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.

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: http://crc.sa.utoronto.ca/2023/04/less-victim-less-pressure-more-grace-more-hope/ 

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. 

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.

Learning to live with myself - and accepting grace

Last week Friday I managed to get my email inbox down to 13 emails, which seems like a success. It's been months since my inbox has been so low, what with the chaos of starting a new job, moving, and the general challenges of life during a pandemic. Getting my inbox down to a manageable level gives me the sense of control over my life. Yet, the control was a bit of an illusion, as I'd been using my inbox as a good excuse to not work on writing my sermon. 

When I was in college, my house was always cleanest around exam time. By doing something else good, I could make myself feel better about not doing what I actually should be doing. One would hope, twenty years later, that I should be beyond that. In reality, I've simply shifted around what needs doing and the 'good' thing that I can do to avoid that.

I feel like learning to come to terms with ourselves - all of our quirks and needs, talents and skills - is something that we continue to struggle with, even as we grow older and hopefully wiser. This past week this struggle came out when faced with the daunting task of wrestling with a text and wondering what the Spirit would have me say. Is working through my email a good thing, something I can do to get an illusion of control, a sense of accomplishment, or even some tiredness so that I no longer fight to avoid doing what I really ought to be doing? Yes. no. maybe. It all depends on the day. 

As I get older, I can recognize that I can either choose to be frequently frustrated with who I am and how I act, or I can choose God's grace. 

Grace to accept who I am and my difficulties to stay on task. 

Grace to accept how much I like being in control and feeling productive (and that this is ultimately an illusion). 

Grace to see what I do as sin and name it as such - so that I can stop trying to fix myself on my own but accept my need for the Spirit to show up and work in and despite me. 

As I learn to accept myself and accept grace in the middle of that, it also allows me to rejoice more easily in the good that comes out of who I am, including my tendency to procrastination. Like being thankful for getting through emails I was behind on (and thanks, too, that the sermon did get done). And I can be delighted by how the Spirit shows up in surprising ways, like how I read last week's reflection from First CRC when I was trying to figure out how I was going to be present at our ministry's silent retreat while also being present for my small daughter. The email showed me a way that I could be creative and delight in both the nature surrounding my new house and in my daughter's joy in doing an art project with me. The results, including the joyful daughter, are in the picture below.

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."

What can happen when you try to arrange things for God

Over a year ago, the main chaplain for the CRC campus ministry at the University of Toronto made known his plans to retire. As a fellow CRC campus minister, I'd become friends with some of the U of T staff team and hoped they'd find a new staff member who was a good fit for the ministry. And, because I'd like to see more female campus minister colleagues, I also thought it'd be great if they could find a female to take on the position. 

When it became known that the campus ministry was indeed looking for someone to fill the position full-time, I started reaching out to people who were qualified. I brainstormed with Sara, a friend of mine who used to work as part of the staff team in Toronto, about all of the qualified females we could ask, trying to help arrange things for God.

And then in February this year, Sara and I were wondering again how we could help out the ministry (and God) with filling the position, and she suggested again that I apply. When she'd suggested this previously, my answer had always been a quick no, sometimes with a laugh at the absurdity of the idea. I loved my job in Lansing, and if we moved again, it would be back to Europe. 

But that February, when Sara asked again, what had once seemed an obvious 'no' felt differently. So I wondered if perhaps the Spirit was prodding me to look again - had God even been using my intense interest in arranging things for the ministry as a preparation for being open to the idea of applying to the position myself? But it still felt absurd to contemplate moving to Toronto, and so when I asked Matthijs about his thoughts about moving to Toronto, I assumed he'd respond negatively. But he was enthusiastic about the idea, and I had a stronger sense of what chaos God might be asking us to enter into these next few months. 

And then the pandemic hit, life turned chaotic, and I was in a position to provide needed encouragement and pastoral care to folks connected to Campus Edge as we navigated this new season. And still, sensing God's hand on the whole process (and with some extra help from Matthijs), I applied to the position at U of T. And the folks of U of T continued with the search and hiring someone. And I couldn't help but wonder what kind of idiot contemplates upheaving their life and moving jobs across a closed border in the middle of a pandemic! 

