Lent [Day 9]: Of Bracelets and Space

Statue of St Peter, The Vatican

Several years ago, I discovered that my wrist had amassed a collection of hand-knotted friendship bracelets from some of my most cherished students.  It was a peculiar claiming of territory, of sorts - as if they'd written "Andy" on the bottom of my shoes.  I wore them constantly - they were tied onto me, after all - quite literally all across the planet, for about two years, by which time they had all fallen apart and even the tan lines they left had begun to fade.  I loved those damn bracelets, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little heartbroken when each of them finally broke.  A tangible reminder that extended their creators' physical presence long after they'd moved on.  The weight of which was perhaps too great for the tensile strength of embroidery floss and hemp cord to bear.

[Young people] seek out professors with whom to have relationships, and we seek them out in turn. Teaching, finally, is about relationships. It is mentorship, not instruction.  Socrates also says that the bond between teacher and student lasts a lifetime, even when the two are no longer together. And so it is. Student succeeds student, and I know that even the ones I'm closest to now will soon become names in my address book and then just distant memories. But the feelings we have for the teachers or students who have meant the most to us, like those we have for long-lost friends, never go away. They are part of us, and the briefest thought revives them, and we know that in some heaven we will all met again. (William Deresiewicz, "Love on Campus", The American Scholar, Summer 2007.)

All this presence and absence (physical or symbolic) naturally calls to mind Henri Nouwen and his writings on presence and absence of God, as well as and the presence and absence of each other in ministry.  All very timely in this Lenten season, as we are preparing, liturgically, for the absence of Jesus.

The great temptation of the ministry is to celebrate only the presence of Jesus while forgetting his absence.  Often the minister is most concerned to make people glad and to create an atmosphere of "I'm okay, you're okay." But in this way, everything gets filled up and there is no empty space left for the affirmation of our basic lack of fulfillment.  In this way the presence of Jesus is enforced without connection with his absence.  Almost inevitably this leads to artificial joy and superficial happiness.  It also leads to disillusionment because we forget that it is in memory that Jesus Christ is present. If we deny the pain of his absence we will not be able to taste his sustaining presence either.  (The Living Reminder)

And...

Discipline is the mark of a disciple of Jesus. This doesn't mean, however, that you must make things difficult for yourself, but only that you make available the inner space where God can touch you with an all-transforming love.  We human beings are so faint-hearted that we have a lot of trouble leaving an empty space empty.  We like to fill it all up with ideas, plans, duties, tasks, and activities. (Letters to Marc About Jesus)

Having recently marked one year in a new job and a new home, I've been reflecting on what that year has taught me (other than how screamingly FAST a year can go), and, well, the meaning-junkie in me has been hard at work trying to ferret out the larger purposes in all the change.  A friend asked me this week about my job, and I commented to her about the amount of free space and time I have now.  Evenings and weekends that were over-capacity with grading and lesson-planning and - let's face it - a good amount of internet ministry, are now wide open.  And I fret about not filling the space suitably, now that I have it - that I might squander it.  I realize I needn't be so swift to fill the space, but that requires a practiced restraint.  The absence here is a gift, so I feel the responsibility to be a good steward of it.  I miss the classroom, the daily collision with students' lives.  I've made known my ability and willingness to pick up an adjunct-professorship in the evenings to satisfy that desire, and I haven't exactly canceled my daily teaching-job-search-agent emails.  But I'm not knocking down doors to rush back into it, either.  It will happen in the fullness of its own time.  Meanwhile, I live in a paradise that is lovely beyond belief, AND I've been given the gift of time and space to enjoy it.  What overwhelming divine generosity!  

Surely I was touched by Jesus's all-transforming love when my physical world was overflowing with people I had such great occasion to love and be loved by.  But presence necessitates absence.  And His all-transforming love can touch my heart in the absence of His holy messengers and recipients and tasks.  Ministry will still take place in and through me.  All I must do is be present with the absence.

Lent [Day 8]: For Jess

Originally written July 2010

I sent one of my favorite people in the universe to San Francisco this week. We were quite a team, at school and elsewhere. Students called us Jesus and Peter. Truth and Love.  Swords and sheep.

