Sabbatical Reflections: From Strangers I could judge to Colleagues I could delight in

"What is the question for your Sabbatical?" I was asked in one of my first conversations with someone connected to campus ministry in the Netherlands. I mostly knew the answer: I wanted to pay attention to how God works, and grow in the spiritual practice of actively waiting on God. But that wasn't what I wanted to focus on in this conversation: I had come wanting to know more about how this pastor’s particular church denomination approached campus ministry, so I could judge them against my own. Instead, I felt judged: I stumbled to express myself well in Dutch; I was pushed on why we haven't focused more on student well-being; and wasn't my understanding of God too small?

The primary project of my Sabbatical was to visit different campus ministries to be inspired and gain new ideas. But I think I also went with the assumption that I would come back with wisdom (that I would be asked to share) and the reassurance that how we were doing things here is good (and even better than there). The preliminary research I did seemed to confirm my feelings of superiority. I discovered that almost all of the church denominations had decreased or limited the funds for campus ministry, and few of the current campus ministers had been there long enough to live through the changes that the pandemic brought to ministry. When I looked through the websites from ministries, few of them mentioned God or even Christianity, and many pastors were life-coaches or another generic term.

And then I started sending out emails to different campus ministers, asking if I could stop by to meet them and hear more about their ministries. My emails were met with affirmation and curiosity. They welcomed my questions and were curious about my own ministry and what I was learning with this project. The gracious hospitality humbled me, and the conversations shifted from my completing an agenda that was based on knowledge and affirmation of what I had been doing, to being open to what the Spirit might teach me. How could I not shift perspective once I shared with others the joyous delight of recognizing a partner in ministry, something I treasured from my connections with other Christian (and) Reformed campus ministries and at my local campus?

Campus ministry is complex and exciting, and it was a joy to feel welcomed by and able to affirm others who share in this calling to serve God in this way. Who else but a campus minister could fully understand what it is like to need to constantly try new things, some of which will inevitably fail? Or who would recognize how hard it can be to trust in God working when many of our interactions with students are brief, mere stepping stones on a faith journey which we might never get to see?

Some quotes from Andrew Roots' When Church stops working

With a group of other campus ministers, we're doing a book group on Andrew Root's, When Church Stops Working. We started the conversation with each of us asking why we're interested in the book. Many of us had heard of Andrew Root and appreciated him. Others of us related to the sense of overwhelm by the push for more in all areas of our lives. And for me, it's about needing help in being able to imagine things differently (as the last quote highlights).
As part of my preparation for the conversation, I highlighted a few quotes that I found helpful. They are as follows:

Chapter 1:

• p 2, 5 "There is a feeling of not enough: too little influence, too few people, too fragile belief...The solution is [more]: the right balance of resource management and effective innovation, which makes our church grow sustainably."
• But p. 6 "The problem is wicked, meaning there is no actual solution, in which case we need to despair. Or those books misdiagnose the problem." 
• Pages 9-12 give overview of the 3 types of secular. While I think they're important to know to frame the conversation, I found the way they were written to set up a mildly annoying (and false) tension around how the secular age is the problem, so that the authors could come in and say well, actually not, and surprise look how God works in and through it. He uses more helpful language on page 13. "In this book, we want to reimagine the church within the secular age. We believe God continues to act in the world, and because God acts in the world, we believe it is possible for the church [+ ministry] to flourish."
• p 14 "Because the secular age separates the secular and the sacred, making belief private and the immanent the agreed-upon public reality, the church has a hard time imagining what a public faith that witnesses to the transcendent looks like." I'd argue that our institutions suffer similar difficulties in not knowing what to do with religion/spirituality. 
•  p15 speaking on a personal level "We obsess over work-life balance... Efficiency is often the solution... We think we can do more than we actually can...The busyness we experience comes from the feeling that we need to accelerate every part of our lives." 
• p 16 "Our diagnosis is that the opposite of acceleration isn't dead or slow. The opposite is more resonance.... Resonance is all about connecting with the world, with the people in our lives, and finding a meaning that is greater than what we can see and explain. Resonance is about the sacred, the public, and the transcendent."