We are now in week two of self-isolation in Toronto, and as of tomorrow I am officially working full-time as a chaplain at the U of T (I've been working part-time, gradually increasing my hours, since mid-August). I still feel like one does need to be slightly crazy to move countries and jobs in the middle of a pandemic. Or perhaps one simply has to have a strong sense that God is better at arranging things than I am: how else can I account for our selling our house, the tremendous help we had in finding housing here in Toronto (and how graciously we've been welcomed)?

Running around in our new house

Making a bridge (and slide) with stuff loaned from a colleague for our 2-week mandatory quarantine

 

2 Kings 5 - when God shows up

The following is a sermon preached at Campus Chapel in Ann Arbor on August 25. The sermon is less exegetical and more of an interaction with the text of 2 Kings 5. It started with a rumination on 2 Kings 5:13 (“But his servants approached and said to him, “Father, if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult, would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?””) and then moved gradually into exploring how God enters into our lives.

If we were asked to do something hard,

I think most of us would do it with conviction.

Especially if it meant saving someone’s life.

Yet, when this all started back in March,

we were asked to wash our hands umpteen times a day.

Singing a song so we would wash long enough.

And then we were told to stay home to stay safe.

Where are the heroics in that?

It seemed so little.

And even almost cowardly.

As if we were afraid of illness and death.

 

At first, it seemed so little,

And so I didn’t understand why I chafed,

Why was I protesting so strongly?

Why do I want to turn away in anger, like Naaman in 2 Kings 5?

If I had been commanded something difficult,

would I not have done it?

How much more then, when only this little is being asked of me?

Wash, be clean, keep others clean.

 

And then the protests started.

Protesting masks. Protesting injustice.

And I understood that the words, wash and be clean.

Actually meant so much more:

Wash away your ideas of control

Let go of your life as it used to be.

 

For Naaman, the command was an invitation.

Humble yourself,

wash yourself in the river of this other country,

follow the strange commands of this prophet and his God.

Let go of your life as it used to be.

Recognize that all your best efforts cannot save you.

God alone does the impossible.

 

And we, we are invited to wash our hands,

Let go of our plans.

Recognize how little control we have over the future.

Deny ourselves

Trusting that God can use our small efforts to save lives.

 

Be baptized by the water

That washed away our sins

And also washes away our good desires

That sometimes grow

As unhealthy as the disease that covered Naaman’s skin.

 

Naaman returns to the prophet healed.

Deeply thankful,

ready to make a great sacrifice.

Except he is not allowed to pay for the gift he received.

A reminder again

that no matter how mighty we are

God does not need our help.

 

But instead God invites us to keep asking.

On top of the healing,

Naaman asks for dirt.

Something to take with him

So that he can serve the God of Israel

While not needing to give up everything in his life.

An ancient prototype of technology, you could say

Allowing Naaman to remain with those he cared about.

While continuing to be reminded of God’s gift

And so live in thankfulness for the gift he received.

Our gifts today are internet and zoom,

Social distancing and masks,

Keeping us connected to those we love

Allowing us to keep coming together.

As we live into the rearrangement of our lives

That began with a focus on washing our hands.

 

And as hard as this time has been,

The story of Naaman speaks

to how God enters into our lives.

Challenging and shaping us.

Inviting us to wash ourselves

Opening ourselves up to God cleansing

And healing us.

 

Naaman’s cleansing began with a stranger.

A foreign captive in Naaman’s house.

Who spoke up and was heard

Who brought words of hope

A promise of the impossible.

 

In a time when distancing makes helping hard

When every other person I interact with

could be a potential threat

And even those I love

Are disrupting the order of my life.

How does one keep loving and listening?

When I’ve spent so much of the last months

With barely enough energy left over,

How do I care for those who are part of my communities?

my next door neighbors?

Let alone the foreigner and stranger

All the potential threats.

