Category: writing

Muse on a Monday

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“God,
you are our beginning and you will be our end;
we are made in your image and likeness.
We praise and thank you for this day.
This is the day on which you created light
and saw that it was good.
This is the day in whose early morning light
we discovered the tomb was empty,
and encountered Christ, the world’s true light.
This is the day you have made;
we shall rejoice and be glad in it.” 

from A New Zealand Prayer Book/He Karakia Mibinare oAotearou [1]

 MUSE PROFILE

What is A New Zealand Prayer Book:

My muse this week is not a person, but a collection of prayers and liturgy from the Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand, and Polynesia.

Why This Book:

Coming from a faith tradition that does not use a prayer book in worship, I am intrigued by the concept of prayer books and designated prayers or liturgies for specific times of day, days of the week, and seasons of the year. Always one to play with words and experiment with ways to say old things in new ways, I appreciate the prayer book’s innovation with words and use of inclusive language, while never straying too far from its biblical foundations. I am fascinated by its incorporation of the Maori language.

This prayer is in a section of daily devotions and liturgies of the Word. Each devotion uses a portion of the LORD’s Prayer as the introductory theme, followed by a prayer that highlights and expands on that theme. The excerpt of the prayer above is based on the beginning and end of the LORD’s Prayer, “Our Father in heaven, the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and for ever.”[2]

Why this prayer:

I love that in the course of a few sentences, the prayer spans the first and new testaments and resonates with language from multiple psalms and biblical passages. Until recently I thought one could only learn the language of the Bible from the Bible itself. My worship classes taught me that liturgy, too, can bathe us in the biblical tradition. This excerpt is only one-third of the entire prayer yet it is so scripturally rich! The language and imagery makes my heart flutter (i.e. the writer in me meets the seminarian in me)!

[1] The Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand, and Polynesia, A New Zealand Prayer Book (Harper Collins, 1989), 106.

[2] The Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand, and Polynesia, A New Zealand Prayer Book (Harper Collins, 1989), 106.

 

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Muse on a Monday

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“And perhaps if we ever have real equality with all our glorious differences, the language itself will make the appropriate changes. For language, like a story or a painting, is alive. Ultimately it will be the artists who will change the language (as Chaucer did, as Dante, did, as Joyce did), not the committees. For an artist is not a consumer, as our commercials urge us to be. An artist is a nourisher and a creator who knows that during the act of creation there is collaboration. We do not create alone.”

by Madeleine L’Engle in “Icons of the True” from Walking on Water[1]

 MUSE PROFILE

Who is Madeleine L’Engle:

The author who introduced my fourth grade self to the fantasy genre with her book, A Wrinkle in Time.

Why This Person:

I did not know L’Engle wrote anything but fiction for children until recently. I am finding her collection of essays on faith and art to be as invigorating now as A Wrinkle in Time was at age ten.

Why this quote:

My oldest daughter mentioned Interfaith Gathering tonight, and I got all nostalgic. What amazed me tonight was the fact that it did not exist until I created it. And that through that act of creation, something beautiful and life-giving happened for a diversity of women. And how much joy comes from creating something like this, even though it’s hard and the unknowns test you.

Since stepping away from this work following my move to the southern United States, I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit floundering a bit, doubting myself and how God may be using me in this new place and stage of life, doubting whether my creative, free-spirit self has a place in the PCUSA, which loves committees and the sense of order and direction they provide.

My heart is finally making the journey home to embrace my Presbyterian lineage–even if I don’t yet trust myself to let all my creative, free spirit colors wave there, or trust my home’s theological breath and demonstrated potential for finding grace in hard questions amidst its love of order and precision.

L’Engle’s words affirm who I am and why my creative, free-spirited self may be welcomed even where committees abound.

[1] Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art (New York: Convergent Books, 2001), 35.

 

Gimme an M! F! A!

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Almost a year ago I attended a writer’s conference that made clear I’m meant to be both writer and pastor. Two months earlier when I started at Columbia Seminary, I thought it was one or the other. God’s call is rarely so simple, so I’ve spent the year since the conference trying to figure out how to live fully into both.

Recently, like a book being opened to the exact right passage, I found the field in ministry that speaks my language, Pastoral Theology. After much doubt my first year of seminary about my pastoral identity, I cry tears of joyous relief.

But what to do about that crazy idea that still cheers at the sidelines, its pompoms shaking as it shouts, “M! F! A!” ? Last year, I wanted to join its team. I was tempted to quit and pursue an M.F.A. degree. Certainly the loudest cheerleader must be God herself! But let’s be real—just because I’m in seminary doesn’t necessarily mean everything is a “God thing”!

What to do with these phantom cheerleaders? Better at least pay attention. When I see an MFA, I see uninterrupted time and an established structure to write. What does that tell me? That I’m not getting enough writing in my current situation. Not because I’m in seminary, but because I’m choosing to use seminary pressures as an excuse not to do even 20 minutes of writing each day—the kind of honest, hard-won writing that does not come in the form of papers or academic reflections, or rushed journal entries.

