Valentine's Day 2017

It is Valentine’s Day and for the first time in years, I’ve realized that I need a man. 

Let me explain.

I do not need a man to change a flat tire for me. I don’t need a man to help me carry a heavy box up the stairs. I don’t need a man to catch and release a spider for me, help me jump my car, move my furniture, build my bookcase, fix my computer, fix my internet, show me how to grill a steak, or walk me home at night. I don’t need a man to teach me how to be strong or smart or authoritative or brave. I’ve seen Hidden Figures. I now know how to be all of those things and how to run in heels and put an astronaut into orbit and bring them back.

Even though I swing that way, I don’t need a man to hold me as I fall asleep at night or wake up beside me in the morning. Though Lord knows how much I’d like to hear it, I don’t need a man to tell me how intelligent or funny or beautiful or valuable I am. I know the measure of my worth.  I don’t need to be homesick for a man’s arms or cared for by a man. There is such an astounding amount of love in my life from my friends, family, and community that romantic love is, as a matter of fact, superfluous in my life. I imagine it’d be so nice but I am not incomplete because I lack it. A life without love is terrible but I do not live without love. 

Just to be brutally, plainly clear, I do not need any mortal man to step into the role of headship in my life. I am not lost waiting on a husband to find me and give me purpose. No matter how internally conflicted I may be around my inherited ideas of motherhood and legacy, there is not a man currently on Earth that I find myself in need of. 

Phew. Can we all just take a minute to acknowledge the backflips I had to do to avoid the Incarnation just then? 

Because of course the man I’m in need of is Jesus. 

No, no, before you run away screaming from this post, thinking that I’ve gone crazy at seminary, talking about Jesus on Valentine’s Day, let me remind you that it’s a central tenant of the Christian faith that we all need Jesus and also that the reason we even have Valentine’s Day is because there was once upon a time a St. Valentine who loved Jesus so much he died for him and/or the faith that bears his name.

And this is his skull. Supposedly. Does that help? It was meant to help.

But listen, listen, I am in need of a man who can teach me how to love my neighbor past the point of comfort (and so are you). I am in need of a man who can turn me away from the damaging things in this world (and so are you). I am, truly and genuinely, in need of a man who can affirm my worth through his love of me, because Christ died for us while we were yet sinners and that proves God’s love for us and what other ground is there for my hope besides the promise that I am loved past the point of death by the Almighty (and so. are. you.)? We are all in need of Jesus, especially now.

And not just the Jesus of the Beatitudes or the Golden Rule or the story of the Good Samaritan. You cannot limit Jesus to just being a moral figure. This is Jesus, the Logos of God, the Word Made Flesh, the organizing principle of the universe made physical in our world. The organizing principle of the universe came to the Earth to show/speak/tell us what’s most important in the world and how to love each other, came to break into our existence and change it forever and we killed him.  The Love that we desperately need, that was so fundamental to the universe that it spoke everything that we see into existence, that Love came to seek us, to find us, and we were frightened of it, frightened to death. We killed that Love in what may be the worst way imaginable, hanging that Love on an instrument of torture, leaving it there to suffocate under the weight of our unworthiness.

But praise be to God that this is a Love that did not forever die.

Listen, I know that I need this man Jesus because there is a homeless man who sits daily at the entrance to the Farragut North metro stop and I’ve never given him anything kinder than a half-hearted smile. I know that I need this man Jesus because one of my best friends moved out a couple of years ago and I can’t find it in me to forgive her for the hurt she caused me. I know that I need this man Jesus because when a good man asked me to dance, I was so concerned with preserving myself that I never even looked at his face. I need Jesus because I need to be shown how to love and trust, to be re-formed in the image of Love and sent out into a hurting world. I need my rough places to be made plain and my valleys to be exalted. These are things that only Love can fix. And if Jesus had come to us as a woman, I would be here saying that I stand in need of the woman Jesus who breaks the power of cancelled sin and sets me free for joyful obedience. It doesn't matter. I need Love.

Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All we need is Love. Love rises above our material needs, above our hurts and our fears, and shows us a more perfect way. But Love does not keep us there. Love sends us back out to be Love for the world.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

Bottle Stream of Consciousness

...can't believe that confirmation...

