I've been to the Mountain Top

Well friends, it's been ages since I've posted. Life in Cambridge has been rushing by, so fast I can hardly keep up with everything. I blink and another week slips away. Here we are, on the edge of Lent. Ash Wednesday is just a few days away, and I know that all of you are planning to indulge in whatever little luxuries you're giving up for Lent over the next couple of days! I am paying the price of procrastination and haivng to lock myself away to write essays (like I should be doing now...).

BUT, I wanted to announce that I preached my very first ever sermon this morning (first in my WHOLE life, can you imagine I got through 1.5 years of seminary without having to!). It was for Transfiguration Sunday, and it was to our little Chapel congregation - which had swelled this Sunday for some unknown reasons (or I'm just that awesome!) from our normal 10-12, to about 25. It was great. I only stuttered once, and got through it okay. I have my official assessment on Thursday where I get feedback from my professor about how well I did (content and delivery). Hopefully that all goes well. I feel pretty good about it, all in all.

Now, I can just hear y'all, itching to get your hands on this epically awesome work of theological genius (right?). So I'm going to be benevolent (vain?) and post it. :)

I hope all of you are well! I have video footage that, as soon as I get a spare minute (afternoon, rather) to edit, I'll have a video posted. Also, I'm going to Paris in 3 weeks (!!!!!), and I'll be sure to take LOTS of pictures.

All my love!

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Our Readings were Exodus 24: 12-19 (Moses up on the mountain) and Matthew 17:1-9 (the Transfiguration).
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Imagine for a moment you are surrounded by forest. You are carefully picking your way through the dense growth of Central American jungle. It is hot and humid, you are covered in a sticky film of sweat; insects buzz around your head and there is the constant chatter of bird calls. Imagine the toiling climb, up and up, feeling the pop of your ears drums as the altitude changes, and the soreness of your feet from hours on the trail.

Then, imagine them moment when the tree line breaks and you are greeted with a rich expanse of bright blue sky. No office buildings or cell phone towers obstruct your view; it’s just pristine, perfect blue. Imagine your sense of awe as you gaze upon a sky which seems to stretch out into forever. What a reward for the strenuous work of climbing all that way!

It is no coincidence that revelation can take place on a mountain top. Here we are removed from the busy to-and-fro activities of daily life. Here we are raised up, closer to heaven, closer even to God in some sense. Here, after the labor of climbing up and away from the mundane do we encounter God’s unfiltered glory.

I have been blessed to have had such a “mountain top” experience – and, as my illustration may have clued you in – it was actually on a literal mountain in Central America – Guatemala to be exact. I was 19 and on my very first mission trip. I was a brand new, baby Christian – having come to faith less than a year before.  After a day climbing up to one of the villages we were visiting, I stopped and looked out across the great wide horizon, seeing the cloudless sky, watching the way the trees rolled down into the valley, and how seamlessly everything came together. In that moment, I experienced an unexpected revelation – God wanted me to be a servant. God wanted me to be God’s hands and feet. God wanted me to be excited about God’s glory and to share it. The revelation lasted only a moment, but a spiritual “high” if you will, stuck with me throughout the rest of the trip. It was a moment of clarity – an epiphany where I understood something of the nature of God and my relationship to God.

Lots of religious folks have these “mountain top” experiences. Rarely, though, do they occur on literal mountains – they can happen quietly on a ship taking an itinerant preacher to America (in the case of John Wesley). Or they can come loudly on the road from Jerusalem to Damascus (like the Apostle Paul). Or they can happen in the instant of communion – as it did to Sara Miles, who felt God call her to reform the food pantry system in California.

The mountain top experience is a space where God’s glory calls to us, removes us from the present reality, and lifts us. It’s intense, and awesome – in the truest sense of the word. It’s unusual, and can’t be manufactured or prepared for. And, it is transformative.  

Both our Old Testament and Gospel readings for this morning are about that moment of Divine revelation. That is what the Transfiguration is – Christ illuminated revealing his true identity to Peter, James and John. Revelation is what happened to Moses when he ascended into the blazing cloud where the glory of God beckoned him.  There God disclosed the gift of the law. This is a moment of being overwhelmed by God’s glory, and being changed because of it.

A few verses before the Transfiguration in Chapter 16 of the Gospel of Matthew, we see Peter confess that Jesus is the Messiah and is the “Son of the living God.” But when Jesus predicts his death in verse 21, Peter rebukes Jesus. He denies that the Messiah can or should suffer. He doesn’t see clearly. He doesn’t understand.

