Called to find God's presence in our actual lives

I found Tish Harrison Warren's recent article in Christianity Today, "As a Pandemic Parent, God Calls Me to This Loud and Lonely Life | Christianity Today, to be both encouraging and challenging as she invites us to look for God in our lives today.

Warren shares how Nouwen retells, in The Genesee Diary, how he longs for God to show up 

“in such an intensive and convincing way” that Nouwen would let go of his idols and commit himself unconditionally to God. In response, the abbot is neither surprised nor impressed. “You want God to appear to you in the way your passions desire,” he says, “but these passions make you blind to his presence now.” He calls Nouwen—and me—to find God’s presence in the only place where it can be found: in our actual lives."

I find this challenging, because I find being present in my actual life hard at times. It's easier to imagine that - if only ' circumstances changed, I'd be able to be as holy and loving as I imagine I can be.

Yet, I also find it encouraging because I find it comforting to know that I'm not alone in my spiritual 'fantasies.' I also find it encouraging to be reminded that I do not have to wait for circumstances to be perfect to experience God's presence in my life. God is already here in the middle of my messy and imperfect life. 

In fact, as Warren notes, my messy and complicated life is an invitation to a different kind of spiritual discipline: 

"Typically, when I forsake spiritual practices like silence or solitude, I tend to conceive of it as a failure of discipline—like skipping a workout and eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s instead. But during Covidtide, having to frequently surrender these practices is its own kind of suffering. The call to notice God in the actual moment I’m in is therefore a call to meet him in suffering, however quotidian that pain may appear."

Maundy Thursday - Thoughts on John 13

Two years ago I preached a sermon on John 13:1-15,34-35. The following are some thoughts from that sermon:


A number of churches and people continue the ritual of foot-washing on Maundy Thursday. If you have ever participated in a footwashing ceremony, you know that it’s a bit of an awkward experience. Feet are known, at worst, for their smell and, at best, for their usefulness in getting you around. There is something uncomfortable about getting on one’s hands and knees and touching someone else’s foot – or having someone touch your foot.

When we read this passage, we can easily gloss over the awkwardness of the footwashing. As everyone wore sandals and the roads were dusty and filled with garbage and animal dung, foot washing was an ordinary part of life back then. But if we look at the text, it doesn’t sound like what is happening is ordinary in any way.

The text describes in detail the foot washing. It describes how Jesus lay down his clothing to put on a serving towel. Within a few hours from this moment, Jesus’ clothing would be replaced with the kingly clothes in which the soldiers mock him and then his clothes would be stripped from him on the cross. Like Jesus lays down his clothing to wash his feet, Jesus, as the good shepherd, would lay down his life for his sheep. [cf John 10]

Jesus lay aside his clothing, poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. We recognize the strangeness of the actions through Peter’s interruption. Peter asks: Lord, are you really going to wash my feet? Even after Jesus assures Peter that he will later understand, Peter still adamantly refuses to have Jesus wash his feet. Even when Jesus makes it clear to Peter that refusing to have him wash his feet was the same as refusing to have any part with Jesus – even then, Peter doesn’t stop protesting. The protest simply shifts from Peter demanding that Jesus not wash any of him to demanding that Jesus wash all of him.

Peter’s response is perhaps not the most surprising part of the passage. After all, we, too, have the tendency to extremes. Often we live as people who don’t believe we need our feet washed – we act as if we’re fundamentally good folks who just happen to have some quirks. Or, we tend towards the other extreme – overwhelmed by how we have failed or seeing ourselves as worthless in God’s eyes. We so often forget the role of water in our lives – the power of the baptism in which we are brought into the community of God and Jesus’ continued ability to wash us of our sins.

The surprise in the passage is how Jesus responds. He does not sigh in exasperation at Peter’s extremes, nor at how the disciples don’t seem to recognize who he is and his love for them. Instead, Jesus simply explains what it means to follow him.

