like Grace. Its in both of our families, my twin sister is Mary Grace, and one of your sisters is Haley Grace.  Its a beautiful name.  Grace was my Grandmother's name. What about you?"

Sarah: "I always wanted to name a daughter after my Great Grandmother, Margaret, but I don't really want to call her Margaret."

Daniel:  "Ok, what about Margaret Grace?  We can call her Grace."

Sarah: "Sounds good... Grace Margaret it is."

Daniel: "Or, Grace Margaret sounds good too."

My husband is a good sport, but if you know me at all, that goes without saying.  That sweet, patient, handsome, man of mine deserves a metal...or a ring (check).   :)

For a long time we kept her name a secret, whispering it to each other, and calling her by the secret name in our prayers.  Finally we decided to share with our family and closest friends just weeks before her arrival.  One night about a week before she was born, it dawned on me that her name was perfect, because she is Grace to us. For more reasons than I am willing to share, everything about this miracle of pregnancy felt like Grace. Literally. 

On the day of her birth we named her "Grace Margaret" in memory and honor of people whom we cherish, and as a blessing for the future that she might receive portions of their spirit as they trickle down our family tree.

As tradition would have it, in my family there is a special right of passage for baby girls.  Many years ago now, 60 or so, my Mamaw had someone make an Easter dress for my Aunt Donna.  Since then, all of the baby girls have all worn it.  We have all had our picture made in it, and this morning was my girl's special day.

She remains Grace in our lives.  Such a blessing.

Theology Thursday: Preparation

Preparing space.  Space in my heart.  Space in my relationships.  Space in our house.  Space in my work.  All for a baby girl. 

Never in my life, have I prepared so much for what is about to happen. Probably because it so profoundly affects this little person that has been very steadily growing below my heart these last 9 months.  And I want to do it right.  I do.  I want to plan.  And before you laugh at me or tell me that planning goes out the window with a baby… resist the urge.  This is all I know to do. 

By the way, 9 months is a long time.  It is a marathon.  

After I get home from meetings I spend my evening organizing things, like that drawer in our bathroom that collects junk.  Then I worry about labor.  Quickly I realize that my greatest worry is about the greater task of parenting: what if I screw this up??  I will. I know I will.  What if I give her a complex?  Oh, I will.  I know I will.  

Next, I go in her room and organize her lotions and bows and toys because it is something I can control, something I can get right.  Then another question comes to me, what if I can't answer her questions?  I won't be able to all of the time.  I know I won't.  OR worse what if I can't protect her?  I won't be able to all of the time.  I know I won't.  

On the brink of being someone's Momma (any day, really), I am both in awe of my body and this little life that grows so rapidly and in fear of my ability to actually do this.  Because its for a lifetime, and that is a really long time.  Its a million marathons that keep coming, and I want them to… I want to cherish her.  I want to show her things.  I want her to ask questions I have never thought to ask. I want her to love living her life! 

The best thing I can do now is prepare, organize, obsess, worry...knowing that God so lovingly prepares for our place in the world and then so fearfully allows us to live in it with very little control of what we might grab a hold of… even if it is clean, organized, and child proofed.  

Which leaves me full of an anxious joy and brimming over with anticipation as we prepare to meet our little one. Come soon, sweet girl, we already love you more than life itself. 

Loving you is something I know we can do. We already do…so much.

Wildcard Wednesday: Lenten Homily

"I'm Sorry: Easy to Say, Harder to Be"
Church Street UMC
February 20, 2013

Psalm 51:1-10

I'm the oldest of 5 children.  Some would say this makes me "bossy," I like to think I am "directive" and "helpful." The youngest, Haley, who is 11 is absolutely the baby and all that means.  She is delightful, full of life and wonder, and spunk… but, being the baby to 4 older siblings means that she cannot, under most any circumstance say the words, "I'm sorry."  We have wondered-- is this a pride thing? Is this a youngest thing?  Is this a stubborn thing since she is at the end of a long line of stubborn women? 

Several years ago now, I was home from seminary and visiting with my family when Haley got into trouble.  I have absolutely no memory of what she did to be in trouble, but I will never forget the aftermath, which is funny and pitiful all at the same time.  Haley was about 5 years old at the time, and whatever she did my Dad was not going to back down until she simply said two words, "I'm sorry." He carefully explained why she was in the wrong and owed an apology, she glared at him, frowned, and turned her face toward her shoulder. No remorse.  Finally he attempted a positive spin on the expectation of an apology, "if you would just say I'm sorry, then you can go back to playing and we can move on." She refused.  Red in the face, eyes turned from his gaze.  So, he picked up one doll from her baby collection and said that baby would be exiled to the garage until Haley could do what she needed to do… as soon as the baby doll left her room she cried out with a primal scream, as I would imagine any real mother would do at the sight of her baby being taken away--wait, scratch that--she screamed as if the baby was ripped from her tender lovin' arms.  it was a tense moment for the entire house as we hid in our respective corners. Ten minutes later, he went back and calmly said, "Are you ready?" Still refusing, Dad gently carried a second baby doll through the house to the garage, now turned dungeon, and an even louder cry erupted from her little 5 year old body…baby doll 3…4...5…approx. 14 baby dolls later…and everyone else's nerves completely fried she climbed into my Dad's lap, hugged his neck, and mumbled "I'm sorry."  