Well hello! Look who's awake! Oh, I see that face. You're hungry, aren't you? Knew that was coming. Here, let's try the sling... Okay, okay, the sling isn't going to be our thing right now. But it worked so well earlier! Okay, hey, hey, here's the bottle. Hey hey, little buddy, bottle. That's it.

Shame about the sling, because I got such good work done earlier. Still, I just gotta put in a couple of quotes about the sovereignty of God and revelation in scripture and that paper's done. Then we can dig into that Bonhoeffer reading for Thursday... Maybe I can pull that up now. His Christology just seems so important to--

Hang on, hang on, we need to burp you. Yeah we do. Come on. Whatcha think, little guy? Is it the bouncing or the back patting that does more for your digestive system? There we are. Solid burp, my man. Here you go.

You know, maybe there is something to that idea of original sin being an epigenetic phenomena. I mean, if it's a condition of being "in the flesh"... Where did that idea come from? Did I make that up? That's certainly outside of the realm of what I've studied. It sounds made up. Maybe I'll bounce it off of--

Oops, hold on, little bro, I gotta shift positions here. There you are.

Just astoundingly unqualified. I mean, it's debatable exactly what the position allows her to do, so reports of the death of public education are mostly likely greatly exaggerated, but still, it's not like it's a hopeful sign, you know? All those phone calls...

Are you done? You look almost done. Yeah ya do. Yeah ya do.

To be and not to seem, Senator Burr. To be and not to seem.

Okay, up and burp one more time! Let's see what you got. Let's see what you got. Dum da dum dum, dum da dum. Dum da dum dum, dum da dum dum dum! Dum da dum dum, dum da dum-- Good job! How ya feeling? Ya feeling a nap again? Maybe a look out at the trees?

That walk was really nice this afternoon. It's a shame that 70 degrees in February can't just be enjoyed as a fluke of nature or something. And a good breeze! I wonder if he's ever felt wind on his face like that before. Looked pretty happy. Well, let him be.

Hey, look, it's a cardinal! Look look, that little red bird over there! They say it's a sign of good luck! Yeah they do. Who knows. Stranger things, right? And we could all use some luck sometimes, right? Just a little bit. Just a little bit. That's right.

I Didn't Know

Y’all, I had no idea. I had no idea what it’s like.

I mean, maybe you do. Maybe you know what it’s like to have a baby fall asleep in your arms, confident in the reliability of your support, snuggled into the skin of your chest like it’s the only pillow to ever exist. Maybe you’ve lived into the sweet peace of that moment when the bouncing and the comforting and the rocking can cease and a tiny person grants you the grace of trust and quiet. But if you haven’t, goodness, what a difference holding a baby makes.

I hadn’t seen what it’s like to watch a baby watch the world. I mean, maybe you have, maybe you’ve seen those gigantic eyes as they follow birds and squirrels and dogs from down the street out in nature, how they squint against the still-too-bright sunlight when they try to see the sky, the newness of the outside world still surprising the sensitivity of their tiny, growing body. It’s an inspiration to watch a baby watch snow, endlessly fascinated by the swirling flakes even though years from now he won’t remember whose arms held him while he learned how the whiteness falling from above blankets the ground in rest. I’ve watched more people than I can count see the Earth from space or the shape of a galaxy for the first time and I guard those moments jealously, like a wedding attendee sneaking a peek at the groom just as the bride begins to walk down the aisle, but man, what a difference the newness of a baby makes.

I just had no clue how many songs I would sing to this child in the past week. Maybe you’re familiar with the quiet hum that sometimes settles a tiny one when they’re fussy, but I have pulled out all the stops for this kid, even with my throat scratchy from leading chants as we marched down Constitution Avenue. I sang Dear Theodosia and Summertime and Go to Sleep and Do You Hear the People Sing and A Father’s First Spring and I know-oh-oh a Change is Gonna Come. I hummed Star Wars and Indiana Jones and Harry Potter and ET and the waltz from Sleeping Beauty. I got in a few snatches of Jupiter and bits of melody that I couldn’t place or name. I never imagined the natural comfort and ease with which I would give my voice to another. Then again, it is astounding the difference a baby makes.

And I just don’t know. I don’t understand the self-sacrificial love of a parent. I don’t grasp the incredible hope that bringing a child into this world entails. I don’t feel in my gut the worry for the future that this infant must engender in his mother and father, no matter how many times I hear about it in songs and movies. I’ve never had to adjust my sleeping schedule, my eating schedule, my free time around someone else, much less around a little bundle of helplessness that can’t express to me in words what he wants. I’m just a nanny so I change his diapers and rinse formula out of my sweater and stretch before I walk in the house in case the baby can only conceive of quiet if he’s being held and count each precious second of this little life in formation that I get to be a part of. I am floored at the difference eight hours a day with a baby makes.