Chapter 2:

• p21 In our origin/hero stories, "it is inevitable that they will triumph. This triumphalism fits well with the secular story we live in: more is better." This might explain why it feels like we can't be honest about the complicated reality but can only tell success stories.
•  p 23-4. "The real origin story starts in Acts 1 [not the triumphal version of Acts 2] with waiting for God to act. God is the hero, and the church waits.... Waiting, as practiced by the disciples and advocated by us, is not inactive.It is responsive. God acts and we respond. What we are saying, though, is that the secular age blinds us to God's action, and so all we are left with is our action.... We have no way of imagining what it would look like for God to act in our lives.... If we are to take our own origin story seriously, we need to see that God's people only act in response to God's act."  
• Diagnosis (again) of the problem: p 29, 31: "We run and run and run, exhausting ourselves and those around us in the process.... Busyness dominates us. Acceleration causes fatigue, filling our lives till there is no room left, even if the thing we want to add could be valuable. We don't blame church leaders for this. They are moving fast, not so that they can get ahead but simply so that they don't fall behind... Acceleration, the busyness we feel, is a symptom of our frustrated search for meaning."
  
• p 32 "You can't wait when you are busy, caught up in your own project... when we are not waiting in a ready stance, we can miss the important things."
• p 35 In Genesis, "[Sarah's] imagination can't see what God is doing because what God is doing is so far out there."
• p 36 "Whether we cannot see God because the secular age has malformed our imaginations or because it has made us so busy that we cannot see God, when we try to talk about the experience of seeing God, language fails.... We are so used to doing that having an encounter with God surprises us."

Ready for the year?

This past week I have

Dikkie Dik helping with the updates

- preached (and will preach the same sermon again on Sunday);

- attended my first council meeting as an elder;

- purchased new glasses (the last pair were bought in Michigan);

- got my hair coloured (the last time was more than 2 years ago)

- got a flat tire, which my brother-in-law quickly fixed (and sent me on my way with a donut that was properly inflated);

- visited 2 prisons for women in Canada and learned a lot more about the prison system, including how full it is;

- ran 2 months worth of updates on 20+ laptops at my daughter's school; and thus inadverntly became part of the tech committee; 

- attended and volunteered at the back-to-school bbq for her school;

- have been slowly editing an overdue article on vocation - maybe tomorrow it'll fine get submitted with an apology; 

- met with folks to get ready for the school year.

- made soup for tomorrow's GCF (Graduate Christain Fellowship);

- wrote a lot of emails and had some good conversations. 

Potato leek soup for tomorrow

This is my last week before we enter the chaotic season of September (tomorrow is my first 12-hour day again, where I have a team meeting, a graduate resource fair, and Graduate Christian Fellowship). I'm trying to finish up a bunch of extra things before everything starts up, but it also feels like things are starting off with a bang. If this is a sign of the year to come, it makes me deeply thankful for Matthijs' and others' support but also makes me curious (albeit a bit nervous) about all the surprises and new adventures that are coming. 

The grace of the unexpected

 A poem by Sara Kay Mooney on the Mockingbird website made me smile by how it describes God rearranging our expectations:  

"On the weekends, I play Wordle

with Jesus. He makes
the puzzles; I guess the words.

I’m not very good (though
I’m learning). That Christ—

he’s a tricky one. Always
thwarting expectations. Upending

things. Full of surprises, that guy.
...

Last week, shame
turned out to be share, 

Sorry was story,
greed was greet,

...

See  On the weekends, I play Wordle for the rest of the poem. 

I was in prison and did you visit me?

Matthijs has been visiting Dutch citizens in prisons for awhile now. This has always felt like a good thing for him to do, but not something for me. He's asked me about it a few times, but my answer has been no. I'll make it possible for you to travel to do this, but I have enough on my plate already.

On Good Friday, I went to a service where they offered a variation of "the complaints of God." It includes quotes the text from Matthew 25, which asks where were you when I was hungry, sick, in prison. And I have mostly ignored the 'in prison' part of it, because who did I know in prison?

And well, it felt like a nudge from the Spirit this time to say, um, well, actually there's that woman in Matthijs' region that he hasn't been able to visit. So I do know know at least one person who needs a visit and I am one of the few people I know who is uniquely qualified to visit (qualified in the sense of being a Dutch speaker living in this region who has pastoral training). And there was a sense that if I can help, shouldn't I? So I reached out to the organization that Matthijs works with to let them know that I was willing to visit women in prison in Canada or nearby.

