Dear Church: Be a Place that Embraces

I entered Elizabethtown Mennonite Church with trepidation, unsure of how this process would unfold or how comfortable I would feel speaking to the question of whether Lancaster Mennonite Conference should leave Mennonite Church USA over the "issue" of homosexuality. Looking around the packed sanctuary to see a sea of white faces, gray hair and a smattering of coverings, I definitely felt out of my element.

As we began, however, I was surprised and impressed with the process for the listening session - the care taken to split several hundred people into small groups for discussion, and the sincere desire to get feedback from each person in attendance. I was the only woman in my group and definitely the youngest, and yet I was again surprised by the diversity of opinions shared. There were things that I agreed with and things that I did not, but it was an honest and respectful conversation, which I had not anticipated.

As each group leader went up to the mic to report on what was said, I was struck by a number of things. There was not at all a clear consensus - in fact, it seemed almost evenly split between those who wanted to leave and those who wanted to stay. However, I heard nearly everyone echo a commitment to Biblical values - code for defining "homosexuality" as a sin - which was the underlying assumption of those gathered. So it was not this most fundamental question that was being addressed, but rather the question of what Lancaster Conference should do to best uphold this particular Biblical understanding.

Listening to all of this, what it seemed to come down to was that those wanting to leave saw this "issue" in black and white, and felt a moral imperative to separate themselves from what they saw as a slippery slope leading them to accepting "sin". Whereas those who wanted to stay, while having this same Biblical understanding, also recognized that we will never agree on everything and in fact diversity and differences of opinion are a positive thing. They were willing to live in the tensions, and felt that there is value in holding onto unity amidst differences - focusing on what brings us together rather than what separates us.

On the question at hand - to leave or not to leave - I would fall in the latter category...as you might imagine, I am all about living in the tensions and seeing shades of gray. And as Pastor Tom has articulated so well in past sermons, harmony in the midst of differences is truly a powerful thing for a church to embody. However, to be honest I don't know what the best direction for Lancaster Conference is, because I take issue with the fundamental assumption that everyone in that room was operating on.

My vision for Church - not just Lancaster Conference or MC USA, but the Body of Christ - is to be a place that is openly accepting and affirming of LGBTQ people; that rejects a reading of Scripture which labels the identities people are born with as "sin," and instead holds to a Biblical understanding which embraces people of all sexual orientations and gender identities as created by God and equal in every way. 

I would venture to say that all of us long to be seen and embraced for who we are. If there is any place where that should be true, it is Church. Pastor Tom often says that "confession" is naming who we are and what we bring. None of us want to be defined solely by any one of our identities - we want to be seen as whole people. Yet neither do we want to feel that we must hide any piece of ourselves out of fear that we might be rejected. So please, Church, be the place where we can bring our whole selves - and be loved and embraced for all of who we are.

My "Love One Another" t-shirt from the Human Rights Campaign.

Singled Out

I get the same incredulous look when I have the audacity to make either of the following statements: "I'm going on vacation by myself," and "I am single." To respond to the disbelief and assert that I LIKE both of these arrangements - well, let's just say the vacation is an easier sell. Is it truly so hard to believe that not only do I prefer to go to the beach to enjoy some relaxation in solitude, but that I also choose to happily live my life without a significant other? I've found that this is indeed quite a stretch for most people I've encountered.

Which is why I found a kindred spirit in Dr. Bella DePaulo, another happily single woman who has dedicated her professional career to studying and writing about single people. Her book, "Singled Out: How Singles are Stereotyped, Stigmatized, Ignored, and Still Live Happily Ever After" was a breath of fresh air, using both personal anecdotes and a load of scientific research to debunk all of the myths that are being daily perpetuated about single people.

Through those pages, I saw myself and my life reflected. From identifying with (and at times laughing out loud to!) the frustrating micro-aggressions that are all too common, to hearing the stories of other women and men whose lives are full of meaningful work, relationships and pursuits sans marriage partner, I felt affirmed and valued. Sometimes I feel a bit akin to an alien that has been dropped into this world of "matrimania" (Dr. DePaulo's word) and forced to adapt...but in these pages, I found my "mothership".

Let me be quick to say that I am not knocking partnership or marriage - even just this weekend, I have celebrated both marriages and engagements, and do not wish to detract anything from those who choose to make this commitment to one another. What I object to, however, is the societal notion that this is the only logical pursuit - and the only supremely valued relationship.

