An Old Emergence

Ash Wednesday is an especially poignant moment in the liturgical year for me. Six years ago on Shrove Tuesday, I came out. It was the beginning of a long few months of inviting people into my truth. It was a mixture of terror and jubilation, but it all began with a conversation that day when I finally accepted who I was. The following day, after a beautiful Ash Wednesday service at Glendale Baptist Church (my first Ash Wednesday service), our pastor's family was in a car wreck where their youngest child was killed.  That Lenten season was difficult. Our church family grieved. In many ways, those of us who knew and love Emmie still grieve.  And every year when I receive my ashes, I feel those two emotions profoundly: joy and grief. I feel them to my very core as though I am still 21 years old. While both have faded as I've grown and healed and changed, that moment of the imposition of ashes brings them back. The rawness of those juxtaposed emotions engulfs me. ...

Today is the Solemnity of the Annunciation, the historic observance of the coming of Gabriel to Mary to announce her pregnancy. It is observed exactly nine months to the day prior to Christmas. It is somewhat shameful to admit this, but I grew up in a tradition that placed little value on Mary other than the fact that she birthed Jesus (and, of course, her virginity inspired many lessons about how true love waits). In fact, throughout my protestant upbringing, our religious leaders often led us to believe that Catholics “prayed to Mary” just like they did to Jesus. And we were told how utterly wrong this was. The word “idolatry” was even thrown around for effect. In the intervening years, I have come to hold a much greater appreciation for the person of Mary than my childhood pastors would prefer. Actually, the more I think of it, my burgeoning understanding of Mary helped inform my growing feminism. How could the very mother of Christ (one of few women actually named in th...

Four years ago I was sitting among a few male friends on campus in the lounge of our University Ministries offices. We had decided, a few weeks back, to form this group so we could spend some time in closer mentorship with our University Minister. At the time, I was struggling through reconciling my journey of self-discovery and my faith. Some of that reconciliation was earth-shattering. And while I never brought that up with this particular group, I was comforted by their companionship as we talked weekly about other struggles. This particular Wednesday night also happened to be Ash Wednesday. Earlier in the evening, I had joined with my church family in Nashville to observe the ritual of receiving ashes. At Glendale, my small, liberal Baptist church, we received ashes in the shape of a circle, denoting the cyclical pattern of life and of our faith journeys. This night was my first encounter with Ash Wednesday at a church of my genuine choosing. It was also the first time I had e...

The month of January is filled with reminders of challenging times for me. Tonight, as I sat on my couch watching Rent , I was reminded of the people I carry in my heart. I was reminded of the people from whom I’ve been parted in the past. In December, I observed the fifth anniversary of the death of my best friend’s little brother. Oh goodness, he was amazing. He was a ball of creativity, of innovation, of life. It is no easier to bear the burden of his death now than it was five years ago. I see him in little things every day, and I wonder how he would approach every challenge I face. And I pray that I do his memory justice. In just a few days, we will observe the ninth anniversary of the passing of Susan Bank. I cannot believe it has been almost a decade since the death of my tenth grade English teacher. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her and the myriad things I learned from her. It is amazing how one person can touch your life so profoundly. I would n...

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…

Let me be clear from the outset of this post: I thoroughly enjoy Lady Gaga’s music. I love that she advocates for the rights of LGBT people. I love that she is an entertainer, and that her music tells a story…even if that story is often just plain weird. I would give just about anything to meet her and/or attend one of her concerts. I find her music both provocative and addicting. However, Gaga is not a religious scholar.

Sunday begins the arduous five-day journey to Good Friday. The tradition in which I grew up never paid much attention to the liturgical calendar, so it has only been in the last few years that I have stumbled upon the greater Lenten tradition. Of course, along the way, I began to work out my own personal theology. This means that every Easter, I am forced to contemplate what the Atonement really means to me, as well as the language I use to talk about it.

I find myself spending a lot of time loathing the Spring…despite my best efforts to the contrary. To be sure, I love the blooming flowers and the greening trees, but the pollen count does me in.

Isn’t this a strange time of year? I remember how the third quarter of every school year was always the worst. Even in college, the first half of the spring semester always seemed to drag along. It was like the second half winter was intentionally more dismal than other times of the year.

In May of 2009 I was able to visit South Africa for a second time. While there, my group had the opportunity to visit the Cathedral Church of St. George the Martyr. This was the cathedral at which Desmond Tutu performed his duties as Archbishop of South Africa. Up until that point, I had only ever studied labyrinths and had never actually walked one. There in the courtyard of the cathedral was a beautiful stone labyrinth. I am an experiential worshipper, which is why I think it was such a powerful encounter for me. Here I was in one of my favorite cities (Cape Town), at the church of a modern saint. And so I made the only choice one has to make upon discovering a labyrinth: whether to enter or not.

This year for Lent, I am not really focusing on giving anything up. Instead, I am focusing on ways to improve the way I live my life. While there is a definite spiritual component (which I’ll get to), the bulk of my focus is on my physicality. I am being intentional about the way I eat. While there are many different scripture passages that deal with food, I am always drawn to the passage at the end of the sixth chapter of 1 Corinthians: “You must know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is within you – the Spirit you have received from God…So glorify God in your body.” (The Inclusive Bible) This speaks to more than just food, but to fitness, about the body as a whole. It doesn’t point out gluttony or drunkenness. So often those passages are used to call alcohol evil or are twisted to change the meaning of gluttony to focus on material things. So instead of looking at those kinds of scripture, I like that the writer of 1 Corinthians reminds us that our bodi...

I wrote a blog this morning responding to the tragedy in Japan and the entire Pacific Rim. It was poorly written and emotional. I am not saying that is bad. Tragedy occurring during Lent has become a bit of a hot-button issue for me. So while I affirm my frustrations and the difficulty of understanding why tragedies seem to go hand-in-hand with this particular liturgical season in my life, I don’t really feel like ranting against God or bemoaning my state of existence does anyone any good. And so I deleted it. Instead, today let us take moments to lift prayer to whomever we pray for the loss felt around our world today and for the recovery of those who have lost everything.

holy god who suffers with us, suffers for us, suffers because of us place your arms around us and hold us tight

One of the three women I have the blessing to call “Pastor” has a way with words like no one else I know. Her name is April, and she is the co-pastor of Glendale Baptist Church in Nashville, TN. Now that I’ve moved away from Nashville, I rely on copious email communication to keep April in my life on a regular basis. Every email, in addition to having a reply to my question, concern, or rant, has bits of wisdom and spiritual direction woven in.