one year

It's amazing how much can happen in one year.

This time last year, I was getting ready to go to South Africa, with no idea what I was getting in to. (more on the SA reflections in later posts).

Now, I have returned from there with a forever changed heart. Moved into an apartment...and now into a community house. Started working at a church and changed my membership. Traveled to El Salvador. Been in a musical. Made new friends. Started running. Said goodbye to a roommate and a good friend. Started *coughdatingsomeonecough*. Put a year of seminary under my belt. Discovered my love for both the church and the academic side of ministry. And through it all, learned a lot about myself, about God, and found new strength and confidence in it all, while realizing how much more I have to learn.

It's been quite a year. No wonder I'm exhausted now...is all of seminary like this? I think I need a break from all this change and transition...

revival?

In studying for my Christian Traditions test (meaning that I'm finally reading the textbooks), I came across the observation that the Great Awakenings have left an expectation of revival within the American religious tradition. Having grown up in a quasi-southern church, I can definitely see that. We waited for that week of revival, went to the services and got emotionally charged up...then forgot about it all two weeks later. An endless cycle of waiting for that next "spiritual high," hoping that one day, it would stick.

But it also reminded me of a friend I had in college. A guy who was very passionate about his (relatively new) faith, and attended a charismatic church. We would talk about random things, and he would always ask me to pray for revival on our campus, for God to basically come down and make everyone a Christian. I always told him that that's not exactly how I word my prayers, because I don't think God acts in that way. He would usually respond with something about how I don't have enough faith because I don't think God has that kind of power.

I do think God is powerful. God can probably do whatever God wants. But God chooses to give us agency. God chooses to work with us, to have us help in whatever work is to be done. Call me a cynic, but I'm not so sure a widespread instantaneous revival (complete with the emotional reaction my friend desired) is what is best. Is that how the kingdom of God works? I can't help but think of the parables Jesus told. A tiny mustard seed that grows into the largest tree. A small amount of yeast worked into a batch of dough that causes the entire thing to rise. Not this massive, one-time event, but a continual process flowing out of our lived-out faith.

Seeing the Other

Well, today was the big day - preaching in chapel. I think it went well. Actually, I enjoyed preaching! I figured I'd post it here. It's a little more on the academic side (still figuring out the process of shifting from exegesis to sermon). Favorite moment afterwards: my OT professor said, "I feel like a proud mom." :o)

Genesis 21:8-21

It was June of last year. After 48 hours of being awake, half of which were spent on an airplane, I found myself in Johannesburg, South Africa, my home for the next two months. My reason for visiting – to volunteer at a daycare centre for underprivileged children at Troyeville Baptist Church. The pastor drove me to the church, where I met Nomalanga and her two children. I learned that I would be living on the church compound in a small house with them. There I was, a small town girl who had never been overseas before and with no idea what I was getting into. Now Nomalanga was a woman with a commanding presence, and a strict set of rules for the children she worked with at the centre. And She would yell at the children in rapid-fire Zulu. And even though I didn’t speak the language, I knew it wasn’t good news for them, and I would sit up just a little straighter to make sure that same speech wasn’t directed towards me. Honestly, I was a bit afraid of her, and wasn’t sure how we would live together. But over time, as we shared our living space and developed a friendship, I began to see the light she had in her. I heard the story of her past, and marveled at the strength she showed. I saw the love that she had for the children and for her church, and her dedication to the people around her. Some nights we would share stories about the children and laugh so hard that we could barely get the words out. Other nights we would watch TV in Zulu and she would explain them to me to make sure I was included. Sometimes, she would even cook for me. Those were good days. One night towards the end of my stay, I gave her a book that I had brought with me, to thank her for everything she had done. She replied, “You have been so humble. I didn't know what you would be like living here. I thought you might come in thinking you were better than everyone else, and wouldn't even sit next to us. But you proved me wrong.”