People ask me what I'm going to do without my sidekick this year, and I joke that I'm not ready to be present with that. But the truth is, I've been present with it for a while. I knew when she started talking about California this spring that her departure would be sooner rather than later. And while I would love for her to stay, it's not part of the larger call on our lives and the lives of those who will enter our lives very soon. Sure, I get a twinge of sadness when I think ahead to upcoming events at school in which we would ordinarily be involved together. But one thing I've learned is that my imagination is incredibly limited, in comparison to the way my life has unfolded thus far. To say nothing of the ministry of absence, a necessary companion to presence.

So, today I send someone I love to a place I love to serve a God I love.

Time to make room for new favorites. Now accepting applications.

Lent [Day 5]: Approach and Departure

Two-Six Left

A train yard's beaded chevron unravels, almost imperceptibly. An abandoned unbuilt neighborhood passes below. Bold weeds and unapologetic brush build the picket fence that encircles ghosts of dogs and two point five kids on streets with squandered names. Long forgotten are the artists' cheery renderings in glossy brochures. Further on, a kidney carved by an age-wrinkled river. Filaments of sea froth unwind across a lake, echoed a hundred feet above by a sparkling white thread of birds in low sun.

The countdown from one-hundred-ten reflexively begins as the gear drops - a test of a flight attendant's tension-easing small talk several trips ago. A fling of a mooring rope to land about the time that faith in fluid dynamics wanes. (One-hundred-twelve to a crooked touchdown - owing, perhaps, to an errant forty-six and inconsistent pacing. The human measurement of the mechanical.)

Ascent again. A loosely-collected town, no planning commission to sweep together the fragments and splinters. Color leaches from earth as a brilliant ribbon of atmosphere - trapping the terrestrial from the celestial - intensifies. Details obscure until glitter sharpens against velvet. Light cast and light swallowed and light cast again. A tangerine moon rises as if from within the earth. Drawn by its gravity, we yield to its pull home.

Originally written 1 January 2010

Lent [Day 4]: All or Nothing

Originally written Spring 2008

Recently, I've rediscovered some older songs and albums to which I never paid too much attention before - Jars of Clay The Eleventh Hour, and Paul Simon's Boy in the Bubble and Wartime Prayers.  Wartime Prayers has a catchy chorus: 

Because you cannot walk with the holy / if you're just a halfway decent man /But I don't pretend that I'm a mastermind / with a genius marketing plan / I'm trying to tap into some wisdom / even a little drop will do / I want to rid my heart of envy / and clean my soul of rage before I'm through

And it's really just the first lines that I latched onto.  God calls us to be all-in or else it's meaningless.  There's the oft-cited Luke 10:27, Matthew 22:37, and Mark 12:30.  All.  All.  All.  Not halfway.  And beyond loving God completely, I struggle to give completely in serving Him.  I feel like I spent about a year living half in the past, half in the future, and not at all in the present.  I've come out of that, somewhat, and while one could easily construe that as wasting that year, I needed that year.  It's still being put into context, but I can sense the reason for it.  These are truly days of miracle and wonder.

Lent [Day 3]: Granola

Draft originally begun April 2012 and inexplicably unpublished.  

Made another batch of this just today, with pecans, pictured.

So I've been eating yogurt virtually every day - not my own so often these days, but I have found a few favorites.  I had some leftover vanilla-almond granola from a bread project, which I sprinkled onto some vanilla yogurt, what a delight of textures!

Only thing is granola is crazy-expensive, and one box I bought smelled a lot like that weird vanilla scent of play-doh.  But I have a ton of oats at home, so why don't I make some?  Going to my standby, I found a Cooks Illustrated recipe for almond-fruit granola.  But of course I couldn't leave well enough alone.

I didn't have enough maple syrup, so I substituted honey, and replaced a tablespoon of brown sugar with maple sugar.  Swapped the almonds for macadamias, and chopped up some banana chips to blend with it.

It didn't need nearly 40 minutes - I took it out at 29.

