From Where Does My Help Come? [sermon]

(This sermon from was preached on July 17th at Memorial United Methodist Church in Fernandina Beach, FL. The manuscript is below and the video from the 9:30 service is above.)

Last week’s psalm of lament and this week’s Psalm 121 are both what are known as “psalms of ascent.” You can see that in the titles that the authors have placed before the psalm. Most of the titles you will find in your bible have been added by the translators to make life easier for you when looking for a passage. The notes at the beginning of many of the psalms, however, are in the original text. They can be instructions for the worship leader, descriptions of the content, or other words or phrases whose meaning has been lost over time.  Psalms 120-134 are grouped together with the same title: A Song of Ascents. Scholars suggest that these psalms were used by pilgrims during the festival seasons as they travelled to Jerusalem. The city of Jerusalem and the Temple itself are on the highest hill in the area and so one literally must “go up” to Jerusalem.

Theses songs would be sung along the road and in services at the beginning of their journey and before they set off. Taken together the psalms are a mixture of different types and themes, but they are mostly short and easy to memorize. Psalm 121 is one of the most popular of the group as well as the whole psalter. It is a psalm of unqualified praise to a God whose protection knows no limits.

It begins with the beautiful question: I lift my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? In the times of the Bible, there were lots of options to turn to for help. Every hill and high place in the area contained shrines and poles in honor and worship of a god for every ailment or problem. If you needed crops to grow, there was a god for that. If you wanted children, there’s a god for that. If you were on a journey, there’s a god for that. Whatever you needed help, you could look to the hills and find an assortment of gods to pray to and worship.

Things are not so different now. When we are in need of help we lift our eyes to the Hollywood Hills and find movie stars selling insurance and credit cards which will solve our problems. We read tabloid magazines and websites which while they may not solve our problems will at least distract us from them long enough to get us by.

When we are unhappy with our country or our community we lift our eyes to capital hill and pray that our candidate is elected or that our law is passed.

When we want to make more money we look to the hills of wall street, or we look uphill and see what job or position might bring us more success.

The psalmist looks at these hills, and knows that true help will not come from the tops of any of them. True help will only come from the Lord who made the hills and who created the rest of earth and heaven.

How often do we set our sights too low. We put our trust in people who promise to make things easier for us, who know a better way, a faster way. And then how slowly it takes us to realize our mistake.

Every election it seems like we all get a messiah complex for our preferred candidate. If our man or woman is elected then things will be better. Inevitably, when that person is elected we realize how wrong we were. As long as they have been doing polls, almost every president has seen their approval ratings consistently drop over the course of their presidency. Once they get into office the reality often fails to live into the rhetoric.

There is a saying, “Never meet your heroes.” So often we put people on pedestals only to discover that the more you get to know the more human you realize they are. Malachi is at this cute stage in life where he is almost sitting up on his own. He is soo close. I will often put him up on my lap and let him practice. He will push the boundaries and bend over and then pull himself back up. But if he goes over too far, my hands are on either side to keep him from falling too far. The other day, we were playing this game and I got distracted by something outside the window. Malachi leaned to far over and bumped his head on the arm of the chair. Fortunately it was not far and he didn’t even really notice, but it reminded me that I am not a perfect parent. I will not always be there when he trips or stumbles. At some point, probably around the time he is a teenager, Malachi will realize this as well. I hope by that point, he has come to learn that God is always there. God never sleeps or gets distracted. The seeming paradox of God is that the One who created the world also cares about each one of us individually. The God who orders the planets is also concerned with our path in life as well and asks us to follow where God leads.
As we know, even when we walk with God, bad things happen. The attack in Nice this week does not mean that God looked away and got distracted. Being in God’s protection means more than physical safety. As I was preparing for the funeral last Tuesday I noticed that Psalm 121 is one of the suggested psalms to be read in the service. Its assurance of God’s protection serves as both a comfort for the ones who are grieving, but also that God’s protection remains with the person who has died.

So often we limit God’s activity and care to the life we know when in reality God moves and works beyond this life. In Jesus Christ God came into this world, experienced death, and then in the resurrection proved that not even death is the end of God’s work in the world. When Paul in Romans tells us that “nothing can separate us from the love of God” there is no caveat there. The original letter did not have a footnote with a list of exceptions. Nothing can separate us from the love of God. This total and complete love of God is beyond our ability to understand, but should encourage us along the way.