At that moment, my heart broke, not because I felt insulted, but because of her previous experiences that had caused her to have that expectation. And I felt guilty as well, remembering my initial judgment of her. Just as my first impression of her had been uncertain, so had been hers of me. I was a white American (therefore wealthy by most standards), and she was a poor black South African. Two women from two different worlds, encountering “the other.”

Psychologically, we have a need to label people as “the other.” It’s a part of how we define ourselves. I am this; I am not that. While sometimes this does not mean subjugation, more frequently we have the tendency to establish the other as inferior. Virginia Tech is a better school than UVA. Macs are better than PCs. Or how about that eternal schoolyard chant – my dad is bigger /smarter/ stronger /fill in the blank than your dad. And while these are all harmless rivalries, it becomes serious when they are carried out to an extreme. Suddenly walls are built; relationships are severed; and the seeds of oppression are sown. What is worse is when those divisions are built upon qualities such as nationality or socioeconomic status.

This brings us to our story today – the story of Hagar, the quintessential outsider. Who exactly is Hagar? She is first introduced in Genesis 16 as an Egyptian woman. She is not a part of the “chosen family,” but merely a servant. Even her name reflects her status: “ha-gur” in Hebrew means “the foreigner.” The other. Although she does become Abraham’s wife and bears him a son, Ishmael, they still remain outside the covenant which God made with Abraham. Yet, she is given two whole chapters in Genesis which tell her story. Why give her space in the text unless there is some significance? A closer look at the second part of her story in chapter 21 gives some insight into how God views the “outsider,” and consequently, how we should also treat those who are different or separate.

Our story in chapter 21 begins with a celebration. Isaac has made it to the age of being weaned from his mother. In a time where infant mortality ran high, reaching this age was incredibly significant, for it meant that Isaac would most likely be Abraham’s heir. Truly this is a great time within the household. However, things change dramatically when Sarah sees Ishmael, the son of Hagar, playing with Isaac. Scholars have interpreted this verse several ways. Some say that Sarah becomes jealous, seeing Ishmael so close to her own son. Others say that Ishmael actually is teasing or tormenting the young heir. Regardless of the action that takes place, Sarah decides that Ishmael should no longer be around, for fear that he may receive part of Isaac’s inheritance. However, her word choice in the demand is interesting. Sarah neither speaks directly to Hagar nor says her name, referring to her as her servant-woman. Essentially, Sarah has refused to acknowledge Hagar’s identity, treating her as a possession.

But Abraham does not automatically obey Sarah’s demands. Verse eleven indicates that Abraham had made a connection with his son, Ishmael, despite the fact that he is not chosen for the covenant with God. Like any father, he does not want to send his son away, out into a wilderness where anything could happen. However, missing from his expression of concern is Hagar, the mother of the boy. Though his biological son does have meaning to him, what about his second wife? Fortunately, God does not overlook Hagar, and the response Abraham receives indicates that both will be cared for. And so, the woman and son are sent on their way with limited rations, to wander in the wilderness.

Out in the desert, Hagar has nowhere to turn, and sees no chance of survival for herself and her son. The text doesn’t indicate how long they wander. A few hours? A few days? All we know is, they’re in the middle of a desert and run out of water. Things do not look good, and Hagar fears the worst. So she separates herself from her son, because she cannot stand to hear his cries and watch him suffer. The text tells us that she puts about a bowshot’s distance between them so she can’t see him die. I’m not an archery expert, but I’m thinking that in some situations, visibility can extend beyond a bowshot. This is not an act of desertion to increase her own chances of survival; this is an act of love from a mother who cannot stand to see her child suffer and die. And yet, she cannot completely remove herself from him, keeping him within a certain visibility range. I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish and utter helplessness that Hagar felt at that moment. She is a foreigner, cast out from the home of Abraham, with no where to go and no one to help her, and at risk of losing her only son. A refugee in the wilderness.

