futurepreacher

My siblings like to make fun of my pacifism. Which is funny, because my brothers and sisters and I grew up not being allowed to play with toys like squirt guns. I remember my mom getting this disgusted look on her face when we asked her if we could buy super-soakers. No, she said while raising her eyebrows, we don’t play with violent toys in our family.  So my siblings clearly know where my pacifism comes from.

Now that we’re grown, my siblings make fun of me because I study peace, have learned to mediate, and tend to frame most of my opinions on things in terms of God’s love. For example, no I don’t think we should support capital punishment because God loves murderers too. No, I don’t think war is ever OK, because God loves all people and doesn’t want God’s children killing each other. I’m not very original. Many others have espoused similar views. But I’m my siblings’ sister, so they poke a little fun at me.

Making fun of me not withstanding, I think my siblings also respect my determination to be devoted to nonviolence. A few years ago, I thought about going a second time to study in Guatemala. My little sister, Hailey, was quite concerned. She knew there had been periodic violence there, and had heard me talk about the last time I had lived in that country. While I was there a bus driver got shot on my street, a man was beheaded one street over from where I lived, and in my neighborhood there were men with sawed-off shotguns guarding the stores and other businesses. Hailey is a war orphan from Liberia, Africa. Her earliest memories are of running away from men with guns. So when I was talking about going back to a place with this kind of violence, she was understandably concerned.

One day, after thinking over her options for making sure I’d be safe in Guatemala, this is what Hailey said to me:

“Rachel, I’ll go to Guatemala with you and since you’re a peace-person, I’ll bring the guns.”

Now, a real pacifist would have protested. They would have said something like, “violence is never OK and I wouldn’t want you to engage in violence on my account.” That’s the true pacifist response. And I mostly agree with it. I don’t want anyone shooting guns and hurting other people. But that’s not what I said to Hailey that day. Because see, I’m not just a pacifist. Like Hailey so generously identified, I’m a peace-person. And I’d like to think I’m enough of a peace-person to focus on what she was intending to say. My baby sister was telling me that she loved me, that she wanted me to be safe, and that she didn’t want to lose another person who was important to her to men with guns. She was also trying to say that she knew how much I cared about being nonviolent and that she respected my desire to never respond to violence with violence. It felt wonderful to have my sister see my heart.

At that moment, it was more important to me to honor my little sister’s discernment and generosity of spirit than to espouse my pacifistic principles. If I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that my principles need not obscure the reality of another person’s truth. So I saved the lecture and just said, “Thanks, Babycakes. I’d love to have you along.”

She nodded in response. In that moment, my sister’s heart was at peace.

Hey Everybody! Here is a link to a short video about the Academy of Preachers and why it’s important. I was one of four young preachers interviewed, so if you watch it you’ll hear why I am part of this organization.

And he sometimes walks to the store to buy skittles.

Luke just turned 17 and he’s tall, athletic, and quite good-looking. But he could also be a little suspicious looking. When he’s walking somewhere, he often looks down, darting his eyes from side to side. Luke is just a little shy, as many adolescents tend to be. But neighborhood watch captains don’t know that. They don’t know that this particular human being has a heart like butter that melts around babies and puppies. They don’t know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. They just know that my baby brother is a teenager and that he’s a little suspicious.

And oh ya, he’s black. Did I mention that? Luke is African-American in a very literal sense. He was born in Liberia, Africa and has grown up in the United States, with me, in the Pacific Northwest. We have an older brother and three sisters. Two of our sisters are also from Africa. So we’re blended. We like to call ourselves Oreos. We may be different parts of the cookie, but we go really well together. As long as Luke is with me, or one of our other white siblings, I don’t worry about our difference in flavor. We really like chocolate. But Luke goes out sometimes without us, and there are people who only like the cream filling.

To say I worry about my baby brother is an understatement. I worry that he gets his homework done. I worry about him because he’s young and hormonal. I worry when I hear stories of him being called “nigger” by kids at school. I worry about him when he begins to act tough and gets a little lippy. I tell him, “It’s fine to be like that around me, Little Brother, but you gotta watch how you are with other people.” I worried, or should I say “got so fucking mad I could have smashed somebody’s head in,” when I heard that someone spit on my baby brother because he is black. I worry because if Luke committed a crime, he would get a harsher sentence than our older brother, Isaac, due to the color of his skin. I worry because racism is not dead. I worry because my black baby brother wears hoodies.