 
This request to visit only women is a bit odd, but not atypical of me. One of the things that I was doing on Sabbatical was to continue to understand how being autistic affects my life. Interestingly enough, a study/podcast on Christianity on the spectrum highlighted that pastors who are autistic tend to do well when we focus on certain niches (like I do with campus ministry). So just because I'm a pastor and have gifts for pastoral care for young adults and folks connected to the university does not mean that I'm good at pastoral care for all people, and it's okay for me to recognize my current limitations. 

Most prisoners are men, so I figured my willingness to visit women in prison meant that I was helping but also not signing up to do too much. However, as what feels a bit like the Spirit laughing at me (or at least a verification of that initial nudge), in Canada there are a number of Dutch women in prison who are interested in a prison visit. So this is the beginning of a new experience in ministry for me. I pray that I might listen well and share God's hope with people's lives who are differently complicanted than mine. 

Welcome to the Awkward Club - coming to terms with being autistic

Several years ago, I came to the realization that I was likely on the (autistic) spectrum. People can have odd ideas about what it means to be on the spectrum, and I think it's important to challenge those assumptions when possible. So I've tried to be open about my experience, which is why I wrote about it in the Christian Courier awhile ago. 

The following is the article:

"Neurodiversity has been a part of my story for a while, even as it has taken me a long time to recognize that and see the goodness in it. It wasn’t until someone started talking about the connection between autism spectrum disorder and the inability to escape fight or flight mode that I recognized a parallel with my own tendency to “check out” when I’m overwhelmed. A couple of online diagnostic tests and a lot of reading later, I came to understand that my “checking out” was likely connected to how neurodiversity can affect executive functions, which are basically the overarching skills that allow for time management, completing projects, social interactions, processing emotions and stimuli, and more.

I describe myself as being neurodiverse, or being on the spectrum, as I think it helps people to understand me and to be introduced to one more picture of neurodiversity. At the same time, I don’t ever want my neurodiversity to be an excuse for behaviour that hurts others. But seeing myself as being on the spectrum has helped me to understand how and why I’ve struggled with some things, like making friends in high school, taking so long to finish my dissertation and even my dislike of indirectness and/or Christian niceness.

What makes me see this diagnosis as being a gift from God is that it’s helped take away some of my shame of not fitting in or being as successful at things as I think I should be. It’s helped me understand and have compassion for my struggles, like anxiety, sloth or gluttony, recognizing that these struggles are not simply a lack of faith or willpower: these struggles might also be related to some sensory things and overwhelm connected to neurodiversity. Furthermore, the growing understanding of neurodiversity, both in myself and among society today, is helping me understand what tools, expectations and accommodations might be helpful as I try to live my life in a way that loves God and others. 

Last of all, I have learned to see how God can use my growing understanding of neurodiversity as a gift to others. My dissertation is based on noticing patterns in the syntax of the text of Ezekiel: how the multiple unfounded conclusions, pronouns without clear references, and the visions might contribute to the complex message of repentance and hope proclaimed to a people burdened by decades of sin and entering exile. I hadn’t realized that my ability to notice certain patterns is an autistic trait.

In my pastoral work, I’ve often been able to connect with those who are seen as odd or awkward. My directness and honesty can be refreshing to others, like the grad students who appreciate my asking five minutes into the conversation whether we’ve done enough small talk.

My hope is that I’m able to create space for others to be honest and even vulnerable. I recognize that I’m not as concerned about making others uncomfortable as a neurotypical person might be. I bring up things others might have avoided as potential sources of conflict. This has led to awkward moments, but as anyone who is neurodiverse might tell you, awkward is simply a normal part of our lives, and we’re more than willing to share that experience with you."

Campus Life in the Netherlands compared to Canada

Student life is a very significant department at most Canadian (and American) universities. A positive housing experience, including a strong push by most universities that first-year students to live on campus, is also part of the Canadian university experience. Most campus ministers/ministries in Canada, with the exception of those closely associated with a local church, tend to be connected to Student Life, either through the ministry being recognized as student group or with the chaplain working directly with a division of Student Life, such as wellness, a mult-faith centre, or even international student support. 

In the Netherlands, however, student life is more likely to refer to "how you spend your leisure time at university" than look like a Canadian Student Life department. The exception to this is a growing focus on wellness, particularly with pressure being placed on universities in response to studies showing students are not doing well.

Furthermore, most universities in the Netherlands do not provide housing for students. The few places that do have 'student housing' available generally work with housing corporations and tend to limit the availability to international students. (Dutch) students are given free travel on public transit on either weekdays or in the weekend. This means that many students are at home frequently during their studies, either through living at home or by travelling home most weekends.