After showing them what love looks like, he explains that they, having had their feet washed by their Lord and teacher should now go out and wash one another’s feet. Later in the text, he puts this slightly differently. Just as Jesus had loved them, so they are to love one another.

Jesus’ love extends grace to them as they don’t understand; yet the grace also includes the invitation given in the footwashing – that they might have a part in him. While Jesus is not standing in front of us with a bowl of water to wash our feet, the invitation to have a part with Jesus extends also to us.

Having been washed by Christ, we are then invited to do as Jesus has done. Jesus has washed away the smelliness of our sins but has also reminded us of how our sinfulness doesn’t define us. We, just like our feet, have a purpose. We are to love as Jesus has first loved us.

The text notes that this is a new command, but it is hardly a new idea. Loving one’s neighbor was an important part of the Old Testament law. [Leviticus 19:18, 35] The newness of the command is not in what it is telling us to do but about how we are to go about it. Because of Jesus’ love for the disciples – and us – we are able to go out and live fully into the impossible command of loving our neighbors – not on our own strength but because of Christ’s deep love for us. Just like Jesus’ feet were anointed, so Jesus’ footwashing anoints us to the work of sharing the good news.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

God in unexpected places

Ethan Vanderleek, a Christian Reformed campus minister in British Columbia, recently wrote an article in Christian Courier about how God shows up in unexpected places. In the article he describes working together with another faith group in order to serve others - and how God, not surprisingly, is present in that action.

He closes the article by speaking about one of the things that is fundamental to my understanding of campus ministry from a (Christian) Reformed perspective. My calling as a campus pastor is not to bring God to the university. Instead, God is already present there. I simply have the task (and joy!) of highlighting how God is at work. Or as Ethan puts it:

"Since God in his goodness is at work in quiet and persistent ways, we ourselves should be willing to see God’s faithfulness at work in unfamiliar places – not in the places where we normally look. We should be willing to confess that we don’t always know where to look for God. We didn’t know to look for God in the suffering man on the cross, nor do we look for God often enough in the poor and lonely people of the world, nor perhaps in faith communities which seem so different from our own. But if goodness is an often shrouded and hidden thing, as the crucified Christ helps us to see, then these strange places are perhaps precisely where we ought to look for God and for goodness."

What do true (Christian) conservatives/orthodox think?

I was reading through an article awhile ago about how (Dutch) Catholics have been responding to Pope Franciscus. For those not aware of the Dutch situation, many Dutch Catholics would be considered more liberal than the average Catholic in the rest of the world. This reflects the reality that the Dutch, in general, are more liberal than the rest of the world. The interview itself was with Frank G. Bosman and found on the nieuw wij (new we) website.

Skimming along, I bumped into the following statement (see below for the Dutch):
"Liberal and middle-of-the-road Catholics are very happy with the new pope, as he brings hope for a new future to Catholics who've been plagued by scandals and internal fights here in the Netherlands. However, the truly conservative Catholics in the Netherlands (and elsewhere) are less happy with him. He focuses less on liturgy, says nothing about abortion, euthanasia, or homosexuality unless it's absolutely necessary (because he has more important things to deal with)... "

This last line stopped me immediately. Perhaps because I'm Protestant and spend a lot of time reading the Bible. And not saying a lot about abortion, euthanasia or homosexuality sounds a lot like Jesus - and the Bible in general. It's not that there's nothing to say, just proportionately so many other things in the Bible get a much higher priority, like loving God with all your heart, doing justice, not being greedy, pretentious or hard-hearted. Being seen as somebody who is more focused on the most important things of the Bible - and even more so, is so busy living those things out that talking about it does not always feel appropriate - is not only something that I am thankful to see in the new pope, it is also a compliment that I would be very honoured to receive.  


