Preaching while Female

As a campus minister, I don't preach that often. Yet when I do preach, I travel around to different locations. This can provide several challenges as Beth Carroll describes in this article: No Shoes, No Pants, No Service 

People aren't always sure what to do with the fact that I have long hair and choose to preach in a dress or a skirt. The sound person that I work with is usually male, and they're not sure what to do if the headphone set gets stuck in my hair (because I didn't think about putting it up). Most are thankful when I remember to wear a dress with a belt, on which the microphone pack can then hang. Others are grateful that I'm okay with a standing microphone instead of risking a 'wardrobe malfunction' because the weight of the microphone pack might be a bit much for the skirt I chose to wear that day. 

But other than the awkwardness of getting me set up to preach, I've rarely had people comment on what I've worn. I'm thankful that I can choose to preach in clothes that feel comfortable while also appropriately dressy for the context to which I'm preaching. 

I don't want my clothes to get in the way of people hearing the message I believe the Holy Spirit has invited me to share with the church. At the same time, while I want to be respectful in how I dress, I also do not wish to hide the female body that played a role in my receiving and preparing the message. I certainly do not wish to be a distraction, but I also believe that hiding my body by conforming to a male-dominated standard and expectations is also an unhelpful distraction from how God speaks in and through different genders.

Welcoming the new year with messy church

We welcomed the new year with my preaching on January 1st in my home church. While I'm not entirely sure if wrestling with a sermon is the best way for me to spend my last day of the year, I was thankful for yesterday's service and getting to preach. 

But I was also thankful that it was a bit messy, as that feels more true to who we are and what life has looked like these past few years. After all, we started off last year with most things closed down (again). And it feels like God meets us more in messiness than when we have our act together. After all, it is often only when I recognize my inability to do things on my own that I realize how much I need God to intervene, not only in and because of my failures, but also in every aspect of daily life.

And so I pray that my coughing at the end of the service didn't get in the way. Whether that be out of concern for how I was doing, as I struggled to stop coughing and finish the service, or whether it made others anxious that I was sick and potentially making others sick. Or even out of my own sadness that I coughed after taking the communion bread, as that association feels wrong (even if I realize that God is not always as digestible as we'd like God to be!)

And I give thanks for the second chair on the stage behind the pulpit and my child's enthusiasm in joining me there. And thanks that I belong to a church where she has been welcomed with joy so that I feel most people would be more delighted to see her up front than be distracted by how much she moves around. Next time, though, I'll make sure that she leaves the stage before I start preaching. Near the middle of my sermon, I felt her crawling by my feet and making herself comfortable under the pulpit (which is thankfully closed and actually a pretty cosy space for a child). Other than being a bit surprised, it wasn't that distracting for me (although I can imagine it might have caused some suspense to those watching me). 

One of the main messages of my sermon is that we are welcomed as God's people, that we are seen and loved, not just when we have our act together, but also in the foolishness and messiness of our real lives (see here for an earlier variation of the sermon). I find it a bit ironic (although fitting) that my leading the service got to be an illustration of that message. 

The messiness of marriage and parenthood

Valentine's Day brought with it cards, cake, candy, and tulips. It also brought declarations of love from my four-year-old and my own thankfulness for all of the morning coffees (and accompanying snack) that Matthijs has brought me on all these days I've worked from home during the pandemic. 

Even as I am deeply thankful for my marriage and parenthood, I also recognize that parenthood is hard. So is marriage. I laughed aloud at the following description that Stephanie Phillips wrote about her own relationship:

"My pronouncements of [my future husband's] perfection stretched far and wide, or at least to my meager blog audience, who were treated to glowing stories about his strength of character and witty repartee. The way I saw it, he had saved me from (shudder) a life of singleness as one of New York City’s resident Cat Ladies.

Then we got married, and had kids, and now those cats don’t sound so bad."

In a season when we've spent a bit too much time together and I sometimes desperately just want time alone, those words resonate me. 

Yet, I'm also thankful that not only do I still have the cat (who follows me around the house, acting as my personal heater in my cold basement office), but I have a family who patiently allows me space to struggle through the challenges of being human and grace for me as I learn better how to love them and extend them the same grace they extend me. 

Phillips describes her own coming to terms with the messy reality of marriage in the following way: 

"Some readers (and reviewers) — most, if you read the comments section of that review — would be more comfortable with the fairy-tale version of marriage that we believed in when we were kids; the one I unwittingly expected when my own knight showed up to rescue me from spinsterhood. But at some point (usually around the first time one of you farts, or during a sleepless night full of infant screams and threats of murder), the wheels do come off, which is to say that you actually begin to see each other. All of each other. This is when grace enters the picture, because sticking around becomes a choice when both of your flaws show in the marked relief of everyday light. Which feels reminiscent of another kind of love I know.

“Sometimes you fear possibility itself: the possibility of growing into something more expansive and generous than you are now, growing into a shape that might look ugly from the outside but feels beautiful from the inside,” writes Havrilesky, who is describing marital love but could be documenting my own interaction with God’s grace over the years."

For more of Phillips' words about marriage in response to Havrilesky's recent memoir, follow this link.

Presumed covid

While pandemic life has always been a bit uncertain, it feels like we've reached a new level in our house this week. Anyone living in Ontario with covid symptoms this last week (and trying to figure out the new PCR testing regulations) can probably relate to our family's conversations: so I think the little has covid? so we should probably isolate, right? should we use one of our last rapid tests on her (and if so, swab throat or nose)?