At another wedding recently, someone asked me: "So, do you have any special people back in Harrisburg?" I replied, with a smile: "I have many special people back in Harrisburg!" Which is absolutely true. I have friends who are like family to me, with whom I share backyard space, kitchen ingredients, meals, laughter and love. I have a job that aligns with my passions for eliminating racism and empowering women, which I pour myself into and find much fulfilment in. I am part of a neighborhood, a city and a church community which I deeply value, and which values me. I love my life, and I love being single; that is not something I should have to explain or justify. It is a badge that I wear with honor - something that I refuse to be ashamed of.

Enjoying sun, sand and solitude at the beach :)

Covenanting.

Today I took the step of "covenanting" with New Hope Community Church - making a formal commitment to share in life and ministry with this community that has already become so much a part of my life.

It was almost exactly a year ago, October 17th, when I e-mailed Lonna saying I'd like to come to New Hope. I had reached a point at Locust Lane where I felt like I wasn't being spiritually fed or challenged at all, and knew that I needed something more. Having visited New Hope a handful of times in the past, it came to mind as a place where I had felt embraced and challenged at the same time, and I had this inexplicably strong urge to go back.

I remember that first Sunday Pastor Tom spoke on the practice of foot-washing, and Lonna shared how doing dishes for someone is washing their feet; that's one of the many ways that we express love in community with one another. And I was hooked, because that's what I wanted, what I needed - a loving community of people of faith who cared about and for one another. And that is really what has drawn me deeper and deeper into New Hope - that I couldn't just come on Sunday mornings and then disappear - that community life is built into the core of church life, that we are involved in eachother's lives.

And community life is messy - we don't always agree and sometimes perspectives clash, but that is also part of the challenge of being the Body of Christ. One of my favorite sermons was on "harmony," and how we can't have harmony without differences - it is the coming together across those differences that creates harmony, and that is one of the things that I appreciate about New Hope, the willingness to recognize and engage our differences while still moving us forward as One Body.

I come as a life-long Mennonite, valuing peace, justice, simplicity and a concern for the poor; as a feminist, anti-racist and LGBT ally, believing that God is a God of love for ALL people, and that we are tasked with bringing the Kingdom by living out that love to those on the margins; and as someone deeply committed to community, the one that is being lived out here, in my neighborhood of Allison Hill and in the city of Harrisburg. I hope to join these values and commitments to the work of this church, and to continue to be embraced and challenged in living out my faith.

I am so grateful to each person who has brought me to this point - Lonna, Pastor Tom, the ladies of my small group and everyone who has welcomed me in and drawn me out as a member of this Body. I treasure the glimpses of the Kingdom that I have seen and continue to see at New Hope - crying together and laughing together; sharing our burdens and sharing our joys; tackling the complexities of how to read Scripture and follow Jesus; and letting our hearts be touched and our passions come alive.

This is not the end of my "quest," but really just the next step in an unfolding journey. Thank you to each of you for walking with me.

The candle that Lonna gave me at the covenanting ceremony, shining its light as the sun sets.

Rewriting the "Love Story" Script

I face this dilemma every few weeks. Wanting to watch a movie to chill out, but as I browse through the options I realize yet again that it's almost impossible to find anything that does not center around romance. I used to be a sucker for these films - "chick flicks" were a staple for me in college, and yes I wept when I first watched "The Notebook". Even after college I had my favorites - "Save the Last Dance," "13 Going on 30," etc. But during the past several years I've developed a lower and lower tolerance for these types of films.

Even some movies that remain among my favorites disappoint me with their adherence to the traditional Hollywood story-arche. "Eat, Pray, Love" I adore, but did her personal journey of self-discovery and healing have to end with falling in love? "Under the Tuscan Sun" did a beautiful job of showing a woman rebuilding her life and finding "family" in nontraditional ways - so why was it necessary for her to end up with a guy to be truly "happy"? Same with "Bridesmaids," also a favorite - her journey of letting go as her best friend gets married is powerful, and she didn't need to drive off with a cop at the end for it to be a good story.

All of these films disappoint me because they have so much potential to show the lives of strong, empowered women - yet without fail end up resorting to the same trite tactics; the search for romantic love and resolution with a "happily ever after". This only perpetuates the lie that women are not complete by themselves and cannot ever be happy without a man (which is also very heterosexist, by the way). It's also disappointing to me because I do not see myself in any of these movies or storylines. 