 
The Dutch translation of Frank Bosman's statement is as follows, as taken from the article, "Echt conservatieve katholieken zijn minder blij met de paus" 30 July 2013: "Van vrijzinnig tot gematigd conservatieve katholieken zijn bijzonder blij met deze nieuwe paus. Het nieuwe elan dat hij in woord en vooral ook in daad uitstraalt, geeft de door schandalen en interne ruzies geplaagde Nederlandse katholieken een nieuwe horizon en hoop op een nieuwe tijd. De echt conservatieve katholieken in Nederland (en daarbuiten trouwens) zijn minder blij met deze paus. Hij is wars van liturgische en ceremoniële tierlantijnen, spreekt met geen woord over abortus, euthanasie en homohuwelijk als dat niet strikt noodzakelijk is (want hij heeft belangrijkere zaken aan zijn hoofd) en is vrijwel zeker niet geïnteresseerd in het herstellen van de oude, Tridentijnse liturgie en de bijbehorende achterhaalde triomfalistische theologie."

Church shopping?!? Searching for what I've been missing

"Church shopping" has always bothered me. It seems to suggest that church is about meeting my needs, as it is often about finding a church that best fits what I want and has the programs and teaching I think I need. It also seems to go against the idea that it might be good to be part of a church that doesn't reflect only my own ideas about Christianity or my own experiences and life phase. Neither of those seem to be a healthy reflection of living faithfully as the body of Christ. My theory about finding a church is much simpler: figure out which denomination fits best with what you believe the Bible teaches and then attend the nearest church that is part of (or closest to) that denomination.

Except, as most people will tell you, it's not quite that simple. What if you and your children are not made to feel welcome? What if it's not really the local church (i.e., most come from far away to attend and/or are not interested in the neighbourhood)? What if the music or the preaching constantly makes you cringe? What if the theology taught/practiced in the church actually doesn't fit with the denomination and/or your understanding of what is biblical? Does it make a difference if you have problems with the language? When do you stay and try to work things out, and when do you start looking for a new church?

I now am part of the Oudekerk (PKN), which I've attended fairly faithfully these last 7 years. As much as I've appreciated this church, I also feel a strong desire to church shop, which is a desire I've never really had before. It's like there is something that is missing in my faith or church life - and I'm not even exactly sure what it is. It's not good music or liturgy that I'm missing or even a concern for social justice and each other, as I've found all of these things present in the Oudekerk. I have also felt very welcome - even after acknowledging that I don't always feel theologically at home there. Yet, I long for something more, and so I am searching. Whether it be an actual church, a social group, found online/written, talks with the pastor, a Bible Study, or something else I'm not sure.

In essence I am searching for ways in which I meet together with more spiritual and/or theological 'kindred spirits.' People who get upset about moral theology, like many of the CRC folk I know who read in the denominational magazine that someone wrote tht perhaps we Christians should tolerate recreational sex (the first article by Chelsea about intimacy is actually really good and worth reading, even if you're not interested in the controversy). Or people with whom I don't have to explain that going to church on Sunday is a non-negotiable for me - it's part of how I make myself more open to meeting God. Or maybe I simply long to be the liberal Christian instead of being so often the theologically conservative one. Or perhaps it is as simple as my looking for a group who talks more about how God is actively working in our lives now, something that came forward in a testimony last Sunday and which brought up a longing in my heart.

Part of me wishes I didn't have to go through this theological discomfort of having the sense that something is missing in my faith/spiritual life. I don't remember this discomfort so much when I only knew one denomination well. Yet, I am also thankful to recognize the disquiet I had - the sense that I was missing something - and am grateful that there are those wanting to help me in my search. I hope/believe that all of this will help me grow in faith.

Fasting and Lent

Lent is often seen as a time of giving something up as a way of focusing more on Christ (and his suffering), of practicing denial and longing, and/or being able to celebrate Easter more fully.