I wonder if Trayvon’s family worried about him too. Teenagers tend to inspire anxiety in the people who love them. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of what that family lost and the completely evil reason why their little boy is gone. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child, but I know that if something happened to Luke, my soul would shatter into a million pieces. He and my African sisters are the most beautiful pieces of the fabric of my life and have been a blessing to me beyond what words can describe. They are just these wonderful, loving, quirky, gorgeous creations of God that I am privileged to call my siblings. Can you tell I adore them?

When Trayvon was killed a few weeks ago, I didn’t know how to respond. As a member of the privileged, middle-class, white community of this country, I didn’t think I had a voice in calling out the travesty and injustice of Trayvon’s murder. But then I remembered something that blasted me out of that stupor and called me to react. My black baby brother wears hoodies.

And he sometimes walks to the store to buy skittles.

This last year, I’ve had the privilege of participating in some amazing events with the Academy of Preachers. (From the website) – “The Academy of Preachers is an ecumenical initiative launched in 2009 through a generous grant from the Lilly Endowment and energized by the conviction that gospel preaching is a vocation of public and social significance, a calling worthy of our very best and brightest young people. The Academy of Preachers is a trans-denominational organization whose mission is to Identify, Network, Inspire and Support young people who sense God’s leading into a vocation of enormous social significance—Gospel preaching.”

I have been truly blessed by my time with the Academy and am now on their leadership team as a “Gospel Catalyst.” Below I added links to two sermons I preached while at Academy events. The first event was Preaching Camp, in Atlanta, where we wrote and preached 4 sermons in five days. That was a work-out! The second event was the National Festival of Young Preachers, in Louisville, where 125 young preachers, of 30 denominations and as many states, came together to preach the gospel.

Feel free to watch either of these videos and let me know what you think. I’m still learning and experimenting with various delivery styles. I hope to continue to grow and to gain more practical theological knowledge in seminary. Preaching class, in which I will learn the proper way to ‘preach Lutheran,’ will be next fall. Who knows what my preaching style will be like after that!

Sermon 1: From Preaching Camp

The ending is cut off, but you’ll see me in my normal sermon mode, preaching freestyle (with a twist).

Sermon 2: From the National Festival

You’ll see the whole video, but this is me trying to read from a manuscript. Not my best mode of delivery.

My Church History Professor, Dr. Hendel, is a wonderful man. He’s one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, which is why this semester I’m taking not one, but two classes from him. He’s a great lecturer, available to converse outside of class, and truly has his students’ best interests at heart. At least, I thought he did.

On the first day of Church History II this semester we looked over our syllabus. It looked fine. I was excited about the topics we were planning to cover, the papers we were charged with writing, the weekly readings that we were….

Wait, what?

“Dr. Hendel!” (my hand is high in the air)

“Yes Rachel?”

“There are over 700 pages of reading assigned for the second week of April.”

(Dr. Hendel smiles somewhat sheepishly) “Yes.”

“700 pages,” I repeat.

“Yes, but the Nelson book is really good. I think you’ll like it.”

(I stare incredulously – 700 pages) “But, what about our other classes?”

“I promise, this will be worth your while.” (he smiles and cocks his head in amusement as I continue to stare)

The teacher had spoken. He really did want us to read our regular texts in addition to a special book called “The Lutherans in North America,” all in one week. I was fine with the basic premise, but the book is 565 pages long. That’s a ton of reading. So, I did what any slightly OCD student would do. Knowing that I would never be able to read 700 pages in one week and get anything else done, I took the total number of pages in the book and divided it by the number of days between the beginning of the semester and when the book was to be read. I figured out that I needed to read 9 pages a day. That seemed manageable. I started reading and after I started I just didn’t want to stop.

Dr. Hendel was right. I do really like the book. Maybe there’s something slightly narcissistic in me that enjoys being immersed in my own history. I strongly identify as a Lutheran, so this is personal. It’s my history. But I think my interest goes beyond myself. I’m interested in this book because it gives me a way to understand the state of our church today. I have often felt a great deal of concern over our synodical fractures and disagreements. “Why can’t we all just get along?” I always think. I want so badly for all us Lutherans to be on the same page, working together, spreading the good news of Jesus Christ.