But just as promised, God hears the cries of Ishmael. A fitting act, since Ishmael’s name means “God hears.” However, God speaks not to the boy, but to Hagar. When Abraham and Sarah fail to even address her by name, God calls her directly, both showing concern for her situation and instructing her not to fear. The conversation then goes on as God describes the nation which Ishmael will father. They will not just survive; they will prosper. Moreover, God does not just offer them a promise; water is provided, as Hagar opens her eyes and sees a well. Perhaps it was there all the time, or perhaps it miraculously appeared. Regardless, God provides for them, proof that “neither Hagar nor Ishmael are beyond the mercy of God” (Word Commentary 88).

Something you don’t see in the English text is that several of the Hebrew words used within this story are repeated in the story of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. And just as Hagar wanders in the desert and God provides water, so the same later happens for the Israelites. The only difference is this: the Israelites are chosen, and Hagar is a foreigner. In fact, she was expelled by the mother of the Israelite nation. Still, God’s attention to this one slave woman connected with the care for the entire Israelite nation reflects God’s love of and care for every individual, regardless of their insider or outsider status. God did not choose Israel “to keep everyone else out of God’s fold; Israel was chosen to make it possible for everyone else eventually to be included” (Spina 6). And despite Sarah’s efforts to exclude the foreigner, Hagar and Ishmael receive their own provision and promise of blessing.

On the one hand, this is a story of liberation. Hagar and Ishmael are saved, and are guaranteed survival for their family. Hagar even rises to take control of and responsibility for her son, as she selects a wife for him, a job normally for the father. The previous abuse of Sarah and the despair of the desert are over. And at times, we like to align ourselves with Hagar, because who hasn’t felt abandoned and abused by others on some level, longing for liberation?

But if we solely align ourselves with Hagar, we miss a crucial part of the story. What if, instead, we look for commonalities between ourselves and Sarah? Sarah is the one who mistreats Hagar, using her for a potential heir for Abraham then turning her away when Isaac takes his place as the true heir. With no regard for her welfare, she demands that Hagar must be gone. Never mind that she has no where else to go. Never mind that she has no resources on her own. She must leave, end of story.

Now, I am sure that few of us have literally thrown people out of our homes. But what people have we refused to recognize? What populations have flown under our radar? What nations have suffered because of our desire to capitalize on their resources?

In short, who are the Hagars of our world? Who has been displaced, excluded, and shut out? Each has their own story, their own wilderness, their own heartbreak. Hagar is the refugee and her family from Sudan, choosing poverty in another nation over the violence in their own. Hagar is the homeless man suffering from mental illness with no money or means to stabilize his condition. Hagar is the woman whose home was wiped out by Katrina and cannot afford to rebuild. Hagar is the man disowned by his family, friends, and church because of his lifestyle. Hagar is the woman dying from AIDS, with no one to care for her. The list goes on and on, in a world full of suffering people in need of liberation from poverty, disease, abuse, and loneliness. The Hagars of our world are not confined to a particular racial or economic group. They are everywhere.

And yes, we can claim the role of God as liberator in their lives. The story of Hagar is proof that God does see and hear those who are “outside.” And that is a powerful message in and of itself. But we must be careful not to neglect our own responsibility in these stories. Though we may not have directly caused many of the situations and circumstances that leave people impoverished, neglected, and/or alone, we perpetuate the cycle by our inability to see and name the Hagars. And until we see them as people, brothers and sisters, with names and faces and stories, we can never reach out to them in their wildernesses and help them in their struggle. By simply labeling the Hagars of the world as “the others,” we can continue to keep them at arm’s length, withholding the dignity they deserve and the help they so desperately need.

Thinking back to my time in South Africa, all the women I worked with probably shared Nomalanga’s initial fears of me. To them, I was a nameless white woman; to me, they were nameless black women. But what was it that changed their minds, and my own? All we did was eat together. Watch TV together. Joke together. Drink tea together. Read the Bible together. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing out of the ordinary. We chose to drop our walls and stereotypes and let the other in. And our ministry to each other became genuine, heartfelt. We couldn’t solve the problems of their community, the daily struggles and economic hardships that created a wilderness of their own. But we could offer ourselves as support to each other, building relationships that crossed boundaries and crushed stereotypes. And suddenly, the “other” turned into “sister.” The faceless women turned into friends with names and stories and vivid lives, because we chose to see and hear each other for who we were. And we were changed.

calming down

Things have settled down a little bit around the seminary here. It's still tough, but I'll make it. We'll all make it.