Every human life starts off as this tiny little miracle, this little being that hasn’t heard the lie of self-sufficiency or mastered the delusion of control and possession. They give their faith so freely. How do I get back to this? How do I rest with such confidence? How do I look around with such joy? How do I listen with patience to the songs around me?

Maybe I start with naming the grace upon grace that’s been given to me this week through this child, through my classes and professors, through my friends, through strangers. I can be reminded and renewed. Strength has given, even when all I had were sighs that begged for it. And maybe the next thing I do is to pour back out all that kindness and goodness and mercy and strength given to me. Maybe the trust, the rest, the joy, the patience comes in both the receiving and the giving.

Because, man. I wasn't ready for the way a baby's smile can knock you out. One of the finest gifts a tiny one can give and they give it away for a song.

Forward, Always

Progress isn’t inevitable.

In fact, if thermodynamics is any indication, progress isn’t even likely. Think about kids playing with blocks. There are million ways those blocks can be scattered about the space, red and green and blue squares and triangles and rectangles and cylinders piled up in happy chaotic heaps or blanketing the carpet, but there are only a few ways that the blocks can be made into a house or a tower or a castle. It’s much more likely, just because there are so many ways that the blocks can be scattered, that you’re going to find them in a mess underfoot. That’s entropy at work—because there are so many more ways to make disorder than order, everything tends toward disorder.

But we as humans tend to buck universal tendencies, don’t we? We like bringing order out of chaos so much that many of our creation myths are based around a powerful being who does just that. And we’ve had some minor success organizing ourselves over the long arc of history. In fits and starts, maybe, with ideas spread across the continents and civilizations, we’ve found our way to ever more complex societies, or, at least, financial systems. We’ve expanded our horizons and with that expansion has come something like control over the world around us. In this one corner of the universe, on this temporary manifestation of particles in the shape of a globe, we’ve found a way to shape and mold the disorder into something new.

Again here, though, we shouldn’t take a historic tendency as a rule that will be followed regardless of our action, nor should we think too highly of our ability and action. It is difficult to find the balance in our thought between “things will work out” and “the universe is ours to control” because neither is exactly true. Forward motion doesn’t happen without a force, so we must always be in the state of perfecting our union or shaping our souls or doing good works for the benefit of those around us, tasks which are best done in humility and with the understanding that they will never be completely accomplished. We are not powerless in the wide sweep of history. For good or bad, the future is shaped at least in part by us. Our actions matter, especially in times of transition and reshaping. Complacency needs to be guarded against in times like these.

Nor do we have control over all the forces that shape our world. We did not teach the Earth how to spin or the tides to rise and fall. When storms roll in, we are at their mercy. When the ground shakes, we are faced with the precariousness of the things we have built. Even our systems, the ways we think and interact and govern, can have unintended or unexpected consequences outside of an individual or a community’s ability to correct or redirect. There is a deep question about the efficacy of human endeavors and the source of human power that I have found life-changing, but its main consequence in my daily life and thought is that I can no longer affirm with Enlightenment zeal that we can do anything. That new understanding is a good thing, I think. It makes me appreciate what we can do, the astounding things we’ve been able to achieve, and to think more critically about the undertakings we place before ourselves.

Calls to thoughtful action don’t ring as loud as they should. They’re not as loud as chants or bullhorns or the mics on press conference podiums. Thoughtfulness comes across as hesitancy, as weakness. And I know it doesn’t help that I haven’t changed my tone or my choice in words for this post, or that I talked about entropy, which sounds like some random science thing that a teacher maybe mentioned to you one time back in high school. I talked about systems and overarching historical forces and all of those terms are shorthand for bigger ideas that changed the way I think and that I want others to know about and think about. I worry that I’ve fallen into the trap of using elite and out-of-reach language without thinking carefully enough about how the reader will take it.

But I also believe in my readers, in all readers, and in all listeners, too. I believe in humans and our abilities. I have faith in the American people as a whole and having that faith means that I can’t sit still. It means that I have to do something. I have to ask questions and encourage people to take a step back and consider all the options. We can all elevate our kindness game and that is a simple enough call. In every situation, we can begin by asking how we can do that. There’s so much more to be done, but that’s a place to start.

