Visitors.

I heard them from across the house:
A thousand fingernails screeching down a chalkboard.
At the back door, I stood in awe.
Distinct voices sounded one after the other in a magnificent chorus:
All sang fortissimo.
We had visitors today.
What they were calling for or why they stopped here,
I still don’t know.
Odd. Then erie. Then miraculous.
We had an unseasonably warm day:
No breeze or wind blew through our trees.
For a moment, from every perchable place, little black birds sang to me.
It went on about ten minutes or so.
A few more birds came and stood,
But none moved from their marks.
A deafening noise, I could imagine it driving some crazy.
For me, it was soothing.
The petite sopranos squawked full-throated until,
At last, all were quiet.
Suddenly, the thunderous flopping of a thousand little wings,
a blanket of black arrows pointing southward, and the visitors were gone.
Left with only silence and stillness, my ears rang.

An Advent Prayer

Here it comes: Advent.

A member of Hamlet Presbyterian Church (yes, in Hamlet, NC) called to see if I could preach on Sunday, so all of a sudden I’m preaching 3-4 Sundays in Advent at 2-3 different churches. Needless to say, I’m turning to the text.

Transitions we have none, for as we enter this new season, we do so not cruising along an “on ramp”, but jumping right off a cliff. We join with the voice of the prophet Isaiah and the post-exilic people of Israel in the climax of a terribly bold prayer, “Tear open the skies, God, and come down to earth, so that mountains tremble before you. Like a fire that burns twigs, like a fire that makes water boil, let your enemies know who you are. Then all the nations will shake with fear when they see you.”.

Crying for help, Isaiah vocalizes the feelings of abandonment God’s people felt as they were tossed around by the powers of the Ancient Near East: “Lord, look down from the heavens and see; look at us from your wonderful and holy home in heaven. Where is your strong love and power? Why are you keeping your love and mercy from us? You are our father. Abraham doesn’t know we are his children, and Israel doesn’t recognize us. Lord, you are our father. You are called “the one who has always saved us”. Lord, why are you making us wander from your ways? Why do you make us stubborn so that we don’t honor you? For our sake come back to us, your servants who belong to you. Your people had your Temple for a while, but now our enemies have walked on your holy place and crushed it. We have become like people you never ruled over, like those who have never worn your name.”.

The chosen people felt like any other people – trampled by the powerful; ensnared in evil; and ordinarily blessed and overly cursed by a God who had called them to God’s self and then turned them over to everyone else.

Perhaps we live in such a paradox.

We are reminded by this post-exilic prayer that we have been called by God to be a blessing in the world, and that if we break covenant with the one who calls us, we are eligible for a double dose of whatever curse God intends to dole out. On the flip side, if we fulfill our servant calling, we will eat; we will drink; we will be happy; we will shout for joy; we will be called by name by a faithful God.

The prophet Isaiah reminds us that a new heaven and a new earth are coming, one in which there will be no more crying and no more hunger – people will build houses and live in them, plant vineyards and eat from them, work and be blessed for it.

And so if we dare be so bold, we crash into the Advent season with a presumptious prayer, “God, tear open the skies and come down to earth, so that mountains tremble before you”.

The mountains of poverty, sickness, and violence – may they tremble before you, God.

The mountains of sadness, fear, and hate – may they tremble before you, God.

The mountains of pride, ambivalence, and oppression – may they tremble before you, God.

God, tear open the skies and come down to earth.

Tear open the skies.

God, come down to earth.

What a ridiculous thing to ask.

Pause and think as literally as a six year old might. Draw the picture of what this prayer vocalizes. People are asking the Creator of the entrie Universe to break into our little world – actually, we’re asking God to forcefully tear through the impenetrable blue sky – and show God’s self on our behalf. We’re bothering the God of the universe to somehow find a way to make God’s self small enough to come down to earth in a way that will cause the mountains to tremble. The thought is ridiculous. Of course the mountains would tremble if God forced God’s self into the world, because God’s presence is presumably so fearsome and huge that everything would bend, shatter, and gyrate in an attempt to make space for the almighty Creator God.

As we pause to remember the baby Jesus- his smallness, his meekness, the fact that he came as the poor son of a unmarried teenage mother – let us also remember that this humble human infant was packed with the power and might of the God who made creation, and who can make the mountains shake, the sun grow dark, and stars fall from the sky.

Somehow, all the power, majesty, and wonder of the creating, soveriegn God – the whole being of a God who has called us each by name – has broken into our world – has torn apart the skies and come down to earth – is here with us now – and has promised to come again, creating a new heaven and a new earth.

Our Advent Prayer from Isaiah is a cliff hanger.

And I will write more about that tomorrow.