1/3 c. brown sugar (minus 1 T.)
1 T. maple sugar
1/3 c. honey
1 1/2 T. vanilla
1/2 c. oil

4 1/4 c. rolled oats
3/4 c. wheat germ
2 c. chopped macadamia nuts
2 c. chopped banana chips

Whisk sugars, honey, vanilla together in a large bowl.  Whisk in oil.  Pour in oats, wheat germ, and macadamias, and stir to coat well.  

Pour into baking sheet (line with parchment if you don't have a nonstick sheet), then use a large spatula to press the granola into the pan.  

Bake at 325 degF for 30-40 min or until golden.  Don't overbake or it will taste scorched.  Cool on a wire rack for an hour, then break up the granola into chunks.  Stir in banana chips.  Store in an airtight container.  Enjoy over yogurt. :)

Lent [Day 2]: A Sermon on Love

Valentine's Day is one of my favorite holidays.  The red and pink, the hearts, the flowers, the chocolate, the celebration of love in so many forms.  When I was teaching, I was able to indulge in a fair amount of Valentine silliness and frippery.  Science-themed valentines for all my students ("we attract like opposite charges" or "you're the net force that makes my heart accelerate") and heading up the rose and candy-gram fundraiser.  Teaching was a labor of love, and I like to believe most of my students experienced that love from me, whether manifest in my time spent tutoring them, encouraging comments on a test, my attendance at their events, or innumerable treats.

It's the romantic love, eros, that gets all the hype this time of year, but why should other forms get the short shrift?  Familial love admittedly gets some of its own days (e.g. Mother's Day, Father's Day), but what of friendship?  Of affection?  These are the loves that don't get the kind of attention from the floral and greeting-card industry, which is unfortunate.  Yes, the cynics may say that they don't need a specific day in which to tell their loved ones what they think.  And they're right, to an extent.  But, if we don't need the corporations reminding us to love generously on a mid-February day, why are we so stingy with our love the other 364 days?  What if we loved our coworkers, our neighbors, our students, our teachers, our friends, and strangers with such abandon and recklessness and extravagance every day?  

It is the greatest commandment, after all.  And an extremely lofty one.  It's scattered throughout the Gospel, but the translation that resonates right now is found in John 13.  "So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other.  Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples."

We are leading up to a celebration of the ultimate expression of the ultimate love.  The self-sacrificing love that God expressed - nay, that God is - in sending His own Son to atone for our transgressions.  And that is the model we are commanded to follow.  So let us, this Valentine's Day, be challenged to accept a love beyond measure, and to express a love that exceeds our own capabilities.  

Lent [Day 1]: Not Giving Up

Having spent a couple decades in the Catholic Church, I routinely gave something up this time of year.  It's been a while since I made a sacrifice during the Lenten season.  Lately, however, I find the idea of deliberately doing something during Lent - rather than choose something to not do - more appealing.  

A friend and I have groaned lately over the neglect of our blogs.  Scattered around my house, I have notebooks filled with scraps of writings, half-written verses on post-its, unfinished blog posts.

Since this is a season of contemplation, of sanctification, of meditation, of reflection, what better time for an exercise of discipline?  Here's a public vow to spend a portion of this Lent at the keyboard: as reader, as writer, as editor.

Church and the Single Girl (or Guy)

I've come across several pieces of writing lately about how the church treats single people:

This.  

And This.

I will admit I don't directly have a dog in that fight; I've been married nearly 14 years.  But I have a lot of dear friends who are not married, who encounter this every single day. (pun sort-of intended)  But I don't look upon them as "my unmarried friends"... I see them simply as "friends".

A quick look around, and you'll see this attitude toward singlehood is hardly limited to the church.  I think that the issue cuts all the way to the core of human nature: how swift we are to apply labels, and the nature of those labels (e.g. unmarried friends, childless couple).  Nobody wants to be defined by what they don't have.

Of course, America's fix-it culture probably plays a significant role in this.  What if we treated singleness less as a problem that demands a solution?  Or childlessness, for that matter.  Or lack of anything.  No station in life is an automatic prescription for happiness.  

What if the church focused more on cultivating authentic joy and contentment in ALL circumstances - not just teaching people how to accept their circumstances now until they get married, have kids, graduate, get a different job, or buy a house. Come on, Church, we should be showing the rest of the culture how that looks.