You see, this heightened critique of my movie choices has mirrored a stronger stance on my singleness as I have gotten older. In college or shortly thereafter, these movies didn't bother me as much because in many ways I was still buying into this fairy tale of meeting "The One" - so could more easily place myself into these films and imagine myself falling in love and living happily ever after.

Yet the more I observed real relationships develop around me, the more I recognized the complexities of "love" outside of Hollywood. I saw, yes, the happiness that significant others bring to eachother, the love and commitment they share, the beautiful ways that these things are symbolized at their weddings - and I celebrated those. But I also saw the differences of opinion that arise, the deep ways that people who love eachother can hurt eachother, and the huge amount of time and mental and emotional energy required to invest into that kind of relationship.

And so I decided that that's not what I want. I want to be single. I have no desire to enter the dating world (online or otherwise), subjecting myself to all of the angst and awkwardness that accompanies it; nor do I particularly want a significant other, the end-goal of that process. I have lots of significant others - friends who are like family to me, who know me and care for me deeply and who are part of my everyday life. I have a life that I love - work that is meaningful and which I feel is making a difference in my small part of the world; the opportunity to be a student again as I pursue my Master's degree; a church family where I feel connected and invested; a neighborhood and city that I'm committed to; a home this is both my sanctuary and a place of hospitality. What more could a girl want?

Hollywood's answer would be "someone to share it with" - but I am rewriting the script. I am whole and complete, not lacking anything, as my friend Brooke wrote. I am happy, I am FREE! I recall a conversation with friends several years ago about what makes us most free to love. For some, it is being in a committed, romantic relationship - and for those who are or are seeking that, more power to you! For me, it is being single - free to pour my energies into loving the people in my life and doing the things I am called to do. Write a movie about that, Hollywood!

A Faith that I Can Claim.

I have begun a “quest” – the term that my new church uses to describe its process for becoming a member. Our “guidebook” that we’re working through frames it like this: “Encountering the Holy does not leave us as we are. It doesn’t make all the pieces fit, doesn’t assume everything now suddenly makes perfect sense. But [it] may speak to your soul and call out of you a faith you can claim.”

A faith that I can claim. What is that now? My faith has gone through many metamorphoses over the years – and me with it – and it continues to take shape. From childhood beliefs borne out of Sunday School and my parents’ teachings, to adolescent growth through camp and youth group. To college, where those beliefs were challenged and I came into my own, realigning much of my theology and worldview. To now, my twenty-somethings, where I am much more certain about some things – and entirely uncertain about others.

The first topic in this quest is “confession” – but not like a confession booth or someone on their knees confessing their sins. No, here confession is framed as simply naming ourselves – our experiences, our beliefs, our lives; all of who we are, all of what we bring. And it poses the question, what do you believe?

What do I believe? What would my “confessions of faith” be if I were to write them down? What is my Nicene Creed? I believe in a God who is Love. I don’t understand how God allows so much suffering in the world and probably never will, but I do know that God cares for us and walks with us in the midst of it. I believe in a God who created a beautiful world, although I don’t believe that it took six literal days; I don’t need to know how it was created to know that it was good.

I believe in a God who created each of us in God’s own image, and each of us equal. I believe in a God who transcends our binary understanding of gender, is neither “he” nor “she” but both and so much more. I believe in a God who became incarnate in Jesus, reaching out to those who were on the margins of society and subverting the power structures of his day. I believe in a God who in Jesus called out racism and all of the artificial divisions that the religious institutions made, and instead called us to love – radically and whole-heartedly, at great risk to our own comfort and well-being.

I don’t have an atonement theory that perfectly explains the significance of Jesus’ death on the cross, and I don’t know if there is a literal “hell” you go to when you die – although I’m pretty certain that any heaven or hell that does exist is way different than what we imagine it to be. But if there is a heaven, then more and more I am convinced that our Muslim, Jewish and other brothers and sisters of faith will be there too – that our God is big enough to supersede even these boxes of “religion” that we try to fit God into.

I struggle with the violence of the Old Testament, and with the apparent misogyny and approval of slavery in Paul’s letters in the New Testament. But I believe that the Bible was written to a particular people in a particular place – it holds Truth, but must be understood in its proper context in order to ascertain what that Truth really is. I believe that the Bible has been misused and abused to perpetuate the oppression of women, people of color, the LGBT community and other marginalized groups – which is a tragedy, because I believe it holds a revolutionary message of freedom and hope.