One article I read this week suggested that Psalm 121 was used to prepare pilgrims before they set off on their journey. The first two verses would have said by those who were leaving: “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” And then the rest of the psalm was then recited by those who were staying. These words from Psalm 121 would serve as a reminder to the person that God would protect them on their journey.

Travelling in ancient times was difficult and dangerous. The journey to Jerusalem was done entirely on foot without a plane, train, or car. Wild animals and robbers were a constant source of danger. An injury in the wrong place could leave you exposed to the elements, with heat stroke being a real concern. In the face of so much to fear, however, the pilgrim needed to be reminded of their purpose in making the journey.
The opportunity to worship of God at the Temple was a privilege that is difficult to even put into words. For some Jews it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. As they prepared to set off and I imagine frequently along the way, they needed to lift their eyes again to the hills and fix their eyes on the hill of Zion.

As the ground became rocky, they needed to remember that God was with them every step of the way and would not let their feet stumble. As the sun beat down and sapped their energy, they remembered that God was their shade at their right hand protecting them day and night. As robbers threatened and animals howled, the remembered that God would keep them from all evil-real and imagined. Through the whole of the journey they needed to remember that the God they would worship at the end of their journey was the same God who was travelling with them along the way.

While we may not be going to Jerusalem, we are also on a journey. When the path becomes rocky, the sun intense, and the evil around us too threatening there is a temptation to look to the lesser hills around us for help. To seek out the hills that feel good at the moment, and will take less effort to climb. However, Psalm 121 is an encouragement for our journey. When we are afraid, we are called to look for help from the Creator of hills. When troubles come and evil threatens, we are to be reminded that God is with us, that God will shade us from the sun and protect us in the night. There is no aspect big or small that is not of any concern to our God. And when at last we reach our final destination, it is Psalm 121 that sends us off with the reminder that the God who is with us in this life will continue to keep us in the life to come. Thanks be to God.

The Art of Faithful Lament

(This sermon was preached at Memorial United Methodist Church on July 10, 2016. The text was Psalm 130. Below is the preaching manuscript).

“I can’t believe the news today. Oh, I can’t close my eyes and make it go away…” These words have been going over and over in my head this past week. They are the opening lyrics to the U2 song, “Sunday Bloody Sunday”. It is hard to comprehend the tremendous pain that has been reported over these past few weeks. Which is why I am so grateful that our psalm for this week is a psalm of lament.

When we think of psalms we often turn to the happy ones. “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth.” “Oh Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!” “Shout for joy to the Rock of our Salvation!”

But where do we turn in weeks like these? What about when we cannot make a joyful noise? What psalm do we sing when two young black men die at the hands of the very people who are supposed to protect them? What psalm do we read when one man’s hate kills 5 police officers who are modeling what it means to serve and protect? Where is the psalm to sing when every day this month there is an act of terrorism somewhere around the world?

The deaths of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile brought the wounds of racial injustice back into our national conversation. For those of us who have white skin, they served as yet another a reminder that still today the color of your skin changes the ways in which you are perceived and treated. The deaths of five police officers brought the tensions between police and their communities violently into focus.

Neither of these issues are new. But together this week they highlighted the continued brokenness of our society and our repeated failure as a nation to do anything to stop it. As my Facebook feed demonstrated this week, it is in times like these that we turn to the practice of lament. Out of the depths of our despair, of pain, and fear, we cry out to God.

The feeling of sadness and grief is not new to these times. The book of psalms contains more songs of lament than any other type. When our voices are weak from crying and we have no words to express our emotion, the psalms are God’s gift to us. They provide the words we need, and they show us a pathway through our grief reminding us that in the deepest pit and the darkest depths, we are not alone.

Psalm 130 is one of the best examples of this sort of psalm. The poet begins in the depths crying out to God. Begging for a listening ear. Something has happened. The psalm does not give us a description of the problem, but many people assume the problem has come the psalmist’s own sinfulness. As we all know, actions have consequences. Our sins and mistakes get us into trouble that is way out of our depth. However, there are also forces in our world, violence, fear, hatred, and evil which act beyond anyone’s ability to comprehend or control. No matter the cause, the helplessness which results gives rise to a similar plea to God.

