An Old Emergence

I just deactivated my Facebook account. Just now. Not more than five minutes ago. I've been leading up to this day for a few weeks now, even if I only announced my intentions publicly last week. More and more I've come to realize how freeing it will be to have only my blog and an email account for a year. Some have bet that I won't make it a couple of months, but they are missing the true intention of my decision to cut the line connecting me virtually to all the people in my life. It will be a challenge at first, I'm sure, after spending the last eight years plugged in to various outlets for social media. Almost since their inception, I've been a part of Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. It almost feels like a weight lifted to be free of them. Or, at least, at the moment it feels that way. It will be strange to just have my email address and this blog as a way to connect with people online for the next year. And it's highly likely that very few peopl

I have, for many years, made New Years resolutions that I inevitably fail to follow. Sometimes they’re simple like “eat more vegetables” or “workout more”. Sometimes I even post multi-part blog entries about my resolutions. Yet, I still never follow through. So my New Years resolution for 2014 is simple: discipline. Now, to be fair, there is quite a bit packed into that “simple” resolution. But instead of making a laundry list of habits I want to change or activities I want to join, I am making the concept of discipline my north star. In order to do so, I have made a few decisions about the way I’m going to live in the new year. First, I will be deactivating my Facebook account for 2014. Many will scoff (and have) saying that I will last two months at the most. The funny thing is that this isn’t some contest of willpower for myself. I need to remove this distraction that eats up obscene amounts of my time. What is the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning? Che

"It seems to me, a vagina—as a man—would be more desirable than a man's anus. That's just me. I'm just thinking: There's more there! She's got more to offer. I mean, come on dudes! You know what I'm saying? But hey, sin: It's not logical, my man. It's just not logical."       -Phil Robertson, GQ The outrage over comments made by Duck Commander’s Phil Robertson in GQ magazine has me somewhat perplexed. While I understand the anger and hurt the LGBT community feels when someone of celebrity status uses his platform to say hateful things about them, I am left wondering why people are shocked at his remarks. Mr. Robertson is a sexagenarian raised in the deep south of the Louisiana bayou who has built his fame on the creation of the best duck call in the world. Though I’m reluctant to box him into stereotypes in a similar manner as he did with the LGBT community, there are some important parts of the person he claims to be that leave me en

The peace of a winter lake with pipe in hand is unmatched by any other experience I've had in this life thus far. The woody sweetness of tobacco smoke that floats out of the bowl of my Churchwarden wafts hurriedly away in the brisk December wind. The warmth of the Carolina briar in my hand is my only respite from the bitterness of the abnormally frosty Alabama air. Advent is a time of preparation. Much like preparing a pipe to be lit. It takes time, intentionality. The leaves must be packed just right for maximum flavor, for the oakey goodness to fully release. The flame must pull through the leaves just so for a lasting smoke. Oh how easy it is to find holiness in the mundane if you're willing to look. And yet I'm so guilty of finding the Holy mundane. Refusing to let myself be immersed in the mystery of the Holy Other and instead seeking out otherness and wrapping it in a cloak of holiness. But perhaps both approaches are okay. Maybe otherness and the Other may

It is hard to believe I am as old as I am when I think back over how quickly the last ten years have passed. It's hard to say much more than that. The holidays, I think, make us even more aware of the passage of time as we grow up and watch traditions change. Now that we have great grandchildren in our family, some of the traditions that went by the wayside as all the cousin grew up and went to college have returned. The cycle of life. The magic of Christmas. #RethinkChristmas

It is fairly common knowledge that I drink tea as though it is necessary for my existence. Which, in fact, it very well may be. I find that drinking a cup of tea makes me stop and reflect. Sometimes those reflections are deep and end with new discoveries about what I believe. Most times, I simply reflect on the events of my day. No matter what though, drinking tea is most certainly a religious experience for me. I love the litany of preparing my teapot, measuring out my tea, letting it sit and steep, and the first pour into whichever of my teacups from which I choose to drink. The whole process reminds me of the liturgy I deeply love in the Christian tradition. And as every cup of tea is different, so are my encounters with the Holy.  James Norwood Platt, a friend of mine and a tea expert once wrote, “Respectfully preparing tea and partaking of it mindfully creates heart-to-heart conviviality, a way to go beyond this world and enter a r

It's the Christmas season around my house...which means I'm cooking and baking a ton. With more parties than are necessary planned, I'm testing out recipes to use. It's interesting to me what traditions and practices I'm most likely to follow from year to year. The clear winner is baking. I'm destined to both cook and eat more than I should over the month of December, and while food is definitely a southern tradition, it definitely borders on gluttony. But our traditions are bound up in the food we eat, from cookies to casseroles. And while we come close to eating ourselves sick, we also participate in the traditions of our family, our heritage. It's a good balance to have to make. #RethinkChristmas

