In response to a request for an Emerging Synchroblog that all bloggers involved in church life (whether conversants in the Emergant Village or not) write about the question, "What is Emerging in the Church?" here I go...
I think what is emerging in the church is inclusivity. I say that not because it is what I hope for (though I do), but I say that because finally the church and believers as a whole are generally moving towards a more inclusive theology of God.
Like Jonah before them, many Christians are digging in their heels and even swimming out to sea to avoid sharing a pew with a black man, a pulpit with a woman or communion bread with a homosexual, but it's happening.
While women were leaders and preachers in the early church, somewhere along we way, we as Christians lost our bearing. Even early abbesses were ordained in the 2nd century whereas now they're only blessed. But, in 1974, the church I'm in began ordaining women as deacons. In 2006, I became the 6th or 7th female they'd ordained to the ministry (with three more coming after me). A few months ago I was the "token woman's resume" in a Dallas church's search for a senior pastor. And while that royally pissed me off (I found out later they'd already chosen their candidate but needed to say they'd "looked at" a woman's resume), my current pastor and mentor reminded me that I could be the "token female" for future generations of women. He's right. And one day we'll see women priests in the Catholic church and we won't think twice about whether or not to hire a woman pastor for our church...
In 1948 Carlyle Marney began the difficult task of integrating the church i currently attend and also fighting 13 racist bills in the Texas Legislature. In 1963 my church passed a resolution about membership not being exclusive or determined by race. In 1967 they ordained their first "black" deacon. Now, color isn't a consideration when we invite people to be deacons or preach from our pulpit. (And maybe one day we'll have a black senior pastor in addition to a female senior pastor).
In 1976, the Episcopal church affirmed that gay men and women were children of God deserving acceptance and pastoral care. In 1992 an American Baptist church in Minnesota called a gay pastor to be their minister and a Southern Baptist church in North Carolina ordained a gay seminary student. Someday it will be okay to be a Christian who is gay and be a member of a congregation. Someday it will be okay to be a deacon who is gay, and someday it will be okay to be a pastor who is gay.
Each of these "issues" I've named (being a woman, being a minority, being gay) began by being labeled as a "sin" or "sub-human" or "not holy enough to matter" by a people group in the majority and in control. And each of these types of people, through the grace of God, has been seen for what they really are - a unique expression of the diversity of God - and their oppressors exposed in their own judgmental sin.
And Jonah went to Nineveh. And Nineveh was invited into covenant with God.
Inclusivism: God's all inclusive love. God's reckless adoration for all of humanity regardless of race or gender or sexual orientation or you fill in the blank. This is where God is leading us and this is how I think the church is slowing emerging. The church is emerging from a worldview of exclusive "God only loves people who look and act and think like me" to God loves everyone and maybe even has planned for me to learn and grow from these people that I once considered "other."
Thanks be to God...
(P.S. If you want to read what other people think is emerging in the Church, a full list of participants in this write-off can be found at One Hand Clapping.)
Showing posts with label Ordination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ordination. Show all posts
Monday, April 19, 2010
Monday, July 16, 2007
Friday, July 21, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
“What a beautiful service,” everyone said to me and I felt it in my most core being. The beauty of God radiated through song, liturgy, the spoken word and the laying on of hands. Cantomos’ music was serene, Seth’s hymn contemplative, and Joy’s song passionate. Add to that Samuel’s expertise on the piano and Lynnette’s soft, telling voice, and musically we were at our finest.
I had said to Genie Norris before the service, “I hope I don’t cry when I give my word of witness,” “Crying’s okay,” she told me with a smile and a hug. And cry I did. From the moment Holly Eades opened her mouth in prayer to God for God’s daughter and God’s people, I cried. I had no idea how overwhelming the experience of ordination would be.
Remembering people who have shaped my life, opened doors for ministry, pushed and prompted, encouraging me to use my gifts for God’s glory: it was an emotional trip down the proverbial memory lane.
I tried to listen as hard as I could. I kept my eyes on Julie as she told our story and gave the charge. I practiced the good listening skills they teach you in leadership classes. I made eye contact, I repeated what people said in my mind, I nodded my head.
And I’m not sure I caught it all. From some, I remember exactly what they said, from others, how they laid their hands on me, from others, how they spoke, and still from others, their facial expressions. But it was clear as the ocean on a cloudless day, I was loved. Love, love, love was all around.