And then let’s dig in. Let’s get complex. Let’s think about ideas so big we eventually need to come up with code words for them just so that we can see a clearer picture of the world around us. It’s a journey we can all take together, that we can all agree to take together.

It’ll be some kind of progress.

Thoughts From the Women's March

The sentry of democracy in action is a young black woman with a pink hat and glasses, calling out hope from the top of a tree. In knee high pink socks, athletic shorts, and tennis shoes, she stands at the ready, directing the people to motion. She is a profound symbol of what brought us all here and we cheer her, but all the while she is perfectly normal, waving off our chants with an abashed laugh and announcing the next update with candor and wit. Tree Girl, this young woman supported by the strong empty branches of winter on the National Mall side of the Air and Space Museum, gives me hope.

On Friday, I made this video:

Yes, it's a little bit preachy and yes, it's a little more Bible-heavy than you want in what is ostensibly an ecumenical if not secular setting, but it expresses my hopes and fears and fights using the primary vocabulary I have available and I won't apologize for that. I am more satisfied with the words I chose to speak in this video than I ever have been before. Near the end, I talk about why I marched in the Women's March on Washington today: to make sure that the voices that haven't been heard are heard. That's a cut from a former version of the script. Originally, I said that I was marching to begin the process of making the unheard heard.

Because, as a former Obama staffer said better than I ever could, today's march should be a warmup for the real work ahead. This march, these marches on every continent around the world, should be a springboard into activism and advocacy, into concrete things you can do to continue making your representative government represent you. This march should inspire people to run for office so that the government of the people, by the people, for the people reflects the people. Now that we have made sure that women, who were so disrespected by this past election, have had their value affirmed, it's time to look to every other underrepresented and under-respected groups of people in this country, to those who had to make their voices heard at Standing Rock and to those embroiled in our ridiculous prison system, to immigrants and single mothers, to underpaid workers, to undereducated students, to people of every color and creed. It's time to focus on the others victimized by the presidential race, to stand with our Muslim brothers and sisters in particular, to again be willing to put our bodies on the line when those who do not love as well as they should begin to take rights away from the most vulnerable among us. These marches must be a first lap around the track in preparation for the marathon ahead.

There were wonderful moments of hope today. There was such kindness among the people who gathered on Independence, and the National Mall, and for streets around. There were generations of women who assembled together to raise their voices, waves of cheers sweeping forward through the collected crowd. There were smart and cutting signs. There was unrepentant sass and acknowledgement of shared difficulties. From the daughter who finally caught up to the rest of her family with a yell of "Mom!" that made half the crowd's heads turn to the five-year-old best friends dancing along to the protest music while their mothers smiled, there were beautiful human moments among the masses. I felt such a jolt of excitement, a feeling that reached deep into my soul, walking down Independence at the beginning of the day, seeing signs that pleaded for inclusion and love. I don't want to minimize any of that. I will honestly probably carry the memory of Tree Girl with me for the rest of my life and I desperately hope she does run for office one day like several people shouted that she should. It'd be quite the story.

But still, I worry. I worry that for many, this was tourist activism, safe social justice. At times, it felt like the physical manifestation of a viral video and it is impossible to know the content of the hearts that clicked "like" on this event. I worry that this was not primarily a march of those who have felt injustice but rather those who fret about its presence on their horizon. I worry that we did not and will not address the issues that weigh more heavily on women of color. I worry that the abundance of uteruses, in art and in slang slogans (and listen, I'm not shy about talking about my uterus), distracted from the real pain that's been integrated into our systems of governance and our social relations. I worry that we shouted and did not listen. I worry that some signs were not kind. I worry about the hatred that bubbles at the bottom of every human heart and I worry that we may give in to that, no matter what our intentions.

Today, millions of people around the globe stood in solidarity with those that have been disrespected and disregarded and that is a powerful and beautiful thing. We should celebrate that. A friend of mine responded to my affirmation that I was going to march with a "Good." and that simple, strong support from him spoke a fire into my gut that I want all of you to feel, an acknowledgement that things aren't as they should be and cannot be allowed to remain as they are. But let's not let ourselves be satisfied with our marches today. Beautiful things can be imperfect things too.