Given the significant differences in campus life, it should be no surprise that campus ministry in the two different countries looks quite different. At the same time, there were interesting parallels and opportunities to learn from each other, which I'll say more about as I continue to reflect on my Sabbatical experience.

The above has been cross-posted on the UofT Christian Reformed Campus Ministry website, which sponsored my sabbatical. 

Concerns and comments from the CRC related to campus ministry

Earlier this year the Christian Courier did a survey of the Christian Reformed Church. One article reflecting on that survey, And there’s more, highlighted some of the various comments of people in the survey. The following two comments at the end struck me for how they related to the work we do in campus ministry :

“Conservatism in Canada is surging in YOUNG PEOPLE. They want clear doctrine, a different, non-masochistic way of living, and are flooding the church. Ask yourself an honest question: what do the five thriving churches near you have in common? They aren’t ‘woke.’”

“The biggest question that I have heard within my church is, ‘Is there still space for me in the CRC?’ This question does not come from people who have a clear opposition to the CRC’s doctrine, in fact, some are aligned doctrinally with the CRC. The question comes from wondering if the CRC is still a denomination that invites complexity on issues, both theologically and in practice. They are concerned that the CRC is drifting away from the Reformed heart of wonder and investigation, with a healthy hesitation to pass absolute statements on how to live out biblical truths.”

Parenting and prayers

One of the things I've learned from my Sabbatical is a growing desire to write more, in the hopes that this helps me both process and share hopeful things that I've learned. It also means sharing wisdom that I've gained from others. The article, A Pray (The Banner) by Melissa Kuipers, a former campus minster, struck me:

“Can you do a pray?” my 3-year-old asks through the rustling of sheets...  I like the activeness of turning the verb into a noun. Sometimes a prayer is too formal. So often I reach for the most rehearsed cliché words in my prayers for him. But a pray reminds me I can be playful when speaking to God, I can be thankful for the pedestrian things my child cares about: gratitude for a shortbread cookie from a friend who visited and listened to his long story about all the highlights of his 3-year-life, grief about yet another yellow fallen leaf from the jade plant, blessings for our loved ones living a plane trip away. A pray is ongoing. A pray is an action noun, like a kiss or a game. A pray is on a child’s terms. 

Melissa continues to talk about the busy-ness of life and a child and the challenges of spending time in contemplation. At the same time, her writing and description of her child's developing faith (see here under) bear witness to being present in the moment. Bear witness to paying attention to how God is working. Or in her words, that "God is here in this moment, I think. My kids speak God’s words so often."

The following is one more excerpt from the article, which to me captures some of the delight of speaking about faith with children:

As I am about to start the bedtime “pray,” the 3-year-old suddenly transforms into an otter in the waves of the blanket. I wrap him in kelp for a few minutes, and then ask, “Shall I pray for you?”

He reaches over and takes my face in his hands. “Yes, Little One,” he says. 

“Dear God,” I begin.

“God is everywhere,” he responds.

“Yes.”

“God lived for a very long time.”

“God is still alive. God has always been.” 

“I wish we could see God.” He speaks the words of Moses on the mountain, pulling the sheet over his face like a cloud.

“Me too. ...”

Disillusionment and growth

Dana Vanderlugt, in the Reformed Journal recently wrote about disillusionment and growth in a way that resonated with this season of Sabbatical: of how letting go of our false beliefs (our illusions) is connected to (spiritual) growth. 

The following are Dana's words as given in her July 10 article, Straddling Worlds: Disillusionment and the Call to Discomfort - Reformed Journal. It includes a thoughtful quote from Barbara Brown Taylor's book, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith.

Dana starts with her own story of her turning to God when she was far from home and when she was "questioning, disoriented, and uncertain:"

"Disillusionment is defined as the state of being freed from an illusion or false belief. It can be a letting go, rather than a disappointment. A dying, but in order to make room for new growth.