We can't actually get a PCR test for her. We do have 2 rapid tests left - and used one to get a negative result on Sunday (when we first heard her cough and we wanted to be safe in leaving the house), but is it worth trying again? 

The same document tells us that if you're not eligible for testing, then "if you have any of the symptoms listed below, the individual is presumed to have COVID-19 infection and is advised to self-isolate." And yes, the little has had a few symptoms: a nasty cough, some chills, a runny nose, extra fatigue, and even some shortness of breath a few days ago. Even if it's not covid, whatever she has is unpleasant and shouldn't be passed on to others. (Matthijs and I thankfully haven't gotten what she has). 

As for how much it matters - well, there are now new regulations for isolation: "If the individual is fully vaccinated OR is a child under the age of 12 years old, they should self-isolate for at least 5 days from symptom onset AND until their symptoms have been improving for 24 hours, whichever is longer in duration." Unfortunately, we didn't realize we all should have started isolating sooner - because we're still adjusting to the new rules - but tomorrow will be day 5. On top of that, our one housemate is mostly managing the inconvenience of staying out of contact with us (and the other has yet to return), and the little is slowly getting better. She's well enough now to enjoy being sick and so she fake coughs every time we ask her if she's getting better - so that she can avoid school and stay in her pyjamas all day. 

So I presume everything is okay and we're doing the best we can with the information we have - but I think I'd still like to know. Perhaps because I have a lingering sense of getting covid as being connected to some moral failure (even though I know that's wrong). Or perhaps simply because I'm tired of trying to make the best decisions when I don't feel like I know enough.

Strength for the ordinary

As we face another January that is shaped by a pandemic and pivoting, my prayer is that I would be able to trust that God would give us enough strength and hope in all of it - and that I might see the joys of the world around me, even if it's only the proud exclamations of my child's colouring of a Paw Patrol character (or a lunch picnic in her bedroom). 

A poem by Lisa Rieck about Mary's response to the angel's news, posted at InterVarsity's Well, resonated with me - about the challenges of living into what we are being asked to do. I can be filled with adrenaline for a new challenge, but it's a lot harder to actually follow through with a project and to keep my heart open to hope and love.

The following is an excerpt:

"In that moment, 

our holiness soars to its feet, ready to 

greet whatever epic task was just passed to us.

 

It’s the next moments that matter...

 

when no one knows what to say to a girl who

claims her seeming disgrace is actually 

good news of grace for the world.

 

I hope then that I will still 

be the Lord’s servant, opening 

my hands to welcome, like a 

womb, the Word that is being fulfilled." 

Lisa Rieck 

I encourage you to read the full poem here.

Chaos until Thanksgiving

Every job has its seasons of chaos and calm. With campus ministry, summer is usually a time of calm, while September is chaos. The pandemic has only increased the chaos for us, as we've been figuring out how to gather safely in-person. 

One of my campus ministry colleagues would argue that things should shift around Thanksgiving. Before then, our lives and ministry could be chaos. We should expect to be busy with organizing and meeting. With the beginning of the year, we should expect extra hours and extra chaos. But it should always be something temporary. Experience had taught us that (Canadian) Thanksgiving was a reasonable date to shift away from the mindset that overwork is normal. Instead, we should be paying attention to re-creating sustainable rhythms and to rest enough. by doing that, we are more able to be present for those coming to us, to be able to imagine and wonder what God might be asking for us, and to have the energy to deal with the inevitable (and temporary) crises that will still come up. 

I'm so thankful we've reached Thanksgiving. I'm ready for more sustainable rhythms and more wondering.

Sharing my work with my family

Several weeks ago, I helped host a breakfast in honour of our re-starting Wine Before Breakfast in person again. I got up early, packed up my things, and left Lydia behind with Matthijs.  

The next week we hosted our Wine Before Breakfast service online. I got up early and started to go downstairs. Lydia heard me, demanded to know where I was going, and insisted on coming with me. She was not going to be left out again! The next week was a repeat of the same.  

The following week we met in person. We weren't sure what to expect, and once again Lydia was left behind. She was not impressed. We promised her that if she woke up early enough, she could come with me this week. 

Matthijs and I woke up this morning, got ready, and were seated at breakfast, when I heard footsteps in the hallway upstairs. The footsteps went into our room to see if we were there, and then started running to go downstairs. When Lydia was at the top of the stairs, I told her: you made it! After getting her ready, Lydia and I left only a bit late (thankfully I have a fantastic team who can handle that). 

Lydia got to put out the bulletins and then gladly claimed the children's corner at Church of the Redeemer. She let me know that she'd join the rest of us when the singing started. She spent the service moving between the children's corner, dancing some, and hanging out with Matthijs or me (including when I was leading). And she got to have communion with us - Jesus' bread, as we call it. And then it was off to school.

My daughter loves being included in what we do. But today I think I delighted even more than she did with her and Matthijs being present. While she has had brief glimpses of my work through joining us briefly via Zoom, it has only been in the last month or so that she and Matthijs have gotten to participate in a Wine Before Breakfast service or meet 'my people' at our graduate group. 

As Matthijs has been such a supporter of what I do, it has been strange for him to be so distant. I am thankful that this is changing and for the images I am given of these changes: Lydia's solemn face in taking communion, as well as her joining us in singing Taize music.