 

How do I not become contaminated by this illness

that spreads through being connected?

How does my physical distance

Not become emotional and spiritual distance?

 

How do I not become like the king who tore his robes:

How dare you expect me to do something?

I cannot heal others.

But to ask that is to blind myself to the truth

That God is the one who heals.

God who has entered into our lives.

God among us - Immanuel

Jesus who healed so many during his time on earth

And then conquered death

Before returning where he reigns on high

God the Spirit who is with us

This God is the one who heals.

This God can do the impossible:

This God can renew our earth and climate;

Heal the polarization in this land

Enact changes to end structural racism.

 

And this same God invites us,

Like the servant girl,

To be part of that healing.

Not because our efforts will change the world.

But because sometimes,

Like the servant girl,

our words are heard.

And we become part of God’s

Entering into the world.

The servant girl spoke.

Naaman listened.

Elisha intervened.

God acted.

And so the impossible happened.

 

But, oh we so want to claim

That it was our voice that changed things.

Or get some kind of reward

For what we have done.

Or perhaps simply we are tired

And just want something to make life a little easier.

 

What was Gehazi thinking?

The request –

The slight distortion of truth

Just 2 sets of clothes

And some silver

How could that be a big deal?

 

As a child, I couldn’t believe Gehazi’s greed!

How dare he!

And as an adult,

I see in him myself.

That longing to be rewarded

For all that I have done.

To be compensated

For that all I have given up. 

 

And God enters the story here,

Just not perhaps the way we’d like.

Elisha confronts Gehazi.

And Gehazi is punished harshly.

Probably not so much for his greed

As for how he has distorted God’s image.

What picture of God is shown

When Naaman is able to ‘pay’ for his miracle

When instead of radical grace

His healing has shifted into a transaction

Especially if that transaction comes from Gehazi’s desire

To take advantage of their enemies.

Instead of trusting that God does provide.

And so God enters anew into Gehazi’s life

Through sickness

And what has often felt, to me,

a harsh punishment.

 

But Gehazi’s story does not end here

He shows up again in chapter 8

In the courts of the king, of all places!

He is advocating for the Shunammite woman.

Reminding the king of Elisha’s great deeds

Of raising her dead boy to life again

While also advocating that the king

Give back to the Shunammite woman

The land that she had left

And, even more, giving her back all the income

That her land produced in the time she was gone.

Radical provision.

A story of God providing

 

And so I wonder,

if the story might have more grace than we first might see.

If God’s interruption of Gehazi’s life

Was a catalyst for something new.

Something good.

 

Being open for God’s intervention

Washing ourselves in the Jordan.

It sounds simple.

Yet, just like with Naaman, it asks so much more of us.

It sounds like nothing heroic,

Except to speak up with courage when needed

and allow God to throw our whole lives into chaos

Rearrange our schedules again and again.          

Confronted by how little control we have,

And invited to offer our whole lives up to God.

 

This invitation, as hard as it is, is also a gift.

Let go of our efforts.

Trust in those of God.

And perhaps we will,

just like in the stories of Elijah and Elisha,

Be a witness to God showing up.

Be a witness to the impossible.

 

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

The lie of depression

The following is part of a series of posts that I found in my draft and are only now publishing.

The Banner published an article last year on depression that describes some of the difficult complexity of depression. What I appreciated most about it was the author's description of depression as a lie:

"Depression is a shape-shifter and it is a liar. The lies are probably the cruelest part of the illness. It tells you that everything you’re feeling is your own fault, or that what you’re experiencing isn’t real and the pain is only in your head. If you just tried harder, it says, the noise in your head would stop and your soul wouldn’t ache.

Depression is a lying illness, and its most sinister and dangerous lie is that this darkness around you will not end, that the pain is permanent, that there is no relief.