The moment of the Transfiguration is when it all comes together. We see Jesus with Elijah and Moses. Jesus is the inheritor of the prophetic tradition and the fulfillment of prophecy. God’s glory surrounds them in a cloud and a voice from heaven proclaims “this is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased, listen to him.” 

This directly parallels the baptism narrative earlier in the gospel, with the added emphasis of heeding Jesus’ instruction. This is the moment which crystallizes Jesus’ identity and shifts the focus of the gospel.  If you can imagine, it is the hinge and pivot.

We celebrate the Transfiguration as the culmination of the season of Epiphany. We celebrate the Transfiguration as the final Sunday before Lent. Here we shift; here revelation does not rest, but moves us from the bright glow of Epiphany to the shadow of the Cross. To know the truth of Jesus’ identity is to know that what must follow is the crucifixion.

Revelation is impetus to action.

Jesus didn’t take his friends to the mountain and reveal his true identity for them to stay there. They must descend again and go back into the world, back to the disciples who would squabble about greatness, back to a Palestine occupied by the Romans, back to the reality that Christ must suffer unto death. When Moses returned with the revelation of the law, he was met with the scene of his people worshiping the golden calf, there at the foot of the mountain. When we return from our moments of divine clarity, we return to a world racked with imperfection and sin. It can be tempting to run from that world, to look for the mountain top while we are in the valley.

It wasn’t for me to stay up on that mountain in Guatemala, marveling at the beauty of God’s good creation. That moment was perfect and peaceful, yes, but it was a moment. It was an encounter with God to shape my steps and shift my focus. It wasn’t for Peter, James and John to stay on the mountain, either, building shelters for Elijah and Moses, basking in the literal glow of Jesus illuminated. It wasn’t for Moses to horde the law to himself, lingering in God’s presence away from the waywardness of Israel. And, it isn’t for any of us to stay in the space where God brings clarity. We are not meant to linger in the glow of the mountain top experience; we are meant return to the world transformed by it, renewed by it, and inspired by it.

So, as we approach the season of Lent, preparing to walk with Christ toward the Cross, let the actions of our lives reflect the revelation of who Christ is. And, in knowing that, who we are called to be.

Amen.  

Thoughts from Places...

A video about Cambridge, and my first day of 2011.
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Long Awaited Thanksgiving Recap

So I had a very British Thanksgiving....

An Australian, a German, an Englishman and a Welsh lady all volunteered to play Native Americans for the Thanksgiving skit...

It was a TON of fun! We didn't have mashed potatoes and gravy (they roasted the sweet potatoes, it was really good!), and there arose a debate about the word pecan. Is it PEEcan, or PeCAUN. I'm a fan of the latter, and "peecan" just sounds rude. And I'm Southern, so I win. :)

I can appreciate the irony of the Pilgrims skit, though. It was the Church of England that the Pilgrims were escaping from, and here I am living with current CoE ordinands. The Lord certainly does work in mysterious ways! But more than that, seeing the churches that stood during the English Reformation, being able to walk in the footsteps of my forefathers and foremothers in faith (and as an American) is incredible. The past is ever present. And giving thanks stretches beyond my identification as a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant in America. It's thankfulness for my God, my freedom to worship that God without fear of persecution, for my security and peace. Thanksgiving should be a time when we remember too, all those people who cannot give thanks for those freedoms, and to hear to voice of God calling us to stand as witnesses against injustice. (okay, enough preaching...)

In addition to the actual Thursday thanksgiving festivities that were hosted by Westminster, I endeavored to cook a traditional Southern-style thanksgiving meal the following Sunday. I just couldn't go without Grandma's green bean casserole, or sweet potato casserole with melted marshmallows (that threw the Brits for a loop). So I cooked, and with the wonderful help of friends, had enough food to feed about 15 people. It was delightful!

Homemade mashed potatoes!

The dinner line-up...the boys were hungry after a morning leading worship!

We has chicken instead of turkey...some sacrifices had to be made.

But all in all, everyone enjoyed it! 

For my first attempt at cooking the traditional (to my family any way) Thanksgiving meal, I think it all turned out well. Maybe I'll do it again next year. :)

And there was SNOW! In November!

Thanksgiving and Football

Happy Thanksgiving friends~



Clips of my first English football match! I hope t have a video of my Thanksgiving celebrations up this weekend. :)

Baking with Brekke!