A running joke growing up in my old Southern Baptist church was that dancing was somehow evil or taboo. Even in our youth musical one summer, the dialog for the drama included a reference to “rhythmic interpretive movement” instead of dance. Since that time, I have wondered why we were so afraid of incorporating dance into our Sabbath…and I don’t think just assuming no one can dance is good enough reasoning. I did a little research on the matter to see what the Bible had to say. The psalmist is a HUGE fan of the practice, and the Israelites often celebrated their worship with dancing and singing. While we do a great job of lifting our voices in song week to week, we miss out on experiencing the Holy through “rhythmic interpretive movement.” Is it that we’ve labored under this notion that we shouldn’t dance as worship for so long that we’ve forgotten how to do so? Sometimes the Spirit moves in such a way that words and song and stillness are not adequate responses to the pres

Some days I cannot imagine living in this world where injustice abounds. Some days I think this faith I’ve so desperately grasped through the ups and downs of my adolescence and young adulthood is nothing but a boondoggle. I look around me and wonder why I still call myself a Christian when that term has come to mean something it never should have been to so many. I am embarrassed to say I label myself with the same moniker as Ridgedale Church of Christ in Tennessee or Charles Worley or Pat Robertson. I get strange looks from many in my larger circle of friends and acquaintances when I back out of brunch or dinner because I have commitments at my Baptist church. That is what makes days like today so special.

This morning I woke up with a sore body, feeling the physical manifestations of the myriad injustices I have seen and felt around me over the last few days. I am trying so hard to release these things because, in truth, none of them directly impacts me. But I just cannot do that. I am bearing the weight of the poor decisions of other. I am feeling the pain of grief. I am carrying the sorrow of discrimination.  This has always been an issue for me. I am an emotional being, deeply empathic. I love this about myself because I am relational person. I thrive through spending time with other people. But it is a two-edged sword. It leads to the feelings I am dealing with this morning.

This reflection was first given on Sunday, April 28, 2013, at the ordination service for Reverend Jessica Tidwell at Smoke Rise Baptist Church in Stone Mountain, GA. It was commissioned by Rev. Tidwell to represent her own call to participate in and walk in solidarity with intentional Christian communities of equality and grace. ***   “Ubuntu is very difficult to render into a western language. It speaks of the very essence of being human. When we want to give high praise to someone we say, ‘Yu, u nobuntu’; ‘Hey so-and-so has ubuntu.’ then you are generous, you are hospitable, you are friendly and caring and compassionate. You share what you have. It is to say, ‘my humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours.’ we belong in a bundle of life. We say, “A person is a person through other persons.’” The word “community” has become the ultimate church buzzword for my generation. Where once the “Sunday school” answer was Jesus or God, community has emerged a

I want to begin by saying that I’m writing from a place of anger, a place of hurt, and a place of pain. It takes a lot for me to find myself in this place, and it takes even more for me to write about it in such a public forum. But what I have to say needs to be said, and it needs to be said publicly. As I have often said, the training and instruction I received in theology during my undergraduate career centered on the concept of generosity. This generosity was to be extended in many directions, most importantly toward those with whom you most disagreed. This generosity was an emphatic must in a group of twenty-somethings debating the finer points of theology, but it was an important lesson learned for living life in a world of constant disagreement. However, generosity can only extend so far.

“Ubuntu is very difficult to render into a western language. It speaks of the very essence of being human. When we want to give high praise to someone we say, 'Yu, u nobuntu'; 'Hey so-and-so has ubuntu.' then you are generous, you are hospitable, you are friendly and caring and compassionate. You share what you have. It is to say, 'my humanity is caught up, is inextricably bound up, in yours.' we belong in a bundle of life. We say, “A person is a person through other persons.'" Never has this quote from Desmond Tutu seemed so relevant than it does this week as the Supreme Court of the United States takes up discussion and arguments over two cases that directly relate to marriage equality. This is a topic so mired in stigma and profound conviction (on both sides) that it is terribly difficult to have productive discussions about it across the plumb line of ideological separation. But the thing that brings people together more often than not

We’re that kind of old… Where we are but we’re not But we’re expected to be Yet not treated like we are. Youth is less who we are And more what we have That we’re slowly losing. And we act like we want to lose it Even though we know when it’s gone We’ll just want it back. We’re that kind of old…