It lies. It lies about the most important truth that all new things begin in darkness, that dawn comes out of the deepest night, and that if the light isn’t there yet, then sometimes you have to reach into the darkness and pull it out." Theresa A. Miedema, "Me and the Black Dog" 

I am a bit disappointed, though, that she seems to emphasize what we have to do in the midst of depression - here it sounds too much like it is my own hope and my own strength that get me through depression. That, too, is a lie. At the same time, I can see how it is hard to talk about God's presence in the midst of depression, as it is hard not to blame God. Yet, the vision she gives of God at the end of the article -"a God who sees you, who knows you in all your passion, in your good moments and your bad moments—and who welcomes you as God’s beloved" - ought also to highlight how God can handle and even welcomes all of your anger and disappointment about how God is not intervening more powerfully to heal.

How I'd like to live my life - 2009 and now

These are words I wrote back in 2009:

I live in a community whose goal is to be a joy and hope to those around us. We invite others into our lives, whether for a coffee or a meal or a conversation or a chance to start over again. And simply by being part of this community, I get practice in being open and gracious to others - in ways that I couldn't on my own. and even as I know that it is not healthy to be always open and available for everyone all the time, I still wish I had the courage to be more caring and hospitable. I wish I wasn't scared of whether I should or could, but that I just did it - just reached out to others. 

And today? While I no longer live in that community, I feel like God has answered the prayer I gave above. In doing campus ministry, I have found a way to practice hospitality and being open, as well as sharing joy and hope with others. 

Your kingdom come, your will be done: theory vs reality

Awhile ago, Mockingbird posted an article by Grace Leuenberger about how the current situation reveals some of our assumptions about control. While we pray for God's will to be done, what we really want is to make the plans ourselves and then expect God to come through to make them good. As we continue to practice 'social distancing' (stay home, stay safe here in Michigan),

her words feel even more true today as I struggle with giving up some of my desires again today:

"Your kingdom come, your will be done. Many of us have prayed this prayer. But I wonder if I prayed it like it was a joke. True, but with an asterisk. True, but able to be retracted. True, but with a laugh. True, but. Maybe we’re finding out all of this—this life, this world, and the chaos of it all—really was about Christ and his kingdom. But the joke has turned out to be not so funny. Why? Because . . . I think many Americans—myself included—are seeing how accustomed we became to being king, how much we made our independence essential to our existence. . . . Maybe our independence is not essential to our wellbeing. Maybe travel is not the only way to see and understand more. Maybe investing in stocks and 401Ks isn’t the way to a secure future. Maybe the people we’ve looked past are the ones whose lives will point us most to Jesus. Maybe the prayers we only half meant are the prayers God will answer most clearly. Maybe these days will prove to be Kingdom-building, Kingdom-coming."

Finding words for the sadness

I know I am not the only one who has been crying in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic. Finding words to describe the sadness has been hard, though, as there are so many emotions present right now as we experience the chaos and challenges brought about through COVID-19. Emily Newton at the Mockingbird gives words to some of the many reasons we are crying:

We cry for the changes to our immediate daily lives and the growing pains that have come as a result. We cry because we are limited. We cry for the uncertainty, the fear, the anxiety present in our spaces, the isolation. We also cry for our world, healthcare workers, and the hospitalizations and deaths that have come and will continue to come, both afar and close to home.

We also cry because this crisis has brought about unexpected gifts: a recognition of the friendships and community I have, the joy brought to us from our small child (and my joy in hearing her interact with Matthijs), and the sense that I am using my gifts to pastor well and bring hope and comfort to people's lives. But all of these gifts do not erase the hardness of having normal life upended, being physically separated from others, or the loss of life that this illness has already brought and looks to be coming to people closer to me.

O Lord, how long will you forget [us]? Forever?
How long will you look the other way?
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul,
with sorrow in my heart every day?

But I trust in your unfailing love.

Excerpts from Psalm 13 (NLT)

Remember you are dust

Once again I heard the words, "remember you are dust," when I received the ashes on Ash Wednesday. And then I witnessed our small daughter also receive ashes and hear the words that she is dust. She is now old enough to realize that this experience was unusual. As we returned to our pew, she kept looking at her father's forehead and mine, noticing the dark cross on them. She was clearly wondering and trying to figure out what was going on. To explain it to her, I told her that this cross means that we belong to Jesus. 