But that’s not our history. I have recently learned that the early Christian church did not enjoy some idealistic sense of unity that we often attribute to it. It was made up of many diverse groups. After reading “Lutherans in North America,” I now know that the early Lutheran church in North America was similarly diverse. Between 1840 and 1875 almost 60 independent Lutheran bodies were established in the New World. Our history since then has been one of consolidation and split, unity and defining our differences. And it’s been fine. We are all still doing what we have been called by Christ to do – attempting to be faithful to the gospel in the time and place we find ourselves in.That I don’t agree with my Missouri Synod brothers and sisters about who should be welcome to the communion table doesn’t mean we aren’t both acting out of our faithful understanding of the scriptures and the Lutheran Confessions. In the same way, many of our predecessor bodies differed in their concepts of how we should worship, whether or not we needed a “conversion” experience to be part of the church, and what the process for ordination should be. Unity has just never been our thing.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that “our thing” has always been the gospel. Luther said that everything should be put through the strainer of the gospel and what comes out on the other side should be retained. Everything else can be let go. He may not have used those exact words, but it was something like that. And the gospel is being preached by Lutherans today.

So next time you find yourself fretting about our Lutheran squabbles, think about how our church got to where it is now. Remember that squabbling has always been part of our history. But so has an absolute commitment to the gospel. We’re still here. And God is still working through us. I find a lot of comfort in that.

In my previous post, I identified the need to reflect on the blessings of home. Despite the cliche, when speaking of home, I must say – there’s just no place like it! I’m soaking in the love of my mama, enjoying bantering with Luke, loving my late night talks with Hailey before we fall asleep, and I can’t get enough of Mary’s positive attitude! It’s been just the five of us the last two weeks, as my dad is teaching a January-term class in Berkeley. I’ve been filling his usual roles of extra driver, homework helper, and avid sports fan. These are roles I love and will miss terribly when I have to fly back to Chicago next week. There is a part of me that is so much happier here, with my people, being part of a family that I intrinsically belong to and fit in with. It is in being here that I am realizing that God has called me to be a caregiver, and has given me gifts for that role. While at school I am often by myself, studying and working, at home I am an active member of a community.

But I am also realizing that I get very little of my own work done when I’m at home. I would rather help my siblings with their work than do my own. I can’t imagine missing a soccer game for anything, not even to study for a Greek test. I know that I would not be able to put my heart and soul into school if I was in school near my family. While God has given me gifts for caregiving, right now God is calling me to be a student. In order to fully live into that role, I must leave my people and head back to Chicago, where I will once again immerse myself in classes and homework.

Sometimes it’s hard to want to be anywhere, but here. I spent a bunch of years away in the world, and in doing so found that life is much richer if it is spent with people I love. Sometimes it’s hard not to resent God calling me away from my family again. But if I’m going to live into my ultimate role as a disciple of Christ, I am going to have to be like the original disciples, venturing out far from the life I  previously led. After all, when Jesus calls, what is left but to follow? And to pray:

“Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

A few weeks ago, I wrote my last paper, took my Greek final, and my first semester of seminary was over. My Greek study buddies (and very good friends), Rob and Kyle, and I celebrated after our last final by getting hair cuts and going out to dinner. Later that night we went gratefully to bed, gleefully anticipating a morning in which we would wake up and do…nothing.

Unfortunately, no such morning materialized for me. The semester was over, but the work seemed to be just beginning. I had sermons to write, holiday shopping to begin, and applications for Clinical Pastoral Education to fill out. It’s hard to celebrate being done with papers and tests when a 25+ page application looms. And so, the stress of seminary continued, and continues today.

I’ve been home for over a week now, and have enjoyed time with my family and friends in between completing the tasks at hand. However, the time I’ve spent with others is not quite as relaxed as I had hoped it would be. I am too busy working on my sermons, projects, and applications to truly let down. After realizing how divided my attentions have been, I was convicted by words from the sermon I preached this last Sunday.

“Rarely in our culture are we given – nor do we take – the time to truly be present in the moment, to wait, to prepare. We rush from one thing to the next to the next, getting more and more tired, and less able to enjoy or put energy into any of the things we are doing.”

It’s amazing how those words came out of my mouth, but I am a Grand Canyon away from integrating them into my life. Maybe God gave me those words not just as an Advent lesson for the congregation to whom I was speaking, but also as a reminder to myself to slow down. Maybe God gave me those words so that I would fully enjoy the time I’m being given to be in a place I love with people I truly adore. Maybe God gave me those words because they remind me that God’s way of life is different from the one in which we are often caught up. It involves love and joy and community and silence and mystery – all things that can be missed when one’s eyes are locked on a to-do list.

And so, in this season of Advent, I’m taking a little time to breathe, to be present with my family, and to reflect on the gift of home. I know there are many things left to do, but I trust that there will be time enough for the next set of tasks once I’ve given myself fully to this moment. And with my beautiful little sister sitting next to me, Christmas carols playing in the background, and water boiling for tea, this is not a moment to be missed!