Honesty is the key to lament. In verse 3, the psalmist reminds God that God’s very nature is to forgive the people’s iniquities. God has promised not to give up on us even though we turn away. Even when we find newer and worse ways to harm each other and turn away from God, God is faithful to us. When we look at our world and in our lives, God allows a tremendous amount of suffering to occur. We know that God has the ability to cure any sickness, to end any war. God can intervene in a dramatic fashion, come into our world and restore peace, end suffering, and make things the way they are supposed to be.

Scripture even tells us that this is what God will do at some point. We know that Christ will return and when He does, there will be no more crying and no more dying, but why not now? Why does God wait? What is the use in letting men and women, boys and girls die for no reason?. It doesn’t make any sense. I wish that I could give you a reason, but I can’t. Scripture doesn’t give us a reason for suffering. Scripture instead instructs us to wait, to hope, and to cry out to God.

An important part of lament is to cry out to God, to let God know that the things that are happening to us, to our world, are not right. The psalms and the prophets model for us the ways in which we are called to remind God that this is not all right. Our hearts are supposed to break for the pain of the world. Sadness and anger are appropriate responses to suffering. The important thing though is that we do not allow our emotions to turn us inward or to manifest themselves as hatred to others. Instead, we should direct our sadness and anger to God.

When we lament, we remind God that we expect better, that our world is supposed to be a better than it currently is. We also remind ourselves. We remind ourselves that the suffering we are experiencing is not what God intended. The racism, injustice, and brokenness of our world is not part of God’s plan. And we remind ourselves that God is present in our world, that God is working to make things right. That God is working to bring peace, justice, and wholeness to all of God’s creation. And as we live in the tension we are called to wait.

Holy waiting is not the same thing as waiting in traffic, or waiting for football season to get here. The Hebrew word for waiting here is an active waiting. It is a waiting that involves loving your neighbors who look and act different than you. It is a waiting that involves helping the poor, visiting those in prison, speaking for those without a voice. Holy waiting involves refusing to follow leaders who seek to divide us with fear, who push us into violence, and ignore the needs of the poor and the marginalized. Holy waiting means that we resist the temptation to fall into despair and instead ask God to give us the grace to live into hope, because holy waiting involves living our lives in the darkness waiting for the dawn to come.

The darkness around us is real. The issues we face as a society and as a world are big and complex, but we are called to be a people of hope; to live as a people who shine light into the darkness. Just like we know that the sun comes up every morning, we can be confident that God’s light will come into every dark corner and that God will overcome all the evil powers in this world.

And while we are called to have this hope for ourselves, Psalm 130 does not let us stop there. Verse 7 turns the psalm of personal lament outward into the world. “Israel, hope in the Lord!” Our community is struggling, our nation is bitterly divided, and our world is deathly afraid. We the church, the people of God, are called to be a different kind of community. We are called to be a place where all people can experience God’s love and hospitality. We are called to be a prophetic voice that stands with all people who are oppressed, marginalized, and mistreated in our society. We are called to be a witness that love is greater than hate, and hope is more powerful than fear. Thanks be to God.

Let us pray:
Almighty God, We know that to you all lives matter. You have created us and know us and love us all. However, we confess to you that so often all lives do not matter the same to us. We confess that we often care more about people who look like us, who act like us than those who are different. We confess that we contribute to the unjust systems around us both by what we do and by what we fail to do. We confess that when confronted with the violence in our world we choose to hide our faces and ignore the suffering because we can. Forgive us, we pray. Give us the grace we need to build bridges in our community. Give us the courage we need to enter into the suffering of those around us and listen to their story. And, give us the confidence to actively wait for your coming Kingdom. God of peace, be with the families of Alton Sterling and Philando Castille as well as those of Officers Lorne Ahrens, Michael Smith, Michael Krol, Patrick Zamarripa, and Bret Thompson. Where there is conflict bring your peace, where there is fear, bring your comfort, and where there is hatred bring forth your love. Unite us together as a people saved by your grace and overflowing with your love. Amen.

Singing a New Song

(This sermon was preached at Memorial UMC in Fernandina Beach on 6-19-16. The text below is the preaching manuscript. The above audio was recorded during the 9:30am service.)