I am still remembering, and writing what I remember down. Who said what, who slipped a gift in my palm, who hugged me hard. I only wish every young adult, as they recognize their calling in life, could be blessed, pushed out of the nest to discover they can fly on God’s grace; I wish everyone could have that affirmation of calling, that affirmation of love.
So thank you First Baptist. Roger’s last words for me as we left his office to go to worship were, “This is an honor and blessing for First Baptist as well.” Thank you FBC for all you’ve given me, thank you Wyatt Park, thank you CSM, thank you UBC, thank you Mosaic. Thank you for loving me and for allowing me to love you too.
I had said to Genie Norris before the service, “I hope I don’t cry when I give my word of witness,” “Crying’s okay,” she told me with a smile and a hug. And cry I did. From the moment Holly Eades opened her mouth in prayer to God for God’s daughter and God’s people, I cried. I had no idea how overwhelming the experience of ordination would be.
Remembering people who have shaped my life, opened doors for ministry, pushed and prompted, encouraging me to use my gifts for God’s glory: it was an emotional trip down the proverbial memory lane.
I tried to listen as hard as I could. I kept my eyes on Julie as she told our story and gave the charge. I practiced the good listening skills they teach you in leadership classes. I made eye contact, I repeated what people said in my mind, I nodded my head.
And I’m not sure I caught it all. From some, I remember exactly what they said, from others, how they laid their hands on me, from others, how they spoke, and still from others, their facial expressions. But it was clear as the ocean on a cloudless day, I was loved. Love, love, love was all around.
I am still remembering, and writing what I remember down. Who said what, who slipped a gift in my palm, who hugged me hard. I only wish every young adult, as they recognize their calling in life, could be blessed, pushed out of the nest to discover they can fly on God’s grace; I wish everyone could have that affirmation of calling, that affirmation of love.
So thank you First Baptist. Roger’s last words for me as we left his office to go to worship were, “This is an honor and blessing for First Baptist as well.” Thank you FBC for all you’ve given me, thank you Wyatt Park, thank you CSM, thank you UBC, thank you Mosaic. Thank you for loving me and for allowing me to love you too.
Monday, July 17, 2006
"Word of Witness," in yesterday's Ordination Service. Or as I like to call it, my story...
I have been aware of this moment and yet unaware for a long time. I began this journey from birth, though the church recognized me as taking that first step at age nine. I became a Christian at that age driven by an intense, yet childlike love for God and a fear of being separated from my Supreme parent. Church was my haven. At a time when teenagers loathed their parents, hated middle-school and certainly were annoyed by younger sisters, church became my refuge where I could be myself, learn about God and serve. And I was continually encouraged to serve and given multiple opportunities for teaching, singing and participation in leadership.
I was that kid in high school who was always asking “why?” Why do I have to learn trigonometry? And not just because I didn’t want to take the class. I got an A. I just didn’t understand what the Pythagorean Theorem had to do with my existential status. And now someone’s going to jump on me because the Pythagorean Theorem is Algebra. Whatever. The point is, I didn’t understand. And I asked questions about God too all through high school at Wyatt Park Baptist, college at William Jewell, seminary at Truett, at University Baptist in Waco, at Mosaic and now at FBC.
I’m still asking why. And I still don’t understand. I don’t understand how the Spirit moves. I don’t understand God’s interaction with the world. I don’t understand why God chooses to maintain patience and perseverance with unfaithful children. Only with my current profession, there’s no equation to ensure I get an A. I mean, I can’t even explain to you how I got here to this point today.
I could tell you about making the choice to study English and Religion at William Jewell College instead of theatre at Milliken University. I could tell you about choosing graduate school based on a scholarship, a city based on its level of “coolness” a church based on how relevant it is to current culture. But these decisions are points on a map. And I can’t even always explain how I came to make those decisions.
But somewhere in that process, I sensed a calling. I became aware of my gifts and I felt, feel compelled to use them.
I believe that all people are commissioned by God to be followers of Christ in whatever capacity: as teachers, actors, politicians, doctors, car mechanics, parents, spouses, siblings whoever we are, we are commissioned to be ourselves.