I’ve long been a fan of Barbara Brown Taylor—author of Leaving Church and Learning to Walk in the Dark. But recently, I came across a used copy of her 1993 memoir and collection of sermons, The Preaching Life. In its first chapter, “The Truth in Ruins,” she writes: 

Disillusionment is a loss of Illusion— about ourselves, about the world, about God— and while it is almost always painful, it is not a bad thing to lose the lies we have mistaken for the truth. Disillusioned, we come to understand that God does not conform to our expectations. We glimpse our own relative size in the universe and see that no human being can say who God should be or how God should act. We review our requirements of God and recognize them as our own fictions, our own frail shelters against the vast night sky. Disillusioned we find out what is not true and are set free to seek what is— if we dare. "

Sabbatical reflections

The Sabbatical has been a gift of perspective. It was an opportunity to be far enough and long enough away, so that I could let go of the regular burdens and weariness that I carried. And embark on this adventure that was a gift from my community and God. 

It was truly a Sabbath, a time away to help me let go of my sense of being needed so I could remember what was good. Those I left behind were more than able to care for things when I wasn't there. I had enough distance from the hard things to remember what I love about my job and our life in Canada. I know people have been praying for us as we've been gone, and we've received encouraging notes and many reminders that we are not the only ones looking forward to us coming home soon. 

I received so much hospitality: from the people who offered us a place to stay in the Netherlands to the many people who I could talk to about campus ministry or bibliodrama to the meals and childcare provided by my in-laws. How can I not return with a sense of wanting to share that hospitality, particularly after having my own cup overflow? 

We got to have adventures as a family: the kinds which involve trains, mountains, museums, castles, bikes, and good food. We connected with friends and family, delighting in our daughter's ability to communicate with others (part now in Dutch) and her getting to really know Matthijs' family. 

Like many of my projects, there are things I didn't get done. In these last two weeks, I feel pressure to work as hard as possible now to finish them off, forgetting that the projects of the Sabbatical were a means to an end: learning to practice listening to the nudges of the Spirit and pay attention to where God is working and how best to use my gifts and experiences. A Sabbatical won't make me a different person, so much as it has hopefully helped me be more content with who I am and the life that I already have, even as I hope to continue to grow and change in good and holy ways. 

The hope is that this blog (and perhaps other places) will be a place for me to write more about the Sabbatical: as a way of remembering and processing, as well as sharing this gift I've received with others. 

The above has been cross-posted on the UofT Christian Reformed Campus Ministry website, which sponsored my sabbatical. 

Eulogy for my father (June 2024)

My father wasn't one for fancy words, but if there's one thing my Dad would want you to know about him it's how much his faith meant to him. My Dad loved God deeply and sincerely and church meant a lot to him. He always prayed at our meals, ending his prayer with 'forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' Dad wanted us children to love God like he did and so they sent us to Christian school even though couldn't always afford it.

Life for my Dad was hard at times. He was strong-willed and stubborn, which sometimes helped and sometimes didn't. He would often say 'my way or the highway.' He wasn't good at taking advice which meant he sometimes had to learn things the hard way. And while I know many of us enjoyed arguing with him, his need to share his opinion sometimes hurt others. But his stubbornness also kept him going when times were tough. He worked hard and taught us children the value of perseverence, as he changed jobs and careers as needed. 

We worried about him after Mom died, but that strength, along with the help of God, family, friends, and church community (many of whom are present here at this funeral), got him through and back to enjoying life.

And did he ever enjoy life! He loved camping, good food, joking around, dropping by for a chat. And nothing gave him joy like those tables stretching into the living room so there'd be space enough for all 25 of us. He loved having his family together, being with his children and grandchildren. And when he married Gerda, he gained a few more to love, enjoy, and help out.

Dad was always strong and independent. It was hard to see him this last while, unable to do the things he loved. But in these last months, we also saw his faith. He deeply appreciated our prayers, and he trusted that his life and death were in God's hands. We'll miss him, but we trust that he's in heaven, where he'll enjoy lots of opportunities to just stop by and have a chat.

Grief

The last few days I've been unmotivated and somewhat short-tempered. It took me until yesterday to realize that the out-of-sorts feeling that I had was actually grief. This time, grief has felt like an extra layer of clothing, something that gets too warm at times but otherwise you don't notice it even though you carry it with you everywhere. 

When we went through the death of my Mom more than 12 years ago, I wrote about how grief shows up in different forms. I don't why, but I expected this time to be different with the loss of my Dad. With my Mom everything felt so sudden, and the grief felt raw. With my Dad, he'd been in the ICU multiple times in the last five months. I'd become a semi-expert in his health conditions and had re-arranged my life on an almost bi-weekly basis so that I could visit him and help out where possible. I'd been prepared to say good-bye to him several times and so had already begun grieving the possibility of his death. I'd also started grieving my Dad's growing inability to live life as robustly as he'd like, including and especially gallavanting around and 'stopping by for a chat.' And yet, some of the grief of my Dad's death has been tempered by a relief that he's not struggling anymore and that we, his children, made it through this season of caring for him as well as we could with our relationships remaining as healthy as they have been. 