Let's be better. Let's be stronger. Let's get to work.

Pursuing Love

I get the feeling that I'm approaching a season in my life when I should talk less. Actually, most seasons in my life have probably been seasons when I could have spoken less, but I've got a conviction about this one in particular. It comes from an awareness that in many cases and for far too long, I've been a just clanging cymbal. The realization that I really would learn better if I would just listen has been a long time coming, but I think it had to wait until a real desire to learn swept away years of false modesty about my knowledge and ushered in a quieter, more patient heart. It is odd and humbling to watch yourself being built back up, all the sharp edges and disregarded shards of self being made fit for a new creation. This is not to say that it's easy. I hang onto my words, both the ones I write and the ones I choose to speak, like Icarus clutching at feathers and wax. They have been breathtakingly precious to me, but they are not the proper way to fly. I should know this. More often than not, my words have left me helpless as I grasp at the pieces of me, slicing my hands and cutting into others as I attempt again and again a construction project I should know I could never complete on my own.

That's a confession, if you like. There's pride and self-sufficiency wrapped up in a lack of trust that has left me over the course of a lifetime in a perpetual state of affection falling just short of love in even the best of my interactions with others. More often than not, my care for my neighbor has been a vague societal politeness, and even that is more a reflection of the kind people who have surrounded and upheld me throughout my life than any kind of real conviction. Despite all the wonderful things that have come into my life and everything I can be said to have accomplished, through hardness of heart or isolation of mind, I missed out on the most important and life-giving lesson a person can learn. I do not know how to love others as I ought.

I have a suspicion that that might be true for most of us. We may stumble into love in our relationships and friendships and may even succeed in offering love to strangers as we move about the world in our daily lives, but real, intentional, continual love offered to our neighbors (and let me be clear: every human is your neighbor) is something with which we all struggle, I think. And in this season of transition and uncertainty and concern, we could all love better. So this year, in addition to talking less (and I do realize the irony of that statement when I'm three paragraphs into a weekly blog post), I'm going to reflect each day on how I loved those around me. I'm going to use that chapter from 1 Corinthians that everyone uses at weddings because it's surprisingly cutting when you turn each verse into a question.

So, if you want to join me, plan a few minutes at the end of each day to ask yourself:

• Were you patient with everyone you met today? Were you kind?
• Or were you envious, boastful, arrogant, or rude? Did you insist on your own way? Were you irritable or resentful today? 
• Did you rejoice in any instance of wrongdoing today, or did you rejoice in the truth?
• What did you bear today? What did you believe today? What did you hope for today? What did you endure today?
• Did you pursue love today?

It might take a lifetime, but I look forward to the day when I am given grace enough to answer each one of those questions rightly before I go to sleep. It's a goal to work towards, a level of accountability in action to strive toward. It is a clear mirror we can hold up to ourselves and our leaders, both the ones that have been elected and the ones we've inherited, as we seek to build up our people and this nation we've made. Paul wrote those words a couple thousand years ago to a church struggling with disunity and questions of principle. It might be that those cheesy Bible verses hold real power for our lives today.

But wherever you are in your walk or in your lives, whatever you've come to believe, let me implore you to love better, friends.

It might be the only way we make it out of this.

Science and Religion Blog: conversation starters

I promise I'll get back to regular posting next week. Between the holidays, a particularly persnickety stomach bug, and prepping for the new semester, I've been a little drained and more contemplative than expository. But for your reading pleasure this week, I want to introduce you to a new project that my friend, Melanie Dzugan, and I have started for this spring semester: conversation starters. Our first post went live this morning and we plan to post every other week, discussing the best questions to ask when engaging in the science and religion conversation. Finally, the science and religion content for which you have all been clamoring!

One final note: since the conversation starters posts will go up on Wednesdays, I'll be switching my posts here to Tuesdays. The tag for my main blog posts has been Blog Wednesday but this semester, they'll be Blog Wednesday on a Tuesday. I'll continue to share the posts on facebook, so that should catch most of you, but for anyone who follows me and blessedly isn't on that particular social media platform, Blog Wednesday on a Tuesday is the tag you want to look for if you just want to keep up with me.

Cheers, y'all! As a parting gift, allow me to direct your attention to this gorgeous picture of the Sunflower Galaxy, captured by Hubble and featured on APOD:

I could stare at this all day long. Click on the link for even more gloriousness.