Psalm 40 is one of my favorite psalms in the psalter. The images are rich and beautiful, the trust and assurance of God’s faithfulness and redemption has lifted my spirits on multiple occasions in my life. The fact that it is the basis for one of my favorite U2 songs also does not hurt as well.

When the album War came out in 1982 it would become U2’s breakthrough album. Rolling Stone ranked it 223 in the top 500 albums of all time. “War” marked a shift for the Irish rock band from just making music that just entertained to making music that entertained with a message.  At the end of the album, “40” serves as a benediction of sorts. According to the lead singer, Bono, they needed one final song for the album, but their studio time was almost over and another band was coming in. So he pulled out his Bible, and wrote the song in 10 minutes, the band spent 10 minutes recording it, 10 minutes mixing it, and then listened to it for another 10. However, that has nothing to do with why it is called 40. It is rare to see a rock band use the text of Scripture for their lyrics, however, the verses about patient hope, and then the invitation we have to sing a new song draw the listener from protesting violence to actually working to build a more peaceful world.

The realities of violence and fear are just as real today as they were in the 80s and over 2,000 years ago when the psalms were originally written.

Last week as the details about the shooting in Orlando trickled in during worship, I will admit that I was at a loss for words to say or prayers to pray. The tragedy in Orlando lies at the intersection of many of the fault lines in our society. It happened at a gay club with most of the victims being members of the LGBT community. The shooter used legally purchased weapons and ammunition. And, the attacker claimed affiliation with ISIS. Sexuality, gun control, terrorism. None of these are easy ideas, but this is not a sermon about any of these hot button topics. They are important debates and faithful Christians need to talk about them in faithful ways, but not today. When confronted with tragedy, it is often our human tendency to pull away from the pain and try to fix the problem.

If we just had better laws, a more open society, or less open borders then maybe we could keep these bad things from happening. Unfortunately, none of these things are really true. We live in a violent world. Evil and brokenness are realities that cannot be eliminated by legislation, they will not go away by sheer force of human will, The only way in which evil, brokenness and even death itself is conquered is through the power of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

But where does that leave us with Psalm 40? In trying to find meaning in the murders in Orlando, I believe that it is significant that Psalm 40 does not begin with the problems he is surrounded with. Instead, the psalm remembers the faithfulness of God in the terrifying events of his past.  The psalmist tells us how God brought him out of the pit of despair and set his feet upon solid rock. In the midst of a crisis and tragedy, God did not leave him alone, but instead brought him through it.

It is often difficult to see God in the midst of a crisis. This is why memory is so important. In remembering God’s saving work in the past, the psalmist renews his trust that God will be faithful this time around as well. If we look back in our recent history, the deaths at the Pulse night club come in a complicated context. While it is one of the most deadly shootings in recent history, it was by no means an isolated event. Last year we saw 9 men and women die in a Charleston, SC church and 14 people die in San Bernardino, CA at the local Health Department. In 2012, 20 children and 6 teachers were killed at Sandy Hook Elementary school, and 12 people died in a movie theater in Aurora, CO. And that is to only name the shootings that got the most media attention in the past few years.

For the LGBT community the massacre is in a different context. According to the FBI, the LGBT community have become the most likely targets of hate crimes in recent years. For a group of people who are frequently targets for bullying, abuse, and violence, this shooting is a further reminder of how dangerous our society still is for them.

Throughout this history, however there are also examples of God breaking through the violence. Last week, Carrie Mac on our staff posted a quote from Mr. Rogers that is a good example of this. “When I was a boy, and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” What a great testament to God’s work in the midst of crisis. In the wake of the attack in Charleston, the church’s public forgiveness of their attacker was a powerful witness of the radical Good News of Jesus Christ. All too often these new songs of hope are drowned out by the old familiar verses of political partisanship, nationalism, racism, islamophobia, and fear.

Psalm 40:4 says that “Happy are those who make the Lord their trust/who do not turn to the proud/to those who go astray after false gods.” I believe that our beliefs and opinions can all too easily become for us false gods and idols. We put our trust in them to help us understand the world around us and how we can change that world to get what we want. Our trust needs to be in God and God alone.

When we trust in God, we need to have ears to hear the song God is directing for us. Verse 6 says “you have given me an open ear.” The Hebrew here is literally, “you have given me the ears you have dug for me.” I love this image of God digging out the dirt and junk which keeps us from being able to hear God’s voice and sing God’s song. Once we have cleaned out all of those false voices calling us against each other we can begin to sing the new song God is giving to us.