I believe that there is nothing in the Bible, understood in context, that condemns members of the LGBT community – and there is everything in the Bible that speaks love and acceptance. I believe that even if we disagree on this or other questions, it is never our place to judge – it is always our place to love.

This is my confession – a faith that I can claim. I still have many questions, many things I want to learn more about and explore further, but I am certain of more than I thought. I don’t want to be too certain, though – I don’t want to judge those with whom I disagree, but rather be open to hearing their experiences and their beliefs – their confession. To have the opportunity to practice grace, and to seek harmony across differences.

But I don’t want to silence myself either – to stay quiet when I have something to say, to stifle something that’s burning inside of me. Sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of what people will think of me if I speak up; sometimes it’s because I don’t want to get into an argument or hurt someone’s feelings. Sometimes it’s because silence is easier, and because I don’t think that we can have a real conversation about our differences. 

But in staying silent, I am denying my own confession – I am hiding my own experiences and beliefs; my life. And I am denying the possibility that in confessing to one another we can build bridges in surprising places, we can find common ground that didn’t exist before and we can come to new understandings or perspectives. If I truly believe that I have a faith that I can claim, then I must challenge myself to own it, to speak it – and to open myself up to the confessions of others. Thus begins my quest…

Settled.

Today marks my 5-year anniversary of moving to Harrisburg. This milestone feels both hard to believe and also just right. I am no longer a 22-year-old coming to the city full of idealism. While the core of my idealism is still what sustains me, it has been tempered with a healthy dose of reality about the challenges inherent in committing to this place.

Yet what brought me here in 2009 as a freshly-minted Messiah College graduate are the same things that keep me here today. I distinctly recall an e-mail exchange with my prospective landlord at the time, who asked me why I wanted to live on Allison Hill. Fair question: it’s not usually a place people choose to move. I responded that it was because of “the problems and the hope”.

Through my time at the Agape Center at Messiah College, I saw the very real challenges of poverty, blight and crime facing the neighborhood, yet also the persistent efforts of a strong network of community organizations, leaders and ordinary people working hard to make it a better place. I never wanted to be removed from these struggles, and I wanted to join with those working for change.

Over the past five years that has taken different forms – from spontaneously joining my first neighborhood clean-up to getting involved with Weed & Seed to serving as Secretary of the Residents’ Association. Cultivating an intentional Christian community called “Our Place on Derry” with like-minded friends seeking to live out the call of being Jesus’ hands and feet in service to those on the margins. Attending neighborhood meetings and political debates – and helping to organize some through Harrisburg Hope. And now having found my niche at the YWCA Greater Harrisburg, where I get to develop programs and partnerships focused on “eliminating racism” in the Harrisburg area.

I recently remarked to a friend that I felt settled, stable, rooted. She asked, “What’s that like?” Feeling settled for me is… Owning my house, and anticipating still living at 1527 when my 15-year mortgage is paid off. Knowing all of the people on my block, and being greeted as “neighbor” at the corner store. Recognizing the “regulars” at community meetings, and being recognized as having something to offer there. Doing work that I love for an organization I whole-heartedly support – and wanting to get one of those “years of service” awards at the Staff In-Service Day!

And although there have been plenty of transitions over the past five years, the most important things have remained the same. Spending nearly every Thursday evening with friends whose 7-year-old was 6 months old when we first met. Having almost-weekly “roommate time” with a previous roommate who has shared much of my time at 1527. Taking regular “fro-yo” runs with neighbor-friends and celebrating holidays together.

As I have had time to grow into this place, it has grown into me. I may have fallen quickly and completely in love with Harrisburg, but time has seasoned it into a deeper commitment. The more I walk these streets, grow my relationships and defend my city from the naysayers, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I belong here. For some it is a hard place to live, but somehow despite the challenges, living here has come easily to me. Walking around the neighborhood does not incite anxiety, but rather brings me joy. And so I remain, with anticipation for what will come from being settled.

He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” (Psalm 23:2, emphasis mine). This verse has been resonating in my mind today as I’ve been meandering around the beautiful grounds of Conoy Creek Hideaway, a hidden treasure of a place where I’ve been taking a much-needed weekend retreat.