This realization shifts how I perceive God. Maybe God is speaking through phantom cheerleaders shouting “M! F! A!” But perhaps her message is not necessarily one that tells me what to do (quit and get an MFA), but is an enthusiastic attempt to spell out how I am or am not meeting my present needs.

Reluctantly, I get off the bench and leave behind by program of easy answers. On the field I stretch my muscles, preparing to do the practice and run the complicated plays that will help move me to the end goal of touching down in the future as both writer and pastor. In less than two days, I, too, will cheer—celebrating the complexity, challenge, and wonder of this call at the writer’s conference that pointed me in this mysterious direction a year ago.

The Writing Life of a Seminarian

e9a42464c14573fd513bce3883aa4c2dbyhotblackonmorguefileI’m at the midpoint of the fall semester next week. Which means I have my hands in many projects right now. I’m writing a lot, but the fruits of my work seem to be academic work, forms, communications, or journal entries.

I think that still counts. Here’s some excerpts of what I’ve written recently:

From an email, on discernment:

“Not really knowing what “practical theology” was when I began the Intro to Practical Theology course last summer, I was surprised to learn how well it fit with what I perceive as my pastoral identity. As I experienced the field of homiletics in the spring, I felt I was getting even closer to who I am. I am in Intro to Pastoral Care this fall, and I have finally discovered what I am! A pastoral theologian!! “

From my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) application for a hospital chaplaincy internship, on vocational identity:

“One need that stems from my ministry and call is to know whether I am suited for ministry in contexts of suffering. The majority of my work until this point has been in “positive,” “growth-minded” contexts. Teaching, for example, focused on community building and learning outcomes, camp focused on fun and camaraderie, even children and youth ministry focused primarily on the good things that come from following God. Not that there wasn’t suffering. At camp, for example, I worked with staff members who suffered from mental illness, another who faced an unexpected pregnancy, and others devastated by the news of subway bombings in their London hometown. I worked with campers whose mom was in jail, others whose parents beat them, and another whose dad had terminal cancer. Reflecting on this, I suspect that my skills will transfer and I likely have already used many of them. Combined with fond memories of the pace and duties as a camp director—no day was ever the same…and I had to respond and think on my feet, which I loved—I think chaplaincy could very well be an important aspect of my future vocation.”

From my Committee on Preparation for Ministry annual review forms, on unexpected personal transformation:

“I am so immensely thankful that I ended up in the Atlanta area at Columbia Seminary, even though it’s not what I planned. The cultural shift from a suburban to metropolitan area and northern to southern United States locale is impacting me in subtle but profound ways. My views on race and justice have been cracked open. I’m being transformed. Not just because of the increased exposure I have to these issues on account of my geographical move, but because of the friendships and collegial relationships I’m developing with a great diversity of people among seminary colleagues and in the community.”

From my journal, on my reality right now:

“I never expected seminary to be such a testing ground.”

“I didn’t expect to feel so raw in seminary.”

From a poem I wrote about hope as flame, spark, smoke, and heat:

“…I dance,

a hope-fueled she-dragon,

breathing fire into a world

pregnant with longing.”

I hope you’re dancing, too. –-AE

 

 

 

 

 

A Child Says…

file0001628333441byiamagooatmorguefileI’ve been told that I can stretch the boundaries of people’s understanding or comfort. Last spring, after I preached a sermon using a vulture as a metaphor for disciple, I was advised to keep in mind that depending on my audience, I may need to scaffold listeners’ understanding for things that may rock their world. Maybe I’m just a naive judge of what will rock people’s worlds.

I’m still relatively new at my church, where I’ve been attending and working as their Sunday school teacher for about a month. The church is excited to have a relative abundance (thirteen!) of kids participating, ages 4-11, compared to recent past. The congregation and its leaders are trying to embrace this, and expand kids’ involvement to worship. For World Communion Sunday this past weekend, the kids played a special role in two parts of the liturgy, and I was asked to offer the Prayer of the People during worship.

I prayed and thought a lot about this before I wrote the prayer. There is so much to pray for these days! I thought about some of the worries the kids vocalized in just our first few gatherings together. I reflected on a visit to the Georgia Aquarium with my own kids. I prayed about the transition the church is in of figuring out how to more fully live into its perceived identity of offering a wide welcome to a diversity of people in a personable way. I recalled my participation in this majority-white church’s first intentional conversation about race following Charlottesville.  I reflected on how I am inspired by the interim minister’s leadership. I connected all that I’ve been reading in my seminary classes, particularly pastoral care. I thought about the conversations swirling at the seminary. I attended to news and current events. I tried to intuit how these things intersected with all the people around the world gathering to break bread together at God’s table. I prayed some more as I wrote and tweaked the prayer.

On World Communion Sunday, I prayed for the People of my congregation, from my heart.