I've come to realize how much of a support system I have here. The ministers I work with have been amazing - checking to make sure I'm okay, helping me process, even fighting for me with some scholarship mess that has popped up. And people at school have called to check on me, or made a point to ask how I'm doing - really doing. There's something...comforting?...in having a friend look you in the eye and ask how you're doing, knowing that they want the true answer, even if it's bad. We're all working through this transitional time in our own ways, and helping each other through it as well. Which I really appreciate.

First year chapel is this week. I'm preaching. Yikes! Though I must admit - it's been kinda fun to plan the service...

high anxiety

**Note - this is more of a personal entry than a true blog entry.

You know, when I started this whole seminary process, I knew it would be a difficult road. But for some reason, I thought that would be confined to the classroom and my own intellectual life. Not other areas of life as well.

My roommate is transferring. I am losing a friend. Friendships here have been a struggle, because I've been trying to break out of a clique I have found myself in. I am trying to have a good experience at seminary, but it's hard when some of your friends are creating an unhealthy environment for that.

At the same time, I'm also losing the second half of my rent (which I can't afford on my own). I've put in an application to live in an intentional community, but I'm still waiting on that process. Meanwhile, I had to submit a form to the school saying I would not be living in this apartment next year. So technically, I don't have a place to live next year. Yet.

(Sure, living with my parents is an option, but that's really a last resort. It's not a good location or conducive to my lifestyle. But if nothing else works out, I guess that's where I'll end up.)

Our school is also going through some tough times. I won't go into details here, but there will be some major changes up ahead. Which is a stressful thing, since I will be a student during the time of this major transition.

It's a lot of uncertainty that has hit all at once. I really didn't see it coming. And in the midst of all these papers and books, I just want to crawl in my bed and not come out for a week.

I forget about "the bubble"

We had our spring lecture series at my seminary this week. Jonathan Wilson-Hargrave and Ann Atwater shared the platform as they discussed issues of race and church. (How appropriate, considering recent events that have made headlines). It's led to some good discussions among people about race and our faith, the need for conversations and reconciliations across the color lines. It's been a topic that I have been thinking about for a while, so it's nice to talk with others who share that line of thinking.

Then I went to my hometown to get my hair cut. (Note: my hometown is...Southern. And conservative). I love my hairdresser; she's a sweet woman from the church I grew up in. Well, she asked me what I thought about all this presidential stuff. In my head, I thought, "Crap." I talked about how it's a shame all these things are making headlines and that the candidates are picking on each other. She managed to work the Obama/Wright issue into the conversation. Apparently, his choice to attend that church is a bad decision, and makes her doubt that he can make good choices for our country. She also doesn't realize why "they" always want to talk about slavery, because she didn't have anything to do with it, and "they" have it good now.

The discussions reminded me that not everyone thinks the way that I do, sees the same things that I do. I (gently) tried to share how I thought the conversations about race are important, because the issues have never been addressed publicly. I don't know if she ever agreed with me, but she was respectful of my opinion.

That's the thing about the seminary bubble. I can have good conversations with people who think like me, but what about out there, in the churches? Chances are good that there will be people who don't think like me. I can't vilify or trash-talk them, because they, too, are worthy of respect and love. As my own beliefs and opinions are changing, how do I effectively live them out while still embracing those who may not agree with me?

This is one of those things I can't take a class on. It comes from interacting with the more conservative people in my classes; from having conversations like the one with my hairdresser; from learning maturity in how to deal with these issues with grace. And it's flat out annoying and awkward at times...but it is necessary.

don't fix me

Why do people (especially in the Christian community) find the need to "fix your problems" when you share something that you're struggling with?