In a culture where we do not apologize for who we are, or what opinions we hold, or how we behave, I wonder if we turn toward our shoulders avoiding God's gaze as God tries to soften our hearts with the humble reality: God is God, and not we ourselves.  And so, Lent is a peculiar thing to do… we willingly give up comforts or take on habits, as we meditate on the temptation of Christ in the wilderness and the incredible sacrifice of the cross.  And yet, more than ever, what we are really in need of, as individuals and a people, is to see that we are punishing ourselves with self-made dungeons, and in need of a good old fashioned "I'm Sorry" as we begin with Almighty God and go from there. 

    

 In Psalm 51, we are invited to join in with an ancient confession, that still rings true to our lives so many generations later.  We are all sinners, begging at the door of God's mercy.  We believe in God's steadfast love, and yet we are convinced that the door is closed shut when it comes to redeeming our situation, forgiving us of our sin… because we know what we have done or not done.  

We know that our marriage is broken beyond repair--or our friendship or our relationship with our child or our coworker.  

We know that the words we said will always hang like a cartoon "bubble" in mid-air without the humor and only the shame.  

We know what we did in secret, when we thought that no one was looking.  

We know that God could never love us, not really, not fully.  

Except, that if we would just open our stubborn eyes, we would see the door open and God beckoning us take the hand of Jesus out of the wilderness we banish ourselves to, beyond the heavy load of the cross, to the new life that no one ever thought possible except for God.  

So maybe my baby sister's problem is not that the words "I'm sorry" are hard for her to utter… maybe she's the only one that gets just how weighty those words are when they are meant from a broken spirit and a contrite heart.  Maybe the challenge for us this Lent is to say "I'm sorry" so that we can mean it, and allow ourselves to move on with the dawn of Easter morning.  

Take a moment… examine deep down… what do you know is too much to ask of God?  Go ahead, be honest, as God is already the searcher of our hearts, and in silence let's prepare ourselves to begin this journey of Lent with confession. 

Remember: In the Name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven. Amen.

Theology Thursday: Ash Wednesday

Some reflections in preparation for Ash Wednesday... 

On Ash Wednesday, February 13, Christians across the world will go to their respective sacred spaces and have ashes mixed with oil imposed on their foreheads.  There is an unspoken rule that you don’t “wipe” the ashes off, so those same Christians will leave worship and enter into the world believing that they bear the mark of sin and mortality while everyone else wonders, “what’s the smudge on my banker’s head?” or “doesn’t that lady know her mascara got a little high?” 

Honestly, this is a strange thing to do.  Yet, it is not the only strange thing that Christians do to live out our faith.  Think about how strange it is that we share in communion which represents God’s grace, and Jesus’ body and blood.  How strange it must seem that we baptize with water... a glorified form of bathing in one’s clothes, or a baby in a fluffy white garment.  How strange it must be for outsiders to walk into our practice of reading from a really old book, and listening to the words of a preacher that claims to have an unseen connection to God.

So, why do this strange thing on Ash Wednesday?  And what can I say or do when I notice the awkward glances of the rest of the population? 

The ashes are to remember: like a locket worn around a neck with a picture of one’s beloved.

The ashes are to confess: like a scarlet letter that each of us wear everyday but usually only bear in the deep recesses of our hearts. 

The ashes are to proclaim: because being weird for the sake of teaching one’s soul a lesson from time to time is not the worst thing that could happen to us.  

I hope you will go, do this strange thing of having the ashes imposed on your forehead. 

I hope it makes you feel uncomfortable, like all you want to do is accidentally wipe it off.  

I also hope at some point you forget that its there so that you can remember when a cashier tries to give you a hand wipe to take away the mystery smudge.

I hope you know it is not a badge of Christian honor to make you feel better than anyone who has a clean forehead, but that you will recognize it is a sign of God’s sorrow.

I hope these things for me, too.  

May we spend the day reflecting on death and sin and the fragile reality of our bodies, so that our hearts might overflow with a strange sense of gratitude for God’s surprising gift of grace.  

If you are looking for a place to go and you're in the Knoxville area, Church Street UMC will have a "drop-in" opportunity to receive the ashes for commuters from 7:00-8:00am, a 45 minute service at 12:00pm, and again at 6:30pm, each opportunity is in our main sanctuary.  All are welcome. 