But grief is still grief. I'm feeling the loss of someone I care about, a loss of new memories to be made, and an emptiness when I think of how I'd like to turn to him. Not just about that funny sound my car is (still) making, but also to remember things, like the box spring he pretty much took apart to fit into one of our houses when we moved. We managed to get the other boxspring in with enough shoving. But with the most recent move into a new house, shoving wouldn't have worked. So we cut some boards and folded it in half. And Matthijs used the staple gun my Dad made us buy for the last boxspring adventure to get everything back to almost new. And the memory, which reminded me of how much my Dad desired to care for us, going the extra mile, made me feel his absence.

The Spirit makes me uncomfortable?

I wrote the following in the summer of2020 (and posted on the Campus Edge ministry blog). As we are looking at 1 Peter as part of our study at Graduate Christian Fellowship, I thought it might be helpful to post it again: 

As we were reading 1 Peter 2 and 3 this past week at study, a student noted that the text made her uncomfortable. As the text was talking about slavery, women, and submission, it was easy for me to understand why she felt uncomfortable. As we noted in our study on Colossians a number of years ago, too often those of us who’ve grown up in the church have seen how submission has been used to validate abuse, or, at the least, make women second-class citizens.

It would be easy thus to dismiss this text as no longer being culturally relevant to today. Yet, to do so would be to lose an opportunity for the Holy Spirit to work to challenge what assumptions we might bring to the text, whether that be errors in our own perception or unhealthy assumptions that we have learned from church/Christian culture and/or society at large.

For instance, the dominant voices of our society invite and encourage us to put me first and not let anyone hold us back from unleashing our inner potential. Might our discomfort with the word submission be because such a narrative of me first leaves little space or validation for submission of any sort? What picture of God’s love might we show when we actively choose to let go of some of our own personal wants and desires for the good of others?

Yet, might our discomfort with the word submission be a misunderstanding of the word submission? Might our submission be less of a diminishing of self and more of a living more fully into who God has called us to be, including through challenging systems of oppression, as Walsh and Keesmaat propose in their book, Colossians Remixed?

While dismissing the text might be the easiest way to get rid of the discomfort brought by the text, it is worthwhile to sit awhile with the text and acknowledge that discomfort. Through consulting wise teachers and allowing the Spirit to work (sometimes also through our peers), God can use our discomfort to help us grow in wisdom about the biblical text and ourselves.

Less agency, less pressure, more grace, more hope.

Jonathan Haidt, made infamous for his article on trigger warnings and coddling of the American Mind, was recently in the news again concerning the well-being of teens and young adults (see article, and Haidt's own words in article1 and article2). The argument once again points to social media as playing a significant role in the well-being of youth (see also Twenge's now famous article on whether smartphones have destroyed a generation).

Another part of Haidt's argument about the decreased well-being of young adults is his articulation that certain ways of thinking, "say identifying with, or privileging victims and a victim status, tends to disempower people because it puts someone else in charge of your life." (Robinson) While we should acknowledge that many of us, and some more than others for various reasons, have been and continue to be victims of unjust behaviour and/or institutions, the problem comes not from recognizing that we are victims, but by allowing being a victim to become one's sense of identity. Victims have limited agency and there is limited focus on resiliency. Without conversations about resilience and agency, people are more likely to become depressed.

While this is an interesting conversation to be had in terms of how such thinking is affecting young adults, especially at university, it's also an interesting conversation in wondering, like Robinson, "if there is some cross-over to all this in churches." Have we lost our sense of agency in the church? Or, more accurately, have we forgotten God's agency?

Robinson notes that in the "more liberal and progressive church context, there’s a lot of emphasis on the problems of the world, and on what you should be doing about it. Which begins to sound a lot like law, not gospel. It’s all about what you should do or feel or think. If God is in the picture, it’s about what God needs us to do, demands that we do. There’s little emphasis on what God has done or is doing on our behalf or on God’s capacity to bring good out of or in the face of evil. So it’s kind of all on us."

That sounds exhausting and debilitating.