So, I am trying to make gluten-free cookies...and I have learned that sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. But if it involves chocolate, butter and sugar, normally it's going to taste okay. :)

Theology on Tap comes to Cambridge

Back home at in Atlanta there’s this unofficial “thing” called Theology on Tap. It was initiated by an Episcopal church sometime in the early 2000s, and has become a mish-mash of small group gatherings, sometimes sponsored or affiliated with a church or other religious organization, but more often of thinking and drinking theologians. I found myself participating in a rather casual, unofficial version of Theology on Tap with my peers at Candler. We couldn’t help but gather around a frosty pint at the Brick Store (a beloved pub around the corner from where I lived that boasted over 300 different beers from around the world!) and chat fervently about theology, ethics, church history and our blossoming love for the Old Testament (thank you Brent Strawn). In many ways, it was these unplanned, ungoverned discussions that shaped and deepened my understanding of what we were studying in the classroom. We weren’t constrained by time limits, or a need to “stay on track.” The discussion could wander and weave as it wished, leading us down rabbit holes that later became serious theological reflection.  It was an opportunity to grow relationships with the Candler community, to connect not just topically with my fellow students who will go on to be my colleagues in ministry once I’m ordained. It was a hearty, honest gathering of people grappling with the various points of theological and religious conversation and owning it, in some ways.

Cambridge is missing this important space. Students don’t (at least not in my context) meet outside of lectures, or institution/denominational commitments to socialize and digest the dense quantity of information they’re being fed. There isn’t a space to let the theological banter roam free, winding around our own predispositions and asking the personal questions which seem inappropriate for the classroom or supervision group. Indeed, discussion in the classroom is a novel irregularity at best (because of the structure of the Cambridge term system). Here, more so even than at Candler, an open space to talk about theology, ethics, church history and how all of these relate practically to our ministries is extremely important. The cross pollinating of theological colleges is important too, since people from the same denomination live and eat together (mostly) and tend to stick together in small, tightly-knit groups. My hope with this first attempt to transplant something from the New World to the Old, is to facilitate talking – about our scholastic work, our personal reflection and across denominational and philosophical lines.

But maybe it’s just me – I mean, y’all that know me, know I like to talk! But I hope that it becomes a regular, useful space for future ministers of Britain to articulate their theologies, to own them, and to enjoy good conversation (and a quality beer) in the process.

So, tomorrow at 8:30pm (that’s 3:30pm Atlanta time) I’ll be “leading” the very first Theology on Tap in Cambridge! Huzzah!

Remembrance

Armistice Day. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month . The end of war in Europe

Remembrance Day is a big deal here in England. Weeks before November 11^th, people begin wearing little red (and sometimes white) paper poppies as a sign of solidarity and remembering of those who were lost in the two Great Wars. It sweeps through the country, and all of sudden people are pinning poppies to their jackets and blazers, churches have displays where you can buy a poppy and there is a greater awareness of those who serve in uniform. It’s a different sentiment than how we celebrate Veterans’ Day in America.

Firstly, there is an awareness that Remembrance Day is not about the military in a narrow sense. It is about all people who died in wartime. Britain was bombed, and many, many civilians lost their lives during the blitzkrieg. Civilian nurses, aid workers and chaplains died throughout the Western front. Families were destroyed. Life was changed forever. Remembrance Day is about all the lives lost, both those who served in uniform and those who did not.

Secondly, there is still a major focus on the World Wars. They had a lasting impact on Britain – and Europe more broadly – that we just can’t fathom across the Atlantic. Pearl Harbor was horrible, but it doesn’t even come close to the kind of devastation places like Britain, France and Germany faced. It is a devastation that echoes in the land. It is real. It is tangible and you can still feel it. November is a gloomy month which ushers in the grey chill of winter. It is windy, cold and uninviting. It is the saddest season. How appropriate, then, that Britain pauses to stand in mournful awareness, in sober acknowledgement of the destructive power of the human will.

Unlike in America, where we parade around our veterans, celebrating their efforts and applauding their service, Remembrance Day is not about nationalism, but about history. In America, we invite veterans and soldiers to wear their uniforms to church, we sing nationalistic hymns, and we tip our hats to those who died “serving our great nation.” It’s bittersweet – the tart memory of the Vietnam War and the massive loss of life and unraveling of the American dream still fresh. It isn’t a long distance echo, but a clear current cry that we face in America. So, we dress it up, we celebrate the sacrifice and we forget just how devastating war is. We laud the uniformed but forget the many who died as unintended causalities of war. We turn a day of somber remembering  into an opportunity to be patriotic.

Perhaps this differing indicates a deeper chasm between America and Britain. It certainly shows the differing impact of the world wars for Europe than for America. It shows a gap in values, in emotional responses and, I think, in how we understand our relationship to both our country and our military. One isn’t better than the other; they are expression of the unique situations, experiences and personalities of the two countries. It just serves to remind me how different the world is.  