Internet Recovered, Blogging Revisited.

A wise friend reminded me several weeks ago that I have in fact recovered Internet access in my place of residence, and so therefore, blogging should not be excluded from my range of activities.

I mean just when I thought I would never find another activity … Enough with the sarcasm. Here’s the reality:

Tommy caught me singing songs ranging from “Hot Blooded” to “Here Comes the Bride”  to my computer as I scrolled through Facebook updates tonight, so he suggested that I might be a little crazy. I concurred, though I think the mayhem might have something to do with the Diet Dr. Pepper I drank during the Service Committee benevolence allocations meeting tonight. Yes, I did refrain from singing “wah wah wah wah” (to any tune) during the meeting, though I was terribly tempted to break out Gold Digger or some such thing.

I did, however, find the gumption to suggest that someone’s request sounded more like a call for a “love offering” than something for a budget line item. I was being 100% serious, but I ended up getting a few laughs. Perhaps I should have opted for Sprite. But come on …. someone give me an “amen” on the love offering thing! I mean, pass the basket – if you don’t get enough, pass it again. I forget where I am.

its hard to blog when you dont have internet

Well friends, I have not been a faithful blogger! I have however moved into my new home in Charlotte NC. The first couple of weeks have been a lot of work but were settling in. Btw don’t judge me by my grammar – I don’t have internet yet and I’m posting via blackberry. No big news other then we’re under attack from a local colony of rolly pollies. We do finally have hot water so perhaps we can defend ourselves adequately now. We don’t have TV or Internet yet but what’s new there? Niles seems to like having a bigger house, though he doesn’t get to roam free in the yard yet as were near a busy road. We hope to get a fence up soon. Until then Niles and I continue to run in the mornings around our hot hilly neighborhood. This also saves on the need for gym memberships for now so we seem to do better running for now. One of the most unique aspects of the house is the kitchen. The design is beautiful. However at the moment there is really bad pink wallpaper and no stove. So we’ve enjoyed cooking on the George foreman and wripping down wallpaper when our chicken turns up overdone. So no real news to speak of other then my starting work Monday. Ok everyone be jealous! I get to wear shorts and a t shirt to my first day of work. That’s right I’m going to elementary school field day. More soon.

Voting Absentee

This morning, I turned in my last seminary exam. But just when I was about to crash and catch up on my sleep, I realized I hadn’t sent in my absentee ballot. The North Carolina primary is Tuesday, which means my ballot is due by 5pm Monday. YIKES. So, as I scrambled around trying to figure out who all the local officials are and what their issues are, I found this web site www.votesmart.org. It’s probably not the only one of its kind in existence, but I found it to be a quick and easy database of most of the candidates listed on my ballot. Beware, there are some I couldn’t find and some candidates have no information listed, but it’s a good starting point if you’re going to the polls soon. 

When I finished filling out the ballot, I went through my apartment building and had friends sign the TWO spaces for witnesses (I guess somebody wants to make sure I am who I am). Then, I sped over to the Carnegie Center to mail my ballot. But alas, I arrived at the Post Office 13 minutes after it closed. Thankfully, this branch has an automated machine that would allow me to purchase expedited services if I did it before 3pm. So, I filled out the envelopes, printed the postage, got my receipt, and I noticed that the receipt indicated that I had to get that envelope in the mail by 1:30 pm Saturday or it wouldn’t arrive by 3pm Monday. Watch? 1.22. AAAH! I just paid $16 to VOTE in the PRIMARY and I may miss my chance by an 8 minute margin of error? Schnikes. I threw that sucker in the mail.

Well of course at this point, I’m doubting my judgment (I’m imagining the wise cracks) and wonder if I’ve put the envelope in the correct slot. I mean is there a separate slot that’s checked by 1:30 for expedited mail? Who knows? Well, there are people at the post office, but no one available to speak to customers. So, I call the USPS number on my receipt just to see if I can get anyone on the phone (YES, I’m crazy). NO, there was no one at USPS – They’re totally automated. 

At this point, I’m having flashbacks to the week before my wedding, when my honeymoon tickets were stuck somewhere between UPS Trenton and the USPS in Kannapolis. I was on the phone with nobody for hours. I’ve decided I just don’t want to be a patron of any business that only has automated service lines. I mean I called Harper’s Magazine today to change my address and I got a person on the phone within 45 seconds. Seriously, the USPS should really have someone answering phone calls. “What would you like to do? Track and confirm a package?” NO, I don’t want to track a package. I want to speak with a human being, you annoying automated woman!” 

Moral of the story, don’t forget to vote.

The Day of All things Al

This week, I’m working on a research paper for my class, The American Jeremiad: American Religion, American History. At some point during the semester, it struck me that Al Gore has tapped into the heart of American civil religion and begun to reshape it with his mission to bring the environmental crisis to the fore of public consciousness.