I have been afraid of churches for a long time. I witnessed a horrible church-split. I’ve been hurt by ministers, hurt by Christians, hurt by the church. Churches are buildings housing communities who make terrible decisions in the name of Christ. But they are also people loved by God, who often radiate the beauty of Christ more clearly than a sunset in their compassion, service and love.
When I first preached for this church a year and a half ago, I was an outsider coming into your community to share what I had witnessed about God to you. In that sermon, I sang a song by Patty Griffin, “I must have walked ten million miles, I must have walked ten million miles…” and in a lot of ways that song has become a sort of theme-song for my life. If you’d have asked me 10 years ago if I thought I would be ordained someday, I’d have said no, If you’d have asked me five years ago I even believed in ordination, I’d have said no.
But ten million miles later, I received a grant and met this church who asked me to examine myself: what and who brought me to where I am today. I came to a community who affirmed me and encouraged me to use my gifts to the glory of God. And 10 months later, I want to say thank you to all the people along the way: to Gerald Small and Jimmy Albright, to Peter Inzerillo and Milton Horne and Brad Chance, to Roger Olson and Kyle Lake and David Crowder and Dorisanne Cooper, to grandma and grandpa, to my mom and dad and Amy and Emily, and to Don Vanderslice and Roger Paynter and the unrelenting, gracious ministers and staff at FBC and also to you, church at First Baptist Austin. Thank you for making church a haven for me again. Thank you for being church for me. For reminding me that I am called to use my gifts to serve God. For commissioning me to do so. I pray we continue on this journey together and if we ever part, I pray that I will remember what it is you have ordained me to do, and to work for God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength wherever the next 10 million miles take me.
I have been aware of this moment and yet unaware for a long time. I began this journey from birth, though the church recognized me as taking that first step at age nine. I became a Christian at that age driven by an intense, yet childlike love for God and a fear of being separated from my Supreme parent. Church was my haven. At a time when teenagers loathed their parents, hated middle-school and certainly were annoyed by younger sisters, church became my refuge where I could be myself, learn about God and serve. And I was continually encouraged to serve and given multiple opportunities for teaching, singing and participation in leadership.
I was that kid in high school who was always asking “why?” Why do I have to learn trigonometry? And not just because I didn’t want to take the class. I got an A. I just didn’t understand what the Pythagorean Theorem had to do with my existential status. And now someone’s going to jump on me because the Pythagorean Theorem is Algebra. Whatever. The point is, I didn’t understand. And I asked questions about God too all through high school at Wyatt Park Baptist, college at William Jewell, seminary at Truett, at University Baptist in Waco, at Mosaic and now at FBC.
I’m still asking why. And I still don’t understand. I don’t understand how the Spirit moves. I don’t understand God’s interaction with the world. I don’t understand why God chooses to maintain patience and perseverance with unfaithful children. Only with my current profession, there’s no equation to ensure I get an A. I mean, I can’t even explain to you how I got here to this point today.
I could tell you about making the choice to study English and Religion at William Jewell College instead of theatre at Milliken University. I could tell you about choosing graduate school based on a scholarship, a city based on its level of “coolness” a church based on how relevant it is to current culture. But these decisions are points on a map. And I can’t even always explain how I came to make those decisions.
But somewhere in that process, I sensed a calling. I became aware of my gifts and I felt, feel compelled to use them.
I believe that all people are commissioned by God to be followers of Christ in whatever capacity: as teachers, actors, politicians, doctors, car mechanics, parents, spouses, siblings whoever we are, we are commissioned to be ourselves.
I have been afraid of churches for a long time. I witnessed a horrible church-split. I’ve been hurt by ministers, hurt by Christians, hurt by the church. Churches are buildings housing communities who make terrible decisions in the name of Christ. But they are also people loved by God, who often radiate the beauty of Christ more clearly than a sunset in their compassion, service and love.
When I first preached for this church a year and a half ago, I was an outsider coming into your community to share what I had witnessed about God to you. In that sermon, I sang a song by Patty Griffin, “I must have walked ten million miles, I must have walked ten million miles…” and in a lot of ways that song has become a sort of theme-song for my life. If you’d have asked me 10 years ago if I thought I would be ordained someday, I’d have said no, If you’d have asked me five years ago I even believed in ordination, I’d have said no.