Trinity Hall in waiting

So I have officially survived a month in Cambridge. There were a few moments that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it (in fact, the colder it gets, the less sure I am) but I have lived to see at least another day. There’s been much excitement afoot (including a trip to London and a black tie party!) but the most exciting news is that I have an official church attachment. Actually, it’s more like a chaplaincy placement. I’ll be a chapel assistant at Trinity Hall, one of the Cambridge colleges! So. Very. Exciting. !!

Not my photo, but a lovely shot. I'll take some pictures soon.

Trinity Hall (not to be confused with Trinity College, which is larger and more well-endowed) was founded in 1350 and is one of the oldest colleges at Cambridge (I think it might be third oldest, actually). It’s a small-ish college, with about 350 undergraduates and about 100(ish) graduates of different fields. It’s affiliated with the Church of England (I know, but everything is CoE around here). It’s sometimes called the “hidden hall” because it’s tucked away between two larger colleges (Trinity College and King’s college – which is ultra famous), and yet for all its obscurity it has a rather impressive history. Robert Runcie, a former Dean of the college, went on to become the Archbishop of Canterbury in the 1980s. Consequently, there are two stained glass windows dedicated to him. It’s a neat little college, with medieval buildings and lots of personality.

Isn't the chapel gorgeous?! It's the smallest college chapel in Cambridge

At this point I am helping the two traditional Sunday services – which are Anglican, so I’m hoplessly lost – run smoothly. But, I hope to start a Bible study. I am going to work with the already active Christian Union to get to know the student body – undergrads and grad students. I’m being given a fair amount of freedom, which is exciting, but also nerve-wracking. I am really doing ministry. I am really going to be in situations where I’ll be asked theological questions I can’t answer. I will hear difficult stories. I will be a minister.

I am so excited! Being a university chaplain is my dream job, and this is an excellent opportunity to feel out the waters before being thrown in without a life jacket. I have a superb supervisor – his name is Rev. Dr. Stephen Plant and he’s the new Dean of the Chapel – who has every confidence in me (which is astounding as we’ve only met a few times). I am really excited to be working here, to be learning and growing in such a supportive and beautiful environment. Cambridge is lovely  - it’s hard not to fall in love with the place. The loveliness of the location reminds me that, even when I’m terribly homesick, God moves in mysterious ways to brighten my soul and remind me of my purpose.

Check out the Trinity Hall website! (http://www.trinhall.cam.ac.uk/)

Cambridge is the muggle Hogwarts?

Video tour, part 1

In which I give y'all a short tour of my "house" in Cambridge (it's like a mini college).
Enjoy!

England, Romans and a little theological discourse

I have been meditating on a passage of scripture for the last week or so. I arrived in England, welcomed warmly by the wonderful Amy Walters, and began the long process of unpacking my belongings and turning my room into more than just a storage space for myself and my possession, but into a little piece of home. I’ll eventually upload my pictures of Wesley House, and greater Cambridge, but this evening is dedicated to my meditations on a bit of scripture that I read my second or third night in England. I couldn’t pack many of my books, so I had to suffice with my Bible, Europe on a Shoestring (by Lonely Planet), the Essentials of Christian Theology and a novel called Looking for Alaska by the marvelous John Green.  I decided – rather randomly in fact – to read through Romans in anticipation of a year studying the New Testament. And a slice of scripture leapt out at me and had been marinating with me for the last week.

Romans 10: 9 – 13 reads (italics added for emphasis):

Because if you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved For one believes with the heart and so is justified, and one confesses with the mouth and so is saved. The scripture says “No one who believes in him will be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; the same Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him. For, “Everyone who calls on the Lord shall be saved.”

This has been rattling around my brain for a few days. It’s been making me really think and pray. All who call upon the Lord shall be saved. That’s a statement with huge implications. It’s a statement that challenges us as Christians to love more widely and more deeply then we may want to or think is possible.

For example, the Church of England (furthermore referred to as CoE) is in a precarious position. They are having serious in-fighting concerning the ordination of female Bishops. Now, the Episcopal Church has blown through this (in fact they have a female Presiding Bishop), and I – naively – assumed that the CoE had already moved past these debates. But they haven’t, and they are hotly contested. In fact, when Katherine Jefferts-Schori visited Southwark Cathedral in London this summer, she had to carry her Bishop’s mitre (her special hat) rather than wear it, because the CoE doesn’t recognize her right to be consecrated as a Bishop (she’s the elected head of the Episcopal Church).  This same summer, we as the Presbyterian Church USA (henceforth, PCUSA) elected Cindy Bolbach as the Moderator – and she’s not even a minister! We have embraced the role of women as equal sources of scriptural authority. But the role of women is still being debated in the CoE – and sense I live with four CoE ordinands, we talk about it a lot.