We need these new songs to sing. Songs that bring us together rather than fracture us into pieces. We need songs that inspire us to love each other and listen to each others’ stories. We need new songs that describe God’s presence in the midst of suffering. In the past week there have been the beginnings of those sorts of songs. Prayer vigils across the country stood in solidarity and support with the victims. At Annual Conference this week, we held a vigil Thursday evening to pray for each of the victims and their families. It was a powerful and moving service, and I am proud to say one of many provided by Methodist churches around Orlando.

One of the most surprising stories, for me from the attacks, however is the Chick-fil-a store that opened its doors that Sunday to feed people who were in line to donate blood for the victims. As I imagine most of you remember, Chick-fil-a and the LGBT community were pretty hostile to each other several years ago over the company’s statements about their traditional views on marriage and their donations to conservative organizations. Last Sunday, Chick-fil-a did not change their opinions. They remain a conservative company with traditional views on marriage, however, they lived out their Christian values in a powerful way. Seeing a group of people who suffering and in need of support they used the tools at their disposal to offer grace and love through delicious chicken and fries. This is a new song being sung. It is a song of God showing up in the midst of tragedy and bringing forth life, hope, and the promise of a better future.

God does not cause tragedies. God does not inspire mass murder, hate, or violence. If your reading of the gospels causes you to hate another person, or to celebrate in their suffering then you are reading them wrong. God is on the side of the oppressed, the marginalized and the overlooked trying to make sure that justice occurs. God’s love extends to everyone. And I mean everyone. God did not put the psalmist into the pit, but instead brought him out of harms way so that the psalmist could proclaim God’s goodness and faithfulness in times of crisis. God did not desire that the 49 victims in Orlando would die. Instead, our God mourns with those who mourn and weeps with those who weep and our God moves in such a way that light can shine through the darkness and hope can surpass the grief.

It is the light and hope that God brings into our despair which gives rise to the song we are given to sing. Like the psalmist, we are commanded to sing the song God has given to us everywhere we go. In our work and our play, in the street corners and all over town. In this world where death and tragedy fill our lives and despair can lurk around every corner, we are called to sing a new song. It is a song of hope because of God’s faithfulness. It is a song of trust in God’s goodness. It is a song of grace and forgiveness because of what God has done in Jesus.

The song we are called to sing is one that welcomes everyone to sing its chorus. One of my favorite parts of the U2’s 40 is the way they perform it in concert. It sits at the end of their set and after it is done, one by one they leave the stage until it is just the audience singing together the refrain, “how long, to sing this song?” Here are thousands of people, most of whom are probably not Christians, singing along to a song of our faith.

When we hear the new song that God is giving to us, and sing it out at the top of our lungs, we are called to invite others to sing along with us. We are called to draw others out of their darkness, and into God’s beautiful light. So how long to sing this song? We are called to sing the new songs of our God until the darkness has been eliminated by God’s light, until the evil and hate of the world have been transformed by God’s all-powerful love, and until all of God’s children have joined in the chorus. Will you join the song? How long, to sing this song.

 

Meet St. Cuthbert

So, I know that today is Palm Sunday, which is super important, however, it is also the feast day for my favorite saint, Cuthbert of Lindisfarne. In the United Methodist Church, we do not have saints. They have never been an important part of Wesleyan spirituality, however, I have always had a strong attraction to saints, and my own faith is always strengthen when I read about their lives.

I first heard of Cuthbert during the year I spend studying in England. He was a shepherd, then monk, then Bishop in northern England in the 7th century. His life was marked by humility, simplicity, a love of nature, and reconciliation.

The foundation of the monastic cell where St. Cuthbert would go and pray on the island of Lindisfarne. The tidal patterns cut off this island from the main island at high tide. 

My favorite story is from one of Cuthbert’s many times when he would leave the monastery and pray. Once a younger monk followed Cuthbert to see where he went and observed him wading into the ocean where he would frequently recite the psalms. When he came out, otters came and helped to warm his hands.

Me imitating St. Cuthbert’s prayer in the ocean at Lindisfarne. Sadly no otters washed my feet when I came out.