In his book Earth in the Balance, published in the early 90s, Gore identifies the environmental crisis as a spiritual crisis, one in which the very foundations of Western civilization are in cataclysmic collision with the natural world, and yet people lack the spiritual ecology to confront the apocalyptic repercussions of our own technology and ambition. He appeals specifically to the United States on the basis of the covenant made with one generation of Americans, but which extends to all, outlined in the Constitution as the fundamental rights of all to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Gore shakes America’s hold on the promise of freedom, saying that the only way to continue to make the world safe for democracy is to heal the world and the already-begun environmental crisis. 

In his most recent book, The Assault on Reason, Gore laments over America’s loss of purpose, reason, and leadership in the world, and attributes this loss greatly to the silencing of informed public discourse in American society. Though he may not have invented the Internet, Gore identifies the Internet as a tool of salvation for the American people, with the capability for reinvigorating communication and revolutionizing the mass media and public exchange of ideas, which in the last half century has become nothing less than a tyrannical system for disseminating deceptions and destructive values. America’s future, he says, depends on a reawakening of spiritual zeal and renewal of informed public discourse, in short, a revolution akin to that which formed the nation centuries ago. 

More to come on Al Gore, the new American Jeremiah. 

Sunburn

Taking advantage of a reading assignment for my American Jeremiad class, I spent the midday in Palmer Square reading Olivia Butler’s Parable of the Sower. I recommend the book, and hope to read the sequel, Parable of the Talents. All I’m going to say in review of the book is that it really hit on my experience growing up in the 90s. The main character, Lauren, tries to convince her community that they need to be prepared to survive in the wilderness at a moment’s notice, should impending disaster break upon them. Now, Lauren’s community is in far more immanent danger than I have ever been, so maybe I’m just crazy, but as a 10-12 year old child, I felt an urgent need to know how to live off the land, should everything about my post-industrial, globalized lifestyle fall apart. (P.S. I really may be crazy, because upon reading this novel I realized I still have this paranoia/desire). When I finished the novel and started to reflect on what I had dug out of my childhood, I realized that I had a nasty sunburn on my arms. Looking down at my legs, I found a very strange pattern of red triangles, created by the funky slits in my calf-length skirt. Sweet. First sunburn of the season. 

When I got home from my afternoon class, I headed straight for the aloe vera, but after that, I decided that  today was a pivotal day. The first sunburn of the season meant it was time to put away the winter sweaters and scarves, leggings and long underwear. After my last, long New Jersey winter, I found myself singing that song we often sing at the end of seminary chapel services … Aaamen, Aaamen, Aamen, Amen, Amen. 

(Can you see the sunburn?)

 

 

 

The Pope Next Door

Riding uptown on Madison Avenue this morning was a bit creepy. Every Sunday I arrive at Penn Station and am in a yellow cab on my way to Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church by 8 or 8:15. Most mornings, there are very few cars on the road.

This morning was no exception … until we crossed Madison and about 50th. I began to open my sleepy eyes a little wider as I noticed that on every block stood a NYPD officer. In the 60s, there were black cars lining the roads, using all available parking spots. At about 65, black cars were mixed with squad cars, and at 72nd, there was an enormous crowd, with camera lighting and a huge white tent.

Last Sunday I noticed a similar scene, minus quite such a large police presence. Able to catch a quick glace of a woman with a curly blonde mane sitting in a director’s chair, I thought it must have been a Sex in the City shooting, and the woman, Sarah Jessica Parker.

This morning, the shooting could have been done not just with cameras, but also with machine guns in the hands of men and women in uniform on the streets and incognito on the roofs. This morning’s visitor? The Pope.

During his stay in the City, Benedict took up residence at 72nd and Madison, just a block from my church. As I got out of my cab in front of the sanctuary, I had to dodge four big truck-like vehicles that looked like they could plow through a wall – or a crowd. Watching from the front of the worship service, I could see out the back windows 2 ambulances from St. Vincent’s on call and ready. Watching the breaking of the bread during communion, I heard a chopper fly overhead - just about the time the Pope was supposed to be moving from Ground Zero to Yankee Stadium. Wow. Interesting.

As I walked downtown this afternoon, I couldn’t help but think about Oscar Romero, and dozens of other saints who have lived the Catholic faith on the ground so to speak, in the streets, in the line of fire. People whom this Pope, before he was Pope, discredited for their association with populist political and economic movements. People who didn’t have the protection of the Vatican or the United States government. People who died for love of their brothers and sisters.