The community at Oudezijds 100 fasts by giving up desserts and meat (except fish) for the forty days leading up to Easter. The mealtimes are also held in silence, with music playing in the background. To be honest, except for the lack of dessert, lent is actually my favourite time of the year to eat with the community. There are a couple of reasons for that:
1. I don't have to worry about whether I'll know what to say to my neighbour during the meal.
2. I don't have to do anything extra to ensure that there'll be a vegetarian option available.
3. on Sundays, we do actually talk, as well as eat meat and dessert. And then it's a feast and extra special :)
So for lent, we'll hopefully eat with the community more often. At home, we'll join in somewhat, as we'll continue to go without meat, not have ice cream (but still have dessert), and go without alcohol.

Although joining in with what the community is doing is more than enough to help us look forward to Easter (Matthijs and I have weekend duties on Easter weekend, so that will definitely further help us live up fully to Easter), I still wanted to figure out if there was something that I personally could or should do (either more of or less of) during Lent. And going to chapel in the community more often was what came to me when I thought/prayed more about it. Closely connected to that is Matthijs's desire to do daily prayers more often.

The strange part of choosing to go more often to chapel during Lent is that it's not something I want to give up after Easter, as if when Easter comes, I am set free from doing this. So I had to wonder more about how going to chapel actually fits with Lent and fasting. I realized that while I now feel that going to chapel is a bit of a chore, I'm hoping that going more often during Lent will help me appreciate chapel more. Hopefully, by Easter time, going to chapel will become more something I delight in getting to do as often as possible.

Sharing Christian norms - across church traditions and cultures

A little while ago I was talking with one of the volunteers at Oudezijds 100 about the Bible and church. I knew he was Catholic, and I'd mentioned the Catholic church during the evening prayers. There'd been a bit of an uproar here in the Netherlands about the Pope's stand against homosexual marraige, and I wondered if the Catholic Church in Poland had also been receiving a lot of criticism. No.

I'd just had a great discussion about old-fashioned norms in villages (and if that was also true in Canada), so my conversation with the volunteer quickly shifted from the relative non-isue of homosexuality to other cultural and church norms. Expectations about getting married came up, but also church norms (even the church catechism).

Near the end of the conversation, he mentioned how he was surprised that some of the Christians in the Netherlands he knew did not find it necessary to go to church on Sunday morning. My agreement with him was so enthusiastic that he thought at first that I was joking. But I wasn't - in fact, it's one of those things that has always puzzled and somewhat distressed me. Until now, I have never met any other Christian in this area who has questioned it (disclaimer: Christians from more conservative backgrounds would likely also consider Sunday church attendance a norm, however, they would also likely find the Red Light District a problematic place to live). And so imagine my surprise when this Polish Catholic - whom many would consider to be very different from me in terms of culture and church tradition - is the first one I've heard question this! Furthermore, his questioning reaffirmed for me that, despite what here is often the norm, being a Christian means going to church on Sundays (and how wonderful is it to have Christians from other cultures and traditions to remind us of what we sometimes are no longer sure about).

Some effects of being comfortable with another

This past week, I read an article in the local newspaper (Het Parool) about research done on how emotions are interpreted from somebody whose face is completely covered except for the eyes. People were asked to look at images of women whose faces were covered by a headscarf + veil and women whose faces were fully covered by a scarf and hat. Despite the fact that the same amount of face/eyes could be seen with the two different types of head coverings, fear and anger - negative emotions - were identified most frequently with those with the very traditional Islamic headcoverings. This suggests that people's discomfort with this type of head covering very much influences how they perceive others.

The idea of how one's comfort with another affects perception was a fascinating thought, and one that deserved pondering. And more than simply pondering whether or not I felt comfortable with women fully veiled (although I do wonder whether my being female, like those who are veiled, makes me feel more comfortable in the presence of such a female).

Strangely enough, the next time being comfortable with one another came up was during a discussion of ecumenicalism. Someone mentoned a sense of discomfort with a British journalist who had come to learn more about the community here - there was a sense of distrust and even feelings of having been manipulated. Havng met the journalist myself, I was somewhat surprised, as I had had none of that reaction. But I had forgotten that I am a native English speaker and would thus be immediately somewhat comfortable with the way a Brit communicates.