In a world where so many are exhausted and overwhelmed, when we feel like we have too little agency and too much responsibility, church can't be a place that tries to give us more of that. Church - and all Christian organizations - need to be places of grace and hope.

Please pray with that I, along with the Christian Reformed campus ministry at the University of Toronto (and broader) might indeed create spaces where we extend grace and help people hope.

Cross-posted at the blog for my work

Jury Duty

Last May I received a summons to report for jury duty, something which I've never had happen to me before (but apparently is a fairly common experience for people living in Toronto). I couldn't make it then and was asked to choose a week in early 2023 when I could be available for jury duty. In the week after Easter and the semester ends, I'm not particularly motivated to do much of anything, so it seemed a good week to make myself available for something very different.

Leading up to the experience, I was hoping to get out of jury duty. After all, if I did, I'd then have the rest of the week free to catch up on all the odds and ends leftover from the semester! But the evening before, as I watched the recommended video about jury duty, God convicted me enough to help me be open to serving God and others in this way, recognizing that such an openness to serve is how I want to live my life, even if jury duty wasn't entirely my ideal for doing that. 

 

Monday morning I showed up at the Toronto District court at 8:30 and then I waited in a room with about a hundred other people. Around 9:30, they explained the process, and around 11:30 all of us received a questionnaire that let us know about the trial - it named those involved as well as the nature of the case (sexual assault) - and asked us for our connection to either, as well as asking about whether we had any hardships that would prevent us from being able to serve for 7 days on the jury, the anticipated length of the trial. (Note: Court is held from 10-4:30 each day, and the jury goes home at the end of each day, except at the end of the trial if they are still deliberating after the day ends). 

Around 12:30 we moved upstairs to the courtroom, the accused pleaded not guilty, and the judge addressed the potential jurors, explaining the whole process to us. The judge reminded us that though serving on jury would be likely be a hardship in some way for all of us, that this is a way we could serve our country (and there weren't many other ways that we were asked to do so). It felt a bit like being lectured by a teacher (with a bit of a parental guilt trip mixed in), but it was also part of the process of helping me to be open to serving God in this way. 

Potential jurors would be slected to appear before the judge in a random order of selection. As each potential juror appeared before the judge, the judge would look through their questionnaire to see if there was any significant reason they should not be involved in the case (the more detail we provided in the questionnaire, the fewer questions the judge would need to ask which would then be public to the lawyers and accused). If the judge thought they were fit to serve, the person would be asked a series of questions by the judge (to check for bias) and then each of the lawyers had the opportunity to choose to reject or accept the juror. This would continue until 12 people were chosen for the jury (along with 2 alternates).  

After convening for lunch, we returned to select the order in which people would appear before the judge for selection. People's juror numbers were chosen randomly. When the person came forward to get in line, their profession was announced (I was the only pastor in the first 60 people chosen). I was chosen 46, so I figured my chances of being chosen were about 20 percent. 

I spent the afternoon waiting again in a small courtroom with about 30 others (and wondered a bit about the inefficiency of the system). About 40 potential jurors went before the judge before finding enough people to serve. Those of us not chosen were then released around 4:30 and could go home, free from being called to jury duty for the next 3 years. 

I left, mostly thankful at being released, as it would have been an emotionally exhausting experience. But it was also a bit disconcerting and tiring: after a day of waiting and uncertainty and trying to open oneself up to the possibility of having to serve in this way, I had to let go of all those emotions and possibilities and return to regular life. 

Reading Ezekiel 16 and 23 in the Red Light District

A variation of the following was published in Global perspectives on the Old Testament (2014), edited by Mark Roncace.

Calling someone a prostitute is generally considered a great insult. In Ezekiel 16 and 23, however, Jerusalem is called more than a whore: she is considered to be worse than a prostitute as she scorns payments and bribes her lovers to come to her. Furthermore, the descriptions of her prostituting would make many readers blush. The prostitution of Jerusalem is clearly shown in the text to be a metaphor for Jerusalem’s chasing after other gods, but that hardly abates the prostitution motif. The question asked here is whether a fuller understanding of prostitution as a social phenomenon affects how the reader understands these texts.