Usually I’m not much for hiking, but here I’ve surprised myself by wanting to explore the smattering of trails on the 33-acre property. And while every path is beautiful, I keep finding myself drawn to the creek, lulled by the gentle and constant rush of water against rocks and shore as it tumbles on its way downstream. I have always found moving water to be a source of comfort and peace – from the crashing rhythms of ocean waves to the steady motion of the Great Susquehanna, they still my soul.

That has remained true for me here. I have spent blissfully unmeasured time sitting by or walking along the Conoy Creek, allowing it to sooth my soul and awaken joy within me again. I can always tell when I am happy because songs bubble up inside of me, often worship songs, and it feels like my heart is singing. My heart has been singing today.

Usually the part in Psalm 23 about laying down in green pastures seems very figurative, but here – where there literally are green pastures – I have found myself dancing in them, doing cartwheels, practicing yoga, and yes, laying down with my arms spread wide and my face to the sun. This is what the Psalmist is speaking of; these are the things that restore my soul.

With my brief retreat coming to a close, I found myself asking God: “Why can’t every day be like this? Why can’t my life be just an extended retreat?” I don’t know if it was God or just my own thoughts responding, but the answer that came to mind was: “I still have work for you to do.” We retreat from our busy lives so that we can be restored, renewed, replenished; and so that we can return, to the work and to the people we have committed ourselves to. I don’t truly want to live in a hut in the woods forever – but as a break from all of the demands of the real world, it is tempting.

So my next question, then, is how can I take this experience of deep rest and restoration with me? How does Sabbath translate back in the real world? The book I’ve been reading – “The Rest of God: Restoring Your Soul by Restoring Sabbath” – speaks to this, saying:

The lie the taskmasters want you to swallow is that you cannot rest until your work’s all done, and done better than you’re currently doing it. But the truth is, the work’s never done, and never done quite right. It’s always more than you can finish and less than you had hoped for.

The rest of God…it’s a sheer gift. It’s a stop-work order in the midst of work that’s never complete, never polished. Sabbath is not the break we’re allotted at the tail end of completing all our tasks and chores, the fulfillment of all our obligations. It’s the rest that we take smack-tab in the middle of them, without apology, without guilt, and for no better reason than God told us we could.

What an important truth, and what a difficult challenge for me – one who always works through lunch, stays late and carries around a running to-do list in my head. I have fallen into this lie, believing that only when the endless pile of work is done to my satisfaction, then I can rest. That never actually happens because there is always something else, always something more – and my rest comes only when I am so exhausted that I have no choice but to stop. Rest borne of exhaustion is clearly needed, and better than no rest at all – but what would it look like to build in pockets of rest throughout my days and weeks so that I would not have to reach that point?

Observing the rhythms I’ve fallen into just during my brief time here, I’ve been keeping a running list of the life-giving things that I want to incorporate more of into my daily life: dancing, yoga, taking walks, reading, napping, blogging, doing nothing.

This last one is interesting, because when I am at home I very rarely do nothing – if I’m not doing stuff around the house or writing a paper for class or a lesson for Sunday School, I’m watching an episode of something to try and chill out. “Doing nothing” feels like a waste of time when I am surrounded by an endless amount of things I could do; but here, removed from all of that, doing nothing is incredibly refreshing. Just letting my thoughts wander is a luxury I almost never have, except at the beach – someplace where I more easily give myself permission to “do nothing”.

In the movie “Eat, Pray, Love,” one of my absolute favorites, there’s a scene (which you can view here) in which Elizabeth Gilbert is taught in Italy the phrase “dolce far niente”; the sweetness of doing nothing. Her Italian comrades rail on Americans as knowing only entertainment and not pleasure: “You work too hard, you get burnt out, then you come home and spend the whole weekend in your pajamas in front of the TV!” That’s strikingly accurate – we know how to entertain ourselves to no end, but we do not know how to embrace the pleasure of doing nothing; we do not know how to rest.

This retreat has afforded me a rare opportunity to withdraw and practice Sabbath apart from the demands of my normal life. Now as I return home, I take with me the important challenge of practicing Sabbath in the midst of all those demands; of making space to do nothing when there are many things that need to be done. I am exceedingly grateful for my quiet hut in the woods, for the calming waters that have soothed my soul here. As I followed Conoy Creek to the Susquehanna on my drive home, it felt like an assurance – that this little creek feeds into the mighty river, and wherever I go there will always be calming waters for me to draw solace from, so long as I am attentively looking for the Source.

Quiet waters :)