St. Cuthbert is buried in Durham and I would frequently visit his shrine in the Cathedral which was a short walk from my dorm room.The Cathedral and his shrine were places when I could palpably feel God’s presence and was for me a tremendous means of grace during a wonderful and difficult year.

On this day each year, I have a cup of tea, remember my friends in England and the ways in which God shaped my understanding of my call to ministry, and I give thanks to St. Cuthbert for helping me understand how to better follow Jesus.

The shrine of St. Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral. 

Here is the prayer for today from the Church of England:

Almighty God, who called your servant Cuthbert from following the flock to follow your Son and to be a shepherd of your people: in your mercy, grant that we, following his example, may bring those who are lost home to your fold; through Jesus Christ, you son, our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.

 

Hello Goodbye

“You say “Yes,” I say “No.”
You say “Stop,” and I say “Go go go.”
Oh no.
You say “Goodbye” and I say “Hello, hello, hello”
-The Beatles

There is a beautiful certainty in routines. I love when I have things figured out, when my life is going in the direction I know. When I have a plan and a destination and the steps forward are illuminated before me. I don’t like transitions. The awkward speed of the on-ramp or the slow taxi to the terminal with the seat belt sign still illuminated.

But that is the season in which I find myself. The lingering effects of Jet lag, the preparations to begin what will be my final year at Divinity School, and trying to process the previous year in England.

In May when I came home for Duke’s graduation, the minute I stepped off that plane everything I left in England became a blur. It was like I had fallen asleep at one airport only to awaken in a different one after having a dream worthy of L. Frank Baum.  This response scared me. Over the previous 10 months I know that I have been shaped and formed in ways that I am only beginning to understand. I have become more passionate about my calling to ordained ministry and more dedicated to my own personal discipleship, And, throughout that process  made friendships all across England that cherish.

The thought of all that growth vanishing the puff of smoke focused my final few weeks. I filled in all the gaps of my London to-do list, I took the time to eat with friends and learn some English recipes, and I wandered around Durham taking pictures and soaking up more memories so that I could board my plane in Newcastle with luggage full of souvenirs and a heart absent of regret. I succeeded in both. So, now the challenge begins of making this side of the transition successfully. Of integrating the lessons I learned in England to the life I live in the United States.

My first Sunday back at Trinity was in many ways a typical American Methodist service. There were two hymns, a creed, some prayers and a sermon. But at the same time, it was all different. The first hymn was “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” (one of my favorite of Charles Wesley), but sung to the American tune. The second, “Bless the Lord, O My Soul (10,000 Reasons) by modern English Christian songwriter, Matt Redman, was one that I sang many times over the past 10 months. As the service ended I realized that this was my new life. I realized that no longer are my only resources American ones. I realized that my theological, ministerial and personal worldview now stretches across the ocean. I am not sure how all of that is going to work. I am not sure how I am going to put the English lessons I learned into practice in the Church in America.

All these things are still a mystery and the questions they raise I hope will be fleshed out in new blog posts in the future, but also in sermons,  prayers,  conversations over cups of tea, or in debates in the classroom. As I said goodbye to those in England, my prayer was that my time would conclude with a comma instead of a full stop, that our lives would cease to intertwine because we not longer live in the same place or the same time zone. And I hope that the hellos to old friends and the new ones that I will make this year will be enriched by the experiences I have had and the people I have met because I am going to need both the old and the new, the English and the American in order to do the work that God has called me to. Where that journey takes me and us I don’t know, but as I merge back into American life I am grateful that I have so many more people in my corner now and though I may want to tell God to stop, all the signs are telling me to Go, Go Go.

Me and friends at my last meal in Durham.

On Wearing Sandals in the Winter

A few weeks ago, I was working on a paper late in the library and so I went to my room to get into some more comfortable clothes. It was a bitter cold night with snow on the ground, but the library (as always) is practically a sauna. So, I put on my Duke sweatpants, hoodie, and sandals and headed downstairs. As I walked by the snow I thought to myself: “This is me.” It was a strange thought, but also a realization. For most of my time thus far, my sandals had been merely a novelty item I brought with me as a joke when I was packing. “When am I ever going to use these!” I said as I tossed them in my suitcase. However, that night, wearing the essential Florida footwear, there was a connection to a part of me which somewhere had become “de-colonized” (I just made that word up. It needs to be a thing!).