Last time I checked, ministry wasn't about "fixing" people. (As my old therapist used to say...You fix dogs and cats, not people. When you fix people, you essentially neuter them and make them incapable of growing on their own.) Most of the time, people don't want a quick solution. They just want someone to hear them, to acknowledge their presence and their struggle, maybe even voice some similar struggle to know that they're not alone. But in several groups in my past...and now seminary...I've found myself in situations where it's just better to keep my mouth shut than really share what's going on because I don't want to be bombarded with quick fixes.

Case in point: I mentioned in my spirituality class that I'm struggling with some of what we're learning about because I'm in the process of questioning and reworking my personal theology and haven't figured out where everything fits yet. (Yes, I realize this is a process that I will never fully finish!) I'm okay with this process; it's a little disconcerting at times not to fully know where I stand, but I believe in a God who is bigger than my questions and that gives me hope. The class seemed suddenly concerned, and I felt like for the rest of the period people were giving me advice, or mentioning things directly at me. Even the professor kept talking about things and would stop periodically and say, "Did you connect with that, Erin?"

Thanks for making me feel like a freak because I'm questioning things. I thought seminary was a safe place to do that...I've learned now to keep my mouth shut...

evening plans

Let's see...tonight is the second night of the New Baptist Covenant celebration, another Democratic debate, and the season premiere of Lost.

And where will I be? At the opening night of Godspell, of course! Yes, our intense month of rehearsals will be showcased in our opening performance tonight, the first of six. The fact that opening week has overlapped with the first week of the new semester has caused some slight stress problems, but we've all survived. Fortunately, my profs have decided to ease us all into the semester, so I haven't been overwhelmed with lots of work. Good thing, because my brain is pretty much mush now with anything that's not Godspell-related. I think it will be an awesome show...we're practically sold out on all the nights!

Maybe once this is all over I can get back to quasi-intelligent posts... :o)

rest in peace

I was going to post a somewhat disgruntled rant about Christian Unity week in regards to my alma mater and how the Christians there celebrate it...but yesterday, a music professor from there died, and I feel the need to put aside the other post for this one. I never had her for a class, interacted with her only briefly in the hallways of the music building...but I still feel the loss. I had several friends in the music department, and all spoke highly of her. Death is hard, no matter who it is or what the connection is to them. Even Heath Ledger...I feel for his friends and family, and wonder what it is that caused him to die so young. I haven't been emotional or anything (I don't feel like I have the connection to be that way), but it is a sobering moment that makes you think about our own mortality.

But it's been good to have an outlet for those feelings with the play. On stage, I can let it all go, and just be crazy and get into whatever we're working on. I know my acting has a long way to go, but I've felt lots of improvement within myself. And I genuinely enjoy working with the cast and the relationships that we've developed. It will be difficult to move on after this play, letting it go as I settle into the new semester and the new schedule and not seeing the same people every single day. I hate saying goodbyes...but it will need to happen, if only so new opportunities and relationships can arise.

asking for help

If you know me, I tend to be a pretty independent person, not asking for help. I don't want to bother people...and would they really want to help me? But I've been pleasantly surprised recently...

I've been trying to figure out how to convert a file to pdf so I can send it to my new friends in El Salvador. But everything I tried wouldn't work. So this morning, I put up a message on Facebook that I needed help - maybe 5 hours ago? And since then, I have received two messages and one phone call in response, offering me suggestions about software to download, etc.

It's a good feeling to know that people are watching out for me.

This play is another thing. I'm waaaay out of my comfort zone. Write a paper? No problem. Take a test? Sure. Translate some Hebrew? Bring it on. Act and sing on stage? ummmmm....

Yet it's something I want to do. And I'm trying hard. But I don't have the natural ability on stage that many others do. So I've gotten together with people, asking for help and suggestions about how to improve. And I've gotten nothing but encouragement and support. (Which I guess is fitting, since Godspell is centered around how Jesus brings a group of people together into this community, and how that community grows and reacts to everything that happens).