To be reminded that we are dust is to me a reminder that we belong to Jesus - and that our time together also belongs to God. My time on earth and her father's time on earth and even her time on earth is limited. No matter how hard I strive, how careful we all are, or no matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I cannot prevent us from being hurt or any of us from experiencing loss. That is a sobering thought: a humbling realization of my own human mortality. I'd rather live in denial. Yet, in remembering that we are dust, I am also pushed into recognizing how thankful I am for my life (and loved ones) and remembering how much I need to trust Jesus and take comfort in knowing that we do belong to Jesus.

Faith isn't about getting gold stars

A podcast I've been listening to lately - the Mockingcast - has been helpful both for encouraging me and making me think more about faith. The podcast focuses on the places where we see grace - and its absence - in the world. Because of this, it has helped me to think more about how desperately we ALL need grace.

They also have a blog, which I've also appreciated. A recent article by Sarah Condon, one of the people on the podcast, made me laugh and wonder again how I might share more what the grace and hope of God looks like. First, the part that made me laugh:

"A friend approached me with urgency on his face and said, “Sarah, I need to tell you something. I got dressed up today for church. I mean, we were planning on coming to the service. But something has come up. And now we have to leave. And I have not seen your husband. But I want you to tell him you saw me so I can get credit.”

This poor guy, this dear friend, had accidentally hit one of my buttons.

And so, in all of my demurely Christian charism, I turned to him and said in one breath:

“I could give a sh*t whether or not you showed up at church this morning. All the credit you need happened on the cross 2000 years ago. We believe in grace at this church.”

Needless to say, I doubt I’ll be invited to speak at any evangelism conferences."

I can almost imagine myself saying that! 

She continued by reminding me of how church ought to be: "We do not come to church because we get a gold star. We come to church because we have tried everything else and it turns out we continue to be exhausted by the world and our lives. Church is a last-ditch effort for many of us. It is what happens before we start drinking more or isolating more or doing whatever it is that harangues us, more. . . As a professional Christian I should be desperate to have more people in the pews. But I am only a desperate person who sees desperate people and desperately wants to point them to the one thing that has helped me."

I was left wondering how I might do a better job of recognizing how all of us are desperate. And how do I be honest about the neediness of all of us, both in my church and ministry? Last of all, how do I speak of how God's grace and hope meets all of us there in our need?

January: failure and grace

January always seems to surprise me with how overwhelming it is. Even this year, when I did a lot to order things well, I still felt like I got hit by a truck (or a bakfiets as Matthijs and I often say, since it'd be less likely to do serious damage and yet cause a lot of pain). The following list should give you an idea of why I thought that, for once, this January would be easier:

• I had a great, relaxing vacation, thanks to friends and family (especially my Dutch in-laws). We also had a few days back at home before 'regular' life started, and I could even work a few half days before starting back.
• Matthijs's work is much less intense than his PhD program was - and it feels like we've mostly recovered from the stress connected to that.
• I didn't have to plan/outline studies for the next 8 weeks of Campus Edge since we were continuing with our study on Isaiah. On top of that, I have a great intern working for me who leads studies a lot (and is very passionate about Isaiah). 
• The little is getting to an age where she is more independent and can play on her own sometimes. 

But this past week it finally dawned on me what part of January hadn't changed. Every year in January I approach the year with extra hopes and plans and expectations about all the things I'm going to get done. I think the expectations were even higher this year because of how much my life had felt ordered (and I felt well-rested). 

And then I failed. Perhaps because the biggest expectation was how diligently I was going to be working on my dissertation to finally finish it. But working on it has been hard (which shouldn't have surprised me, since it has taken this long already). And so January has been coloured by disappointment in myself. Again.

