An Old Emergence

As summer appears to be stretching fervently into September, I am reminded how much I despise hot weather. After spending eight weeks on the road this summer working for Passport Camps (half of which was spent in the blistering 3-digit degree temperatures of Dallas), I am officially home and have moved on to the next season of my life.

It is fairly disheartening to have a vision but no means to achieve it. Barriers seem to multiply the closer you get to true revelation, but none is so discouraging as age. It seems like everywhere I turn lately I am confronted with the fact that my young age keeps people from taking what I have to say seriously.

In the days and weeks to come, I will have a more measured response to the tragedies of the last week. From the utter destruction in my home state of Alabama to the grievous celebrations surrounding the assassination of Osama bin Laden; it is truly a time for reflection and mourning. There are many conversations that must happen regarding faith and disaster, justice and murder, “good” and “evil”.

I alluded to something in my post yesterday about the person of Judas. As tomorrow marks the observance of Maundy Thursday, I find myself contemplating the progression of events that led to Jesus’ trial and crucifixion. As I was reading through the story a few days ago, I was struck by something that I had never really taken notice of before.

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.