There really is something to this whole community thing. At camp, it was community that helped lift me up and respect myself again. And now, it is community that is helping me grow and improve, giving me the push and confidence that I need.

when wilt thou save the people...

I'm currently in the middle of rehearsals for Godspell, put on by my seminary. It's been a fun yet exhausting experience so far, especially for a theatre novice like myself.

The cool thing about our production is that we're doing it from the perspective of the homeless, a "rag-tag" version you might say. And it's a powerful version, where these nameless faces come together as a community, forever changed by God incarnate who lived and died among them. I'm still working on completely taking on the homeless persona and the back story that I've created for my character...that will take some time.

But my attitude towards the homeless I see around me has changed. After SA, I felt more compassion for those that I saw on the street, and could no longer ignore them. Now, I feel a sort of kinship with them. There is one woman in particular who always stands by a corner on my way home from work in the afternoon. I don't know her story, and I've never given her anything, but I make a point to try and look her in the eye and smile. A smile which she returns. I can't give her money or food (well, maybe I should), but I want to give her the respect she deserves as a person. As a child of God.

I don't know how to help these people. I don't know how to ease their pain or offer them a hand up. There is so much I don't understand about our society, about how people can just fall through the cracks like that. And how they can be treated so badly by others.

What is the answer?

When wilt thou save the people
Oh God of mercy, when?
The people, Lord, the people
Not thrones and crowns, but men
God save the people (save us)
For thine they are
Thy children as thy angels fair
God save the people from despair
God save the people...

conversations and chapel

Yesterday, I was sitting in the lounge with a few friends, waiting to go to chapel. A few minutes before we were going to leave, a fellow classmate came in and started a conversation with us. She's a bit more conservative than we are, but she was open and willing to discuss that with us. The conversation turned towards homosexuality, and we were all able to openly and honestly express our views (or current formation of views) within that group. It was a great conversation, and while there was no agreement among us as a whole, there was respect for the opinions of others. Clearly, we didn't go to chapel.

As the conversation turned towards lighter things, a group of students came in from chapel with decorations. I could see the look in their eyes when they realized we had been there during chapel time. We asked where the things came from, and one replied, "Well, if you had been in chapel..." Honestly, I didn't appreciate the attempt at a guilt trip, and we all said that we were caught up in a great conversation. I don't want to undermine chapel, but community can be built from more than that, and to try and make people feel bad about not going isn't right. People have their own reasons for going or not going, and it's not for anyone to judge. I'm sure chapel yesterday was a great experience, but for my friends and I, we made the right choice in continuing that conversation, helping build a relationship and opening doors for more. I was encouraged by our classmate's willingness to listen to our (more moderate/liberal) views, and her honesty about how she's been challenged here in her way of thinking. I hope more conversations are in our future!

coffee shop thoughts

So here I sit, in my favorite college coffee shop which now has free wireless. Had this happened when I was still in undergrad...I would have gone broke. Haha!

It's been a good visit up here with people...reconnecting, catching up, etc. Some good conversations...but difficult ones as well.

Last night, I went to Friday night fellowship with a group that I really got close to while in undergrad. A true community that got me through so much. And it was there that I was able to be honest about the fact that I'm struggling. But they also had some tough love for me - warnings about what to do/not to do. Because seminary is hard on all levels, and several of them have been there and done that. And this life that I've been called to, whatever it might be, will be hard. And it's so important to have a community that can support me though this...but I just haven't found one in seminary yet. Honestly, I'm still kinda reeling from the advice that was given to me...