But ten million miles later, I received a grant and met this church who asked me to examine myself: what and who brought me to where I am today. I came to a community who affirmed me and encouraged me to use my gifts to the glory of God. And 10 months later, I want to say thank you to all the people along the way: to Gerald Small and Jimmy Albright, to Peter Inzerillo and Milton Horne and Brad Chance, to Roger Olson and Kyle Lake and David Crowder and Dorisanne Cooper, to grandma and grandpa, to my mom and dad and Amy and Emily, and to Don Vanderslice and Roger Paynter and the unrelenting, gracious ministers and staff at FBC and also to you, church at First Baptist Austin. Thank you for making church a haven for me again. Thank you for being church for me. For reminding me that I am called to use my gifts to serve God. For commissioning me to do so. I pray we continue on this journey together and if we ever part, I pray that I will remember what it is you have ordained me to do, and to work for God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength wherever the next 10 million miles take me.
Friday, July 14, 2006
I can't believe this is happening.
I feel like I'm getting married.
Except I don't have a dress, and my hair hasn't been cut, let alone colored and I've not written my vows.
Except I'm not. Getting married, I mean.
But it is incomplete. At least it feels like that. Sort of. There are so many blessings. My grandparents are here, miraculously. Both my sisters and my parents at the same time. Lynnette, Josie, Lance, Julie, all at once. Chris, Michelle, Joy and Peter.
But not Kyle. Not Jeremy. Not David or anyone from UBC now. They're moving into their new building the morning I get ordained. They've changed their interior design and so have I, I guess, but that doesn't mean that old grocery store doesn't still sit inside us, in our memory, informing who we are today.
And so I cried. I cried because my skin got sucked down into the lock of the door when the car reached over 20 mph. I cried because my "word of witness" isn't written yet for Sunday. Because I only have "winter" dress clothes t0 wear to the reception and everyone else got new clothes. Because my hair hasn't been cut since December. Because I don't like working in the children's department. Because I don't have any idea how to talk to mass quantities of children about Jesus. Because I'm tired of going on church trips. Because I leave again in a week. Because I hate high school reunions. Because I am so stressed that I started early. Because I got my damn skin pinched in the damn door lock. Because I feel totally unprepared for my wedding day.
But she will be the bride of Christ. And she will be redeemed nonetheless. With or without a summer dress. With or without spit-ends in her hair. With or without her witness written. With our without you.
That I will be good with or without you, she sang last night.
With or without you, she sang.
And she believes it.
But she cries anyway.
I feel like I'm getting married.
Except I don't have a dress, and my hair hasn't been cut, let alone colored and I've not written my vows.
Except I'm not. Getting married, I mean.
But it is incomplete. At least it feels like that. Sort of. There are so many blessings. My grandparents are here, miraculously. Both my sisters and my parents at the same time. Lynnette, Josie, Lance, Julie, all at once. Chris, Michelle, Joy and Peter.
But not Kyle. Not Jeremy. Not David or anyone from UBC now. They're moving into their new building the morning I get ordained. They've changed their interior design and so have I, I guess, but that doesn't mean that old grocery store doesn't still sit inside us, in our memory, informing who we are today.
And so I cried. I cried because my skin got sucked down into the lock of the door when the car reached over 20 mph. I cried because my "word of witness" isn't written yet for Sunday. Because I only have "winter" dress clothes t0 wear to the reception and everyone else got new clothes. Because my hair hasn't been cut since December. Because I don't like working in the children's department. Because I don't have any idea how to talk to mass quantities of children about Jesus. Because I'm tired of going on church trips. Because I leave again in a week. Because I hate high school reunions. Because I am so stressed that I started early. Because I got my damn skin pinched in the damn door lock. Because I feel totally unprepared for my wedding day.
But she will be the bride of Christ. And she will be redeemed nonetheless. With or without a summer dress. With or without spit-ends in her hair. With or without her witness written. With our without you.
That I will be good with or without you, she sang last night.
With or without you, she sang.
And she believes it.
But she cries anyway.
Monday, July 10, 2006
I was high. Full of adrenaline from the Ordination Council. My eyes burned and my head ached, but my body was awake, energized and I needed to channel it.
I was nervous to say the least. And I kicked into task mode: finding nametags, making signs until Suzii grabbed me: "Peace be with you," she said staring into my eyes. "Thank you," I said, appreciative and tried to walk away. But she held me firmly, both hands on my arms. "Peace be on you," she repeated until I stopped saying thanks and started listening.