Managing Monday: Nursery Time

Just in case you blog junkies were wondering and have been left too long with bated breath for my next entry...There is no way that I can keep myself up to the pace I proposed-- obviously. Instead, I'm going to stick with the "daily scheme" which provides me with inspiration and then I can post in freedom without feeling the need to explain my MIA.  Sometimes I get busy, ok?! :)

So, how to put a nursery together when one has never had a baby?... google search: nursery organization; read Mom blogs, solicit advice from trusted friends, and experiment with the space...oh, and PINTEREST! Other people's experience and a master ability to google search is all the expertise I have so far.

I have been sick since Wednesday with a bronchitis/laryngitis/cold sort of DEVIL. Each day has been a new adventure in this process of sickness. I have a little honky voice now, which is an improvement from none yesterday... but I will continue to whisper because Sweet Hubby (the chorus teacher) does not want me to do permanent damage to my voice, in this case, I will listen. :)

As my sickness has kept me in the house *most* of the time (a girl has to make exceptions), I am beginning to get stir crazy. As you may know, I was bit with the nesting bug a few weeks ago, and as I sit at 27 weeks pregnant starring down the week toward a third trimester (Baby Girl is due March 2)... combined with a preacher sense that December is over in a snap (busy season)... plus stir crazy madness... I have been nursery planning! Want to see? I hope so...

 For some reason, I decided early on that I wanted to use elephants. They are my favorite animal at the zoo, and they seem to be everywhere I look in baby world. Elephants it is. First things first: Baby Girl's nursery is in our guest room, we are renters, so the colors we have to work with are: khaki walls, baby blue carpet, and white trim. As much as I envisioned green and purple with gray elephants, its not going to happen on that color scheme, so I found this:

With that start, we have been trying to figure out how to organize the room.

 Sweet Hubby has bedroom furniture from when he was a child and when his Father was a child, so we are planning to use it. It is a honey-maple finish. We found a honey-maple finish crib thanks to Craig's List. Two nights ago I initiated a re-arranging of the furniture, and because I am sick with an upper-respiratory funk and pregnant (lungs are squished), turns out I was not very much help. I supervised, Sweet Hubby moved things. He's a good sport like that, seriously, I am a blessed woman.


Now the room is "set up" with the furniture pieces in the correct places to begin the work of organizing!

 We are planning to use the dresser as a changing table (with pad on top), and the drawers will be filled with baby girl's clothing and other items (top drawers reserved for diapers, wipes, onesies... at least that's what my research tells me). The closet- disaster. No idea what to do there. I am collecting lots of little "bins" to store clothes/diapers/blankets/etc.

Unfortunately, being sick means that after short bursts of energy, I must take a nap. So, that's next on the agenda.

 This is so exciting and so overwhelming!!

Tasty Tuesday: Garlic Encrusted Pork Tenderloin

I am all about easy recipes, especially if it they are really YUMMY and relatively quick to make. Sweet hubby and I sampled this gem on Saturday evening, and then he ate the leftovers again on Sunday night and again on Monday for lunch because he loved it so much. I loved it too, but I didn't have a chance with him scarfing it down!

We made this recipe in the oven, but we're looking forward to throwing it on the grill when it warms up a bit. We also made a tossed salad with a Romaine/Spinach bed, mandarin oranges, some shredded mozzarella, crispy chow mein noodles, craisins (infused with pomegranate), and a light balsamic vinegarette dressing. I used my other FAVORITE kitchen appliance:
SALAD SPINNER....

Its the little things that make my heart sing! Salad spinner makes it possible to rid your freshly washed leaves of water for a crunchy salad. Such a fun little gadget with some serious results. I use it every chance I get- love it! :)

Garlic Encrusted Pork Tenderloin is another Pintrest find. I love that site, you can organize plans for future experiments.

You will need:
4-5 garlic cloves, finely minced or crushed
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
2 1/2 teaspoons coarse salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pork tenderloins (about 1¼ pounds each)
2 tablespoons canola oil (if preparing in oven)

Directions:
*Stir together garlic, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, and olive oil in a small bowl.
*Rub the paste all over pork. If you like or have the time, marinate overnight.
We aren't good at planning ahead, so we marinated it right before we cooked it and it was excellent!

Oven preparation:
*Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
*Heat canola oil in a large, heavy saute pan over medium-high heat. Working in batches if necessary, add pork, and brown all over, about 4 minutes.
*Transfer pan to oven (don't change pans, you don't need more to wash).
*Pour leftover marinade over pork in the pan.
*Roast pork, turning occasionally, until the internal temperature is 160 degrees, about 20 minutes.

Grill preparation:
*Sear the tenderloins on all sides, then grill for about 20-30 minutes, rotating every 10 minutes, until the internal temperature is 160 degrees.

*Transfer pork to a cutting board, and try to let it rest 10 minutes before slicing.


Thanks Pintrest for directing me to this great find at Kitchen Confidante.

Hope you enjoy!

Today I am thankful for: an unexpected evening at home. :)