But I did have a moment of enlightenment. In South Africa, my life was completely integrated. Work, community, faith were all intertwined...that's what happens when you live on the church grounds! But that's also the way the culture is; it takes on a much more holistic perspective, like many other places abroad. And I think that's the way things were meant to be. Not in America. We compartmentalize and divide things, many times for our own protection. So one of the reasons I've been struggling so much is that I've been yearning for that integrated life, but haven't found it, because it doesn't exist here. It can't exist here. I can't wrap up my faith life in my church job, because I won't be there forever, or (God forbid) they might burn me. I can't rely on institutions to be my community, though I might be able to find community in the midst of them.

So where the hell do I find that community?

I hate feeling like I need to protect myself, to not allow myself to get too attached. I feel detached already, and I'm tired of feeling that way. Ministry is a difficult thing - your job and your personal faith are so intertwined, and it's so interpersonal, but you still have to maintain your distance. And the job doesn't stop when you go home.

And I'm going to spend the rest of my life like this?

that wonderful buzzword

Community.

Definite buzzword in the church right now. I'm all about it; I've experienced true community on several levels, and I am convinced it is an important part of the Christian life. It's through community that I have encountered the face of Christ.

At the school I currently attend, the "faces" of the school like to talk about the community among the student body, and how it's so great and welcoming.

About that...not seeing it.

Don't get me wrong; I've met some really nice people, and see the potential for some friendships. But not much has moved past the superficial level. When we're all together, we mix and mingle and talk to some degree. But outside that...what community is there?

In many ways, I don't feel like a part of this school.

Yes, I realize that as a first-year I haven't been here long enough to build strong relationships with a lot of people. It takes a while to build those relationships. But I'm even getting the same vibe from second- and third-years. Clearly if they've been here a while, they would feel more like a part of the community, right?

This train of thought comes from a conversation at our "community meeting" this morning. Someone mentioned the lack of student attendance at chapels, and how, among other things, it isn't showing prospective students and visitors the community that is here.

I offer this, instead: what if it really is showing the true state of the community here? What if the low attendance is not the problem itself, but the symptom of a larger problem?

You can talk about community all you want. You can claim it is there. But that may not be a true claim. I've been involved in groups like that, too, and it just felt so fake. And that, I think, is the real problem here. I get the sense that a few years ago there was a strong community at this school. But, perhaps certain personalities kept it going, and now that those people have graduated...people aren't sure what to do. Group dynamics are always changing at schools with the constant coming and going of new crops of students. In order to maintain a community, that community must be willing to shift and change with the changing dynamics. And I feel like people here haven't done that. You can't just keep saying, "We're a community" and *poof* one magically appears.

So maybe what needs to happen is an honest assessment of the current community life here. Admit that our talk is bigger than our walk. Then work to build one up again. I don't have some magic formula or recipe for making a community. You can't force it; it grows out of many different situations. But I do know one key to it is commitment: to each other, to the group, to the larger cause. Perhaps that's what is missing here...

(Note: I'm not trying to put down my school. I'm just trying to be honest about the way things are and my experience here thus far...)

quote time

Thought I would share a few quotes from my classes today...and there's really no connection between the two:

"You do not break the Ten Commandments. They break you." ~my Hebrew prof.
...I don't have time to type out the context of that one, but wow. It is a profound statement, and the explanation really makes you think about your approach to "biblical law." It's kinda the perspective I've been developing on my own, and it's nice to have some academic background to defend my changing views...

"My back-up costume for Halloween every year is Jael. I can't think of anyone scarier than that." ~Foundations prof.
...just thought that was funny! Judges 4 for the full story...


On another unrelated note, watch what you ask God for. Recognize the need to have patience with a certain person? Next thing you know, they're plopped down in your life in some way where you have to interact with them regularly. Funny, God, real funny...

a time to be silent...

seriously. people need to think before they open their mouths. especially in the classroom. i mean, if you have a well-thought-out belief and can articulate it, fine. but don't parrot what you've heard from someone else. and don't claim a viewpoint and act like you know what you're talking about when really you don't.

and i need to find more grace for these people...because Jesus loves them, too.

quick thought

i need to forgive people and places for not meeting my expectations, especially when the expectations i set are very high.