That moved me from being task-oriented to being vulnerable. A wave of emotion rushed over me, all the nerves I had oppressed broke free, and I thought for a moment I would cry.
But I entered the room all smiles and hospitality, and thankful, hoping the tears would not show their face today.
Roger asked me to start by telling the story of how I arrived at this point. I answered questions about call and ordination, and then Bob asked me who had affirmed my ministry. I wanted to say Kyle, but couldn't get the words out. I wanted to tell how he opened the door for me to preach and how the community of UBC embraced, encouraged and loved me. For four years. 4 years. But I couldn't talk. I was trying so hard to keep my chest from heaving and the tears from falling. I looked at Roger and said, "Please help me." He explained the story and said I'd been working hard on my grief. Then I was able to move on to Don and then Roger, all people who had affirmed my ministry.
I answered questions about criticism, favorite Bible story, least favorite story, where I wanted to be in 10 years, how I will get there, self-care, what I liked best and least about FBC, what in ministry is hard for me...
Then the ministers allowed me to ask any question I wanted. I chose, "Is it worth it?"
The sent me out in the hall while they had discussion and "voted." I was out there a long time waiting, thinking, wondering.
When they finally fetched me, I entered as they were passing around my certificate to sign. Roger affirmed that they had indeed voted unanimously to ordain me. He had tears in his eyes. Others added to his comments with their own feelings about my call. Some even said I needed to be more involved in the arts community.
And it was over. I left high. Exhausted with a crying headache, but high. Awake. Alert. And aware of the decision I had made and that had been validated. I am called to the ministry. I confessed it. It was affirmed. And now it is happening. There is no turning back. I am Jeremiah and the fire burning inside, whether I like it or not, will not die. And so I will be ordained. In less than a week.
Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa and Emily fly in Thursday. Amy flies in Friday. Josie and Julie arrive Saturday. Lance arrives Sunday. I don't know about the others.
It will be beautiful, it will be hard. But it will be my calling. Affirmed. Commissioned. And there will be no turning back...
I was nervous to say the least. And I kicked into task mode: finding nametags, making signs until Suzii grabbed me: "Peace be with you," she said staring into my eyes. "Thank you," I said, appreciative and tried to walk away. But she held me firmly, both hands on my arms. "Peace be on you," she repeated until I stopped saying thanks and started listening.
That moved me from being task-oriented to being vulnerable. A wave of emotion rushed over me, all the nerves I had oppressed broke free, and I thought for a moment I would cry.
But I entered the room all smiles and hospitality, and thankful, hoping the tears would not show their face today.
Roger asked me to start by telling the story of how I arrived at this point. I answered questions about call and ordination, and then Bob asked me who had affirmed my ministry. I wanted to say Kyle, but couldn't get the words out. I wanted to tell how he opened the door for me to preach and how the community of UBC embraced, encouraged and loved me. For four years. 4 years. But I couldn't talk. I was trying so hard to keep my chest from heaving and the tears from falling. I looked at Roger and said, "Please help me." He explained the story and said I'd been working hard on my grief. Then I was able to move on to Don and then Roger, all people who had affirmed my ministry.
I answered questions about criticism, favorite Bible story, least favorite story, where I wanted to be in 10 years, how I will get there, self-care, what I liked best and least about FBC, what in ministry is hard for me...
Then the ministers allowed me to ask any question I wanted. I chose, "Is it worth it?"
The sent me out in the hall while they had discussion and "voted." I was out there a long time waiting, thinking, wondering.
When they finally fetched me, I entered as they were passing around my certificate to sign. Roger affirmed that they had indeed voted unanimously to ordain me. He had tears in his eyes. Others added to his comments with their own feelings about my call. Some even said I needed to be more involved in the arts community.
And it was over. I left high. Exhausted with a crying headache, but high. Awake. Alert. And aware of the decision I had made and that had been validated. I am called to the ministry. I confessed it. It was affirmed. And now it is happening. There is no turning back. I am Jeremiah and the fire burning inside, whether I like it or not, will not die. And so I will be ordained. In less than a week.
Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa and Emily fly in Thursday. Amy flies in Friday. Josie and Julie arrive Saturday. Lance arrives Sunday. I don't know about the others.
It will be beautiful, it will be hard. But it will be my calling. Affirmed. Commissioned. And there will be no turning back...
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