When I moved to the Red Light District in Amsterdam a number of years ago, I was immediately confronted with women behind the windows who were selling sex. Wanting to know and understand these new neighbors of mine, I read studies on prostitution, read prostitutes’ own stories, and even had short conversations with the women as I helped bring coffee with the Salvation Army. I also tried to see my neighbors: from the skinny young blond model type to the Eastern European with limited Dutch knowledge to the grandmotherly types who seemed like they’d be more at home entertaining in the kitchen. It soon became clear to me that prostitution is complicated, just like the text of Ezekiel.

Based on its use in Ezekiel 16 and 23 it would appear that to act as a prostitute is unambiguously wrong and deserving of punishment, even death (cf. also Deuteronomy 22:21). However, the stories of prostitutes named in the Bible paint a different picture: Tamar was declared righteous (Genesis 38), Rahab was the only one rescued from Jericho (Joshua 6), and Gomer was bought back as Hosea’s wife (Hosea 2:5). Prostitution in the Bible, then, like the phenomenon of prostitution in society, is not simply seen as all bad.

Those working behind the windows in Amsterdam perceive their prostituting themselves in various ways: a necessary evil, an interesting and even enjoyable job, or one’s worst nightmare come true. For some, prostitution is seen as the only option (whether by force or general circumstances) and for others, prostitution is hardly their only option but the one they still choose because of the opportunities it presents. The description of Jerusalem and Samaria in Ezekiel 16 and 23 falls into this latter category, what is sometimes referred to as the “happy hooker.” In such an understanding of prostitution, the person is so infatuated with sex that prostitution would be considered the “ideal” and he/she could not imagine doing or wanting anything else. Jerusalem fits this category through her longing after foreign men, bribing them to come to her. Yet, describing Jerusalem as happy in her prostitution is going too far: she is constantly thirsting for more and despises the men after she has been defiled by them. The judgment depicted in the text—that of being stripped bare and stoned—further clarifies that, irrelevant of any claims made about Jerusalem’s willful intention in prostituting herself, she experiences too many “bad tricks” for her to be described as a happy hooker.

The other extreme is to see the prostitute as being inherently a victim—no one could willingly choose to have one’s body used by so many different men. Human trafficking, pimps, and loverboys have most likely forced and sometimes brainwashed the women into selling their bodies. Abuse, lack of self-worth, political unrest, addictions, and/or a love of money push women into prostitution. Seen in this way, Jerusalem and Samaria would be understood as having been brainwashed by these other gods: these are loverboys who had promised her their love, but ultimately just abused her and pushed her into turning to even more gods. This understanding clearly shows Jerusalem’s need to be rescued by God; yet, it seems difficult not to hold Jerusalem responsible, since her blatant guilt is one of the main points of these chapters.

Very few prostitutes fall into either extreme: For many, prostitution is seen as a means to an end. While few of them would consider prostitution an ideal job, they have made some choice in either becoming or staying prostitutes, even if leaving is exceptionally difficult. Few would argue that prostitution is healthy or good for them; it is harmful for their body, it messes with one’s emotions, and it is often demeaning. Yet, few are rushing to leave the life: the money is too good, the other options are lousy, and this is the life they know. It is in this context—the complicated reality of prostitution—that one can better understand Ezekiel 16 and 23. As despicable as the description of her actions is, Jerusalem cannot be simply despised and dismissed as a deviant woman. Rather, she is a complex character in a messy and complicated world, much like each of us and much like the women in the Red Light District. To some degree, Jerusalem was lured into prostituting herself by the other gods, unaware of the dire consequences, and she became a victim of her own bad choices. The text depicting her story is intended to shock the reader; the shock is even greater when we realize that we are being asked to identify ourselves as the prostitute in the story, as people who also whore after other gods. This identification allows us to turn away from condemnation and toward hope for restoration for both Jerusalem and ourselves. Jerusalem and Samaria have been promised that their fortunes will be restored in order that they, and those who identify with them, might remember and be ashamed.

In the years that I have lived in the Red Light District, one specific topic of conversation stands out. Visiting the women with a cup of coffee often leads to simple conversations about the weather, business being bad, children, and house pets—fascinating conversations, but it is not always easy to sense that the regular visits serve any kind of pastoral function. Yet, when a person decides to leave the work, then no matter how short or mundane the conversations previously were, there is no holding back in sharing this good news. There is a great joy in finally leaving—not only having survived the physical and emotional dangers of the work, but also anticipating the start of a new and different life. It is that joy and wonder that is missing from these chapters in Ezekiel; that part of the restoration comes only later in the biblical narrative.

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.