I couldn’t help but think about all the other hundreds of thousands of people in the City who desparately need the presence of a protector, a mediator, or a medical aid person, but whose resources were reallocated for the guarding of this one person.

Who knows, maybe I’m just a cynical Protestant, but I’m glad I won’t always be going to church with the Pope next door.

http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/04/18/popelockdown/

Senior Day, Dr. Pierce, and Kanye West

“I was going to write the sermon to end all sermons … I was even going to dust off my Barth and my Calvin … and get you all excited about all the good things you’re going to do when you leave this place,” and then she said, “But then I heard the voice of God …”.

Dr. Yolanda Pierce began her sermon for our Senior Worship Service at PTS this way. I don’t know what everybody else thought she was about to say, but having studied with her this school year, I knew something good was coming.

She started talking about how she was there for the birth of hip hop. Growing up black in Brooklyn, she was there from the beginning, so the sounds of hip hop shaped her coming of age. She remembers when hip hop was the outcry of people in the streets who were tired of the poverty and the violence and the struggle that was daily life. It functioned like those old African American spirituals that took people out of slavery to freedom. But at some point hip hop sold out or lost its center, its soul, because artists began to glorify materialism, murder, and misogyny. Besides, newer artists like Kanye West were mediocre at best. So, she stopped listening.

From my view on the back pew, I could see some people giving their neighbors a raised eyebrow or a “Where is she going with this” kind of look. After all, this was the worship service for “Senior Day”. What does hip hop have to do with the hallowed halls of the ivory-tower, ivy-league seminary? What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem? 

Dr. Pierce anticipated these questions, experienced them herself. When Kanye West released “Jesus Walks” in 2004 and appeared on the cover of Rolling Stone with a crown of thorns in 2006, she sat up and took notice. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”. 

West’s poetry may have continued to fall into mediocrity (“The way Kathie Lee needed Regis that’s the way I need Jesus”?), she said, but his message “Jesus Walks” was reaching people whom the church fails.

To the hustlas, killers, murderers, drug dealers even the strippers
(Jesus walks with them)
To the victims of Welfare for we living in hell here hell yeah
(Jesus walks with tthheemm)

Youth who had never stepped into a church, who didn’t know the first thing about what to wear to a house of worship, let alone what one would do in one, were listening to Kanye West on their IPods, hearing him say 

We at war with society, racism, terrorism, but most of all we at war with ourselves
(Jesus Walks)
God show me the way because the Devil trying to break me down
(Jesus Walks with me).

What a simple message, Dr. Pierce said, for people who feel so lost in such complicated situations. “We at war with ourselves”!

It’s not just other people who try to bring us down. It is ourselves, our lack of self-respect, our lack of self-love. Where does one get this self-love if no one else is showing us love? – she asked. 

Jesus walks with you. What does that mean? God loves you – a young girl growing up in the ghetto of Brooklyn. Someone showed her this love, and that message, “God loves you; Jesus walks with you,” changed her life. 

–

A professor of African American Religion and Literature, Dr. Pierce has discovered this through exploring African American antebellum writers : “for African Americans, accounts of spiritual conversion revealed “personal transformations with far-reaching community effects. A personal experience of an individual’s relationship with God is transformed into the possibility of liberating an entire community.” The process of conversion could result in miraculous literacy, “callings” to preach, a renewed resistance to the slave condition, defiance of racist and sexist conventions, and communal uplift.” (From Dr. Pierce’s Hell without Fires).

My hope for the Princeton Theological Seminary community is that Dr. Pierce’s account of her spiritual conversion, as well as the accounts of other brothers and sisters of all walks of life, will yield the continuing transformation of a seminary, a church, and a world in great need of liberation.

Women’s Center Lunch for Senior Women

Today was the annual PTS Women’s Center Luncheon for Senior Women, as well as one of the first days that I have seen flowers in bloom in more than seven months. 

Spring brings lots of beautiful changes, and the warm weather and the brilliant colors call out for us to stop and notice everything that’s going on around us. 

Some of the women at the lunch gave reflections about their time at PTS, and while I sat listening to some music, I began to reflect on my time here. I kept coming back to a couple of conversations I had before I came to seminary, wherein more than a couple of women who graduated from PTS warned me not to even think about going to Princeton. Women were not welcome, in fact they were harassed, during their times at PTS. 

I am grateful that I have not had to endure such a blatantly hostile experience, and perhaps I am lucky. I know that there are still lines in the sand and ceilings to be broken through. But as Dr. Pierce said in class last week, the essence of feminist expression is choice, and I have felt the love and support of many sisters (and brothers) as I have created my unique route through seminary. 

Cheers to my sisters. Cheers to the many choices that are behind and cheers to the many choices that are ahead. Cheers to us who will stand together as we we create our own unique ways through life.