Fortunately, January isn't only about disappointment. With each failed attempt (and each successful attempt) to work hard on my dissertation (and work and life stuff), I'm reminded of the truths that I have been learning this past year. Failure is not the end of the story but the beginning. My failures (and my successes) are opportunities to experience God's grace and the reassurance that my value is not dependent on how good (or productive) I am. 

Slaughter of the Innocents - December 28 (and January 11)

In many liturgical traditions, on the fourth day of Christmas the church remembers the innocents slaughtered in Bethlehem as Herod tries to kill the king that the magi came and visited (Matthew 2:13-23). As Christmas is a time of joy, it is disconcerting to have this story of great suffering break into the celebration.

Yet, there is also something good about reading this story so close to Christmas, as Esau McCaulley, the author of a recent New York Times article points out:

"The church calendar calls Christians and others to remember that we live in a world in which political leaders are willing to sacrifice the lives of the innocent on the altar of power. We are forced to recall that this is a world with families on the run, where the weeping of mothers is often not enough to win mercy for their children. More than anything, the story of the innocents calls upon us to consider the moral cost of the perpetual battle for power in which the poor tend to have the highest casualty rate.

But how can such a bloody and sad tale do anything other than add to our despair? The Christmas story must be told in the context of suffering and death because that’s the only way the story makes any sense. Where else can one speak about Christmas other than in a world in which racism, sexism, classism, materialism and the devaluation of human life are commonplace? People are hurting, and the epicenter of that hurt, according to the Feast of the Holy Innocents, remains the focus of God’s concern."

Christmas is a time of joy and hope only when it recognizes the suffering of people today - and our desperate need for Christ's coming to change everything.

Besides the encouraging and challenging words that the article brings, the presence of the article itself in the New York Times also gives me hope. How can I not be encouraged when a major newspaper, read by so many people who are unfamiliar with Christianity, carries an article like this (and that on Advent) that clearly presents the real hope of Christ to a hurting world?


For further reflections on the story, see the Empire Remixed blog, of which the following is a quote:

"You see, just as the Christ child in the manger
becomes cheap sentimentality apart from
the refugee family running for their lives,
so also is the refugee child
reduced to unfair escapism
if divorced from the bodies strewn all around
Bethlehem after the Holy Family flees."

Advent: Face the Darkness

As the days continue to get shorter and the busy-ness related to Christmas continues, I invite you to ponder these words about Advent:

"To practice Advent is to lean into an almost cosmic ache: our deep, wordless desire for things to be made right and the incompleteness we find in the meantime. We dwell in a world still racked with conflict, violence, suffering, darkness. Advent holds space for our grief, and it reminds us that all of us, in one way or another, are not only wounded by the evil in the world but are also wielders of it, contributing our own moments of unkindness or impatience or selfishness."- Tish Harrison Warren

As we enter this last week of Advent, I encourage you to read the whole article if you haven't already done so.

Being a pastor means showing up

The other day a student mentioned that I could borrow his sign for the climate change strike the next day. Because I was going to it, right?

My response was very non-committal. It's the end of the year and there's a ton of things that need doing. I didn't have time in the middle of a Friday afternoon to stand outside with a sign in front of the capitol building.

Except that I'd mentioned in our Bible studies that protests like this are one of the few ways that I, who is not a citizen of this country, can participate in speaking up about areas in which the choices of those in power have negatively affected those who are marginalized. So, if I really believe protests are a part of how I live out my life and seek justice, then I need to follow through: after all, if I'm not willing to inconvenience myself then it's hard to claim that something truly matters to me.

And so, I sent back a message. "I'll be there - and yes, I would love a sign. Thanks for asking and challenging me to come." Because being a pastor means not only showing up and joining others as they participate in new things (like protests) but also being willing to follow through on what I've said.

Leaning into 'delighting'

One of the greatest gifts of Sabbath for me is delight. I feel like in Sabbath I'm given space and time to delight - as well as hope and joy so that my soul leans towards delighting instead of annoyance. As I practice delighting on Sabbath, I'm hoping that this will help me learn to 'delight' (or at least appreciate) the normal parts of my life in ordinary (i.e., non-Sabbath) time. I feel like so much of my life is focused on the 'I have to do this and get this done' instead of the wonder of getting to do this and being a part of that.' Even in my work of being a pastor I lean more often towards 'have to' than 'get to,' despite the fact that my work includes the honour of walking alongside people in their faith journeys (what could be more delightful and wonder-filled than that?).