There seemed to be a heightened alertness during most of the prayer. Following worship, I had flashbacks to the conversation from last spring. I received a few general, “I liked your prayer” comments following the service, but I also heard, in tones ranging from excitement to OMG, words like, “bold,” “fearless,” “yeah, pretty bold.” Or, “moments like these will help you grow.”

I didn’t feel like I prayed anything that earth shattering. I went where the Spirit led. Did I really misread my context? Was it bold? And if so, might that be okay?

What I do know is that the intersection of prayer, Spirit, people, and life during worship is a mysterious place. I am thankful to have the opportunity to enter this mystery. Join me. Let us pray:

A Child says,
“I hope the man who fell and broke his hip at the roller skating rink is okay.”

God, this life we lead is not easy.
For the everyday trials, accidents, and discomforts of life, we ask your presence and healing.

 

 A Child sits in front of a window into the world’s largest aquarium and says, “Whoa! Look how big that fish is! Daddy, look, a shark, a shark!”

God of light and dark, water and earth, we are in awe of your creation.
We are also at a loss in the wake of hurricanes, earthquakes, and fires.
Your earth and your people cry out.
We hear, God, but as you move mountains and waters, move us, oh God, to care for your creation. LORD, your love knows no bounds.
Let us show this boundless love in our response to your people in Puerto Rico and around the world who cry out for help.

 

 A child says,
“Some white people don’t like black people.”

Oh, LORD, we kneel before you, mourning for our sisters and brothers
who bear the physical and emotional wounds and scars of hate and oppression.
We lift up broken systems and institutions, lynched by nooses of white supremacy and greed.
In lifting them up, help us see how our own thoughts and actions support these structures,
so that we instead transform them in ways
that show black lives matter as much as they do to you.

 

A child says, “There are refugees here from Syria.”
A child asks, “What’s a refugee?”
A child responds, “People in wars.”
Another child adds, “Yes, they move because they are hurt, or hungry….or because of a hurricane.”

God, we mourn that people are on the move in this world because of horrors we can barely begin to comprehend. Remind us that we are all refugees from hate of our own making. As people of the Exodus, help us remember to love and care for all your people, even those who appear from places we don’t understand and who may not look, like, love, believe, or act like us.

 

A child asks,
“Why would refugees come here? We’re going to start World War 3!”

God, we admit that we fail at following Christ’s example of love and peace.  Forgive us oh LORD, for wielding words and weapons in a way that puts fear in the hearts of children and adults alike.

 

A child says,
“Yeah, there’s going to be a nuclear bomb!”

God of abundance, we thank you for your provision,
for the intelligence with which you’ve gifted us,
for the ability to imagine and build so many technologies with what you’ve provided.
Remind us of your ultimate authority.
Show us how to choose your way of peace.
Nurture the restraint of our world leaders, reveal to them the wisdom in using their positions for good not evil.

 

A child says,
“God loves us.”

We, along with millions of other Christians around the world, come to your table of grace today, bearing all of our imperfections, hurts, hopes and joy.
We meet at the Table because we have already been met and loved by you, a God who welcomes us to a table bigger and more abundant than we can imagine[1].
Let us come to this table with the open eyes, ears, and hearts of our children.

Amen.

This line adapted from: [1] de Jong, Patricia. “Unity Amidst Diversity.” First Church, Berkeley, CA. http://firstchurchberkeley.org/written-sermon/unity-amidst-diversity (accessed September 31, 2017).

Introducing…me.

 “Write to find out your name and who you are.”
–Marlena Graves

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My blog, Writing True North, helped me make sense of how I ended up where I was and where I might go in the future. I will always be “Writing My Way to the Authentic,” but in some ways, writing my way there was a personal thing. I created the blog before I understood why I write, for whom I write, and what the responsibility of having an audience entails.

“You are not just one name. Many names make an identity.”  –Sandy Sasso

I created my blog, RevDrMom, when I thought I had myself and my future all figured out. I thought the identity crisis between my roles as pastor and writer was resolved. And then I entered seminary and I was more confused than ever.

 “As a writer, do not make up your mind that you are only one thing.” —Gertrude Stein

Now I’m faced with a choice. Which blog? Do I blog at all? Where do I talk about writing? Ministry? What do I do when they overlap? What if I don’t end being what I think I’m going to be?

“Write and offer your gift to the world.” –Marlena Graves

I’ve discovered there are many things that make me who I am. Writing allows me to stretch my understanding of myself and others. It allows freedom where I otherwise may feel boxed in. I read some of my early writing and blush with embarrassment. So much of it seems clunky, obtuse, and raw. Despite this, along the way people reached out and said that my writing meant something to them.

There are several bloggers who speak to my life. I can only hope I may do the same for others.  So, despite my past inconsistency blogging, I’m going to continue.  But this time, I’m not trying to write into only one identity. I’m retiring Writing True North and Rev Dr. Mom. I’m just going to be me, a writer with a free spirit and affection for taking the unconventional path. I hope you’ll join me for the journey here at theamandaedwards.com. Sign up to receive email notifications of new posts–it will make it easy to sojourn with me! Thank you for your dedication and following.

–Amanda