What is comes down to, I think, is understanding the breadth of scripture. People quote 1 Corinthians 14:34 and 1 Timothy 2:11-12 as reasons not to ordain women. I shake my head and think about this passage or Romans. “The same Lord is the Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him.” God is generous to those who support the ordination of women (or gays, or divorcees, etc) and those that oppose it. God is generous to Catholics, Methodists and Presbyterians. God is generous to Pentecostals and Anglicans.  God is generous to UGA fans and UNC fans, alike (hard to believe, I know). God is generous. How simple, yet how profound.

Living in  Methodist house as a Presbyterian (who is still struggling with what it means to be in the Reformed tradition) , in a country with an Anglican state church has brought this passage of scripture into perspective. We will disagree as a Christian community. Sometimes we will disagree so heartily that it will be hard to stand in the same room. And yet, “the same Lord is Lord of all,” God is greater than our theological differences. God is bigger than our arguments about politics, or evolution, or the right to life. God is greater than all the things that divide us. While those issues are important, what is most important is the knowledge that God is generous to us and to those that believe differently. Stepping out of the comfort zone of American society – which with all its own hiccups and problems is still familiar – and embracing the discourse here in England reminds me of how essential this scripture is. We are one body – we will disagree, but God is generous to us all.

Thanks be to God! Amen. :)

As long as we're being honest...

Packing is really difficult. Especially when you're trying to fit nearly a year into two less-than-50lb suitcases. Praise the Lord for vacuum sealed bags. And luggage scales. we're at t-minus 1 weeks and counting! :)

Wanderlust and Christian Community

Why is it that we love to travel? This spirit of wanderlust as my friend Tim calls it lives and breathes inside me. It’s rather like an unscratchable itch: it is satiated but never exactly satisfied. There’s this desire to push a little further, go a little deeper. As I begin to plan my year in England, I am overwhelmed by the number of remarkable travel destinations that spot western and eastern Europe. I have a friend living in Barcelona who has graciously invited me to visit and stay with her family. A fellow sorority sister from undergrad is studying architecture in Rome. It would be a sin not to see the City of Lights at night, or (as the daughter of an art professor) amble through the Louvre. Should I make a break for it and head north, into Scandinavia and visit my fatherland? Is it worth the higher costs to visit Norway and see the lands of my ancestors? What about Britain; how much of this “small island” should I consume in my lust for engaging and imbibing new places, people and experiences? And, how much is too much?

I’m going to England to study theology. I am going to England to encounter God in the trappings of a different culture. I am going to England to engage the ecumenical Christian family in way that I cannot do in Atlanta. I am going to England to be a fish out of water. But, in my desire to take advantage of my proximity to the wonders of continental Europe, have I, am I missing the point? I mean, I have wanted to go to Paris and Rome since I was old enough to want to travel. The books of art with the fabulous color photographs of the Sistine Chapel and the assorted marvels of the Parisian art captured my imagination as a child. The history that unfolds within those old city streets has fascinated me, seduced me and excited me. Aside from Jerusalem – which is the single place I want to visit most in all the world – Paris and Rome stand at the top of my most-want-to-see list. And, I can’t deny that a significant reason I am excited about moving to England and going to Cambridge is that I will be able to go and visit these two and other places of interest. But at what point must I swallow that wanderlust and remember that I am there to study, to be a invested member of a Christian community? How do I balance my hot desire to see and do as much as possible, with my great need to commit to a community for all kinds of education and engagement?

 I have promised myself 4 trips while I’m gone. I will visit Paris, Rome and Barcelona. I hope that my 4^th trip will be to Norway, although time and costs will directly impact its potential. I have a month off from December 3^rd to January 3^rd. Maybe I can take a week and backpack someplace on the warmish side. Other destinations of interest are: Amsterdam for the Tulip festival, Germany for Oktoberfest, Jerusalem (although I feel like that might be cheating myself out of really engaging Europe), Istanbul (I feel the same about this as I feel about Jerusalem), Bratislava and Prague where I have a family friend, and Athens Greece to see the ruins.

There are so many places to go and things to see. I could spend a lifetime discovering the hidden treasures of Europe. But I know that I must rein myself in and keep myself oriented around my work at Cambridge and my commitment to a community of faith. That is why I’m going, after all.