In order to practice delight and Sabbath on a more daily basis, I've been trying to start my work day a bit differently. The beginning is usually getting ready, breakfast, and nudging Lydia so we can drop her off at day care. I'm trying to do that more patiently, recognizing that I do have time to dawdle with her (and this morning she helped me fold laundry, which is definitely worth her arriving later at daycare). Yet, after all the moving pieces involved in getting the little to day care and being faced with needing to figure out what most needs doing for the day, I often feel overwhelmed. Instead of trying to tell myself to get over my feelings (which, even on good days, is only moderately successful), I'm trying to give them space and allow myself to start the day more gently. And so I've been spending 30-45 minutes each day listening to a Bible text or a podcast while often playing simple computer games. It's a combination of allowing myself to do something 'fun' while also receiving words of hope and encouragement that can then give me strength as I go about the rest of the day. After experimenting with this for the last week or two, I have felt that I am more able to approach the rest of the day with delight in the work that I get to do instead of seeing it primarily as things that need to be checked off a list.

The gift of Sabbath

I'm deeply thankful for Sabbath. I see it is a gift, especially of perspective. It challenges our understanding of time, seeing "time not as an enemy to subdue, but as a friend to savor.” (Mary Ann McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs). Furthermore, it challenges how we think about ourselves. We are not as important or as invincible as we sometimes think: the world will continue quite fine without our efforts. As much as God can use us to do good, God is certainly able to do good without us. It also challenges whatever guilt we might have picked up in terms of how undeserving we might be of rest:

“Even if you don’t observe Sabbath, a shift in perception is helpful. It doesn’t ever all get done. We need to train our vision. We see failure when we should see alternatives. Better to focus on the good and important things we did do instead of berating ourselves for falling short of an ideal.” McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs, 105.

I originally received the gift of Sabbath from my parents and then grew to love it even more as I moved out of the house and continued to be refreshed by a weekly day of Sabbath. While I was Seminary - and even my first years in Amsterdam - it remained a gift but got more complicated, as Sabbath could often be lonely when most everyone I knew was busy with other things. And now, Sabbath has become complicated in a different way - as sometimes I need to work on Sunday and taking care of a little is not always restful (although it does often involve delight when I give myself over simply to being with her - and can share the responsibility with Matthijs). Yet, the gift of Sabbath has not changed, nor has my appreciation for it.

I continue to delight in the gift of Sabbath, yet it also requires discernment to know how best to receive this gift in different places and at different phases in my life. I am currently learning the good in practicing practice Sabbath not only on Sunday, but also in small doses throughout the week. So I've been trying to take time to journal or read a good book or by commuting regularly by bike and using that time to think and pray. Even re-instituting a date night with Matthijs is part of trying to practice Sabbath, as I want to be more intentional in delighting in spending time with him. So is learning to wait patiently for the little, so that I might better delight in her presence in our life.

Some helpful quotes and books to keep pondering Sabbath:

• “What happens when we stop working and controlling nature? When we don’t operate machines or pick flowers? . . . When we cease interfering in the world we are acknowledging that it is God’s world.” Lauren F. Winner, Mudhouse Sabbath, 6-7.
• “Sabbath puts the focus on God and God’s gracious invitation to rest from one’s work.” Mary Ann McKibben Dana, Sabbath in the Suburbs, 22.
• A quote from Sabbath in the Suburbs (89): “It’s not so much how busy you are, but why you are busy. The bee is praised. The mosquito is swatted.” Mary O’Connor.
• A helpful book to read: Dorothy C. Bass, Receiving the Day: Christian Practices for Opening the Gift of Time (2001)

A variation of this is crossposted at the Campus Edge blog (where I blog for work).