As we continued the discussion on ecumenicalism, it became obvious to me that a certain level of comfort with another person's Christian tradition was helpful for being able to appreciate elements in it. Otherwise, a person will become defensive and focus on defending his/her own practices, beliefs, and traditions. Living together in community, as we do here, helps develop that sense of comfort with each other - church traditions gain faces: people with whom I live and work and pray. And as a I learn to be surprised by and appreciative of another as individual, I have come to recognize that I can also be challenged and encouraged by his/her faith and (church) tradition.

'Man cannot live by bread alone'

If you go days without eating vegetables (or fruit), your body starts to act unhappy. This feeling that there is something wrong is likely worse if you're used to eating a lot of vegetables.

As much as I believe God intended us humans to eat vegetables on a regular basis, I'm pretty sure that this isn't exactly the intended meaning of the text, 'man cannot live by bread alone.' (Matthew 4.4)

And yet the idea of going without vegetables gives a good illustration for how I've experienced this text in the last little while. Just like I feel kind of out-of-order when I haven't had enough vegetables, I feel kind of grouchy and out of sorts when I don't attend communal prayer times regularly.

It's not that this is the only way I can get 'my vegetables' (i.e., relating to God): reading the Bible, personal prayers, singing, attending church services, reading good spiritual literature, playing piano, visiting a monastery for a weekend are all other ways that I've discovered. But there's something about communal prayer appeals to me; kind of like I prefer broccoli to beans (and much more than brussel sprouts!).

I'm thankful to live in a place where such communal prayer isn't so far away. I've discovered that it takes 15 minutes to get from my apartment to the chapel of the brothers of Saint John here in Den Haag. I haven't made it to the prayer time at 7 a.m. yet, but the midday prayer (and once in awhile the evening prayer) is becoming a regular part of my life. The classic prayer liturgy of psalms and prayers, chanted by a group of monks close to my age, is starting to become welcomingly familiar to me.

If I ever feel too lazy to get on my bike to go there, I can always remind myself of how not ideal it feels to go without vegetables for too long...

Taking time to contemplate life

I received the following quote in my feed reader today (taken from the Subiaco Abbey blog): 

I found it a good reminder: taking time to contemplate life is something I strive to do.

But at the same time, even as much as I'm thankful for how good it has been to slow down and resting after the wedding event, I struggle with how much the slowing down is actually good contemplation and how much is taking a good and necessary break - and how much can be laziness and/or a lack of desire of putting in the hard work of making new patterns and trying out new things?

Thus I have more to contemplate - in this season of contemplation and remembering that Christ is coming, coming to heal us of our brokenness.

I heard the bell ringing

I heard the bell ringing - an invitation to come to chapel. And so I went.

Certainly there was a slight pause while deciding if I would answer. I don't expect to hear the bell on a Friday night; with many people on vacation, there are few people around who would hear the bell. And not expecting the bell, I hadn't planned on going - the plan was instead to finish a book.

But after hearing the bell, the decision was fairly simple. I could come to chapel, so why wouldn't I? It would remind me again to turn my heart to God and to attune myself to His presence. And I had no idea if chapel would simply be a series of songs and quiet prayer and a Bible reading; or whether in the midst of that I'd be more aware of God's presence in my life and what He'd have for me.

And I went. And in so doing I was reminded of why I came - and I remembered why I'd continue to go - for the simple reminder of turning my heart towards God, something I hope to do in my whole life but made easier by the regular chapel times and constant reminder to come and join in prayer.


update aug 2010: An article in the most recent letter from St. Gregory's Abbey also focuses on the value of the bell in calling one to prayer and recognizing the gift of being reminded of how one's time is for God. It can be downloaded from their Archive (current issue: or nr 242 once a new issue comes out).