Over the past few months I have noticed several shifts and movements in who I am. When I first got here I was so fascinated with British culture. How they ate, how they spoke, the clothes they wore. Everything about them was endlessly fascinating. In the name of cultural investigation I started using my fork tines down and using the British “pile method” where you stab a piece of meat or potato and then pile everything else up the fork: peas, carrots, gravy, etc. It is quite fun and also really efficient. As I chanted the psalms and prayers I began to subconsciously do so with a slight English accent. This one amused the other American who is with me as well as many of my English friends.

Then in January, Jessica came to visit and these slight changes became all the more apparent. It was a little surprising when I realized that what had begun as a curiosity quickly had become a habit. For the next few months I responded to this by consciously reasserting my “American-ness” I returned to eating with the American “scoop” method and made sure to use the word “ya’ll” as much as possible. There was something desperate in my attempt to retain my cultural and national identity.

Eventually, however, this proved to be a lot of work and also began to seem affected. My experience thus far has changed me in more significant ways than I have even begun to understand. Having experienced British culture, as I mentioned in a previous post, I have already developed a more global perspective, however, I have also become more “American.” I do not mean that I am going to buy some patriotic clothes and walk around singing “My Country Tis of Thee,” but I am also not ashamed of where I come from. The USA is not a perfect country, and I don’t believe that it is the best one in the world, but it has helped to make me who I am and it is my “home.”

So, for now, I am just enjoying the tension. Now I use my fork in whichever way seems most appropriate for the meal and still slip into accented liturgy, but my sandals are out and ready for action! That is once the snow stops falling…

Durham Cathedral in the snow.

Snow from Feb 23. Not exactly sandal weather…

Update from Me and LJW

Wow…My first term in England is almost over, Thanksgiving has gone, Christmas is just around the corner, and as I knew would happen, it has been a long time since there has been a post on here. There have been lots of posts in my head, but none have been finished. I blame the quick succession of papers, presentations, and long conversations in the common room over cups and cups of tea. So, what I thought I would do is to give an overview of the past few weeks through a massive Little John Wesley update. LJW is a very helpful companion, because if I don’t do fun things every now and then, he gets rather cross with me. I know what you are thinking: How can his stitched smile look scary? Trust me. It does. So, here it is

LJW and a Monk

Right after All Saints Day, The Methodist students all took a retreat to the monastery at Ampleforth Abby. It was a great time together. We focused on the “I AM…” sayings in the Gospel of John with brief devotions throughout the day followed by longer periods of personal reflection and rest. After a busy few weeks, it was a very welcome break! It was also very nice to be at an Abby and participate with the monastic order of prayer. Monastic worship has been meaningful to me for a long time and sitting in the choir with the monks was beautiful as their chants and prayers washed over us. After five long weeks of getting used to England, classes, and each other, to be able to get away from college, and gel as a community was more welcome than many of us realized. The one downside was that our Anglican friends were not there. They had a retreat for themselves, but sharing stories when we returned helped to bridge the gap.

LJW visits Whitby

The week after Reading Week was my birthday! Birthdays are one of those times of the year when you can throw a party and invite your closest friends and family and have a good time. This year was the big quarter century mark, which makes me feel rather old. As I thought about how to celebrate my birthday, I decided that I wanted a distinctly English experience. Which means that it needed to include Fish and Chips. This was also significant because my birthday was also my two month anniversary in England, so a Chip shop needed to happen. After much research I discovered that the town of Whitby has one of the best Fish and Chips in the country (as well as the best Mushy peas! Don’t curl your nose up. They are my favorite English side dish after the Yorkshire pudding). We woke up kinda early,went to McDonalds for Breakfast (“American” Style), and then off to the beach. It was VERY cold and very cool. Whitby is where Dracula was set, as well as beautiful lighthouses, and a ruined monastery. Kayla, who is my fellow Americah came along for the fun as well as two of our friends who are Anglican ordinands. Road Trips are always exciting, so it was good to have fun people to spend the day with.

LJW enjoys a Thanksgiving Meal

The next exciting holiday was Thanksgiving! If you ever want to feel out of place,try explaining Thanksgiving to someone in England. I was surprised how many people had very little idea of what the holiday was all about, so it was fun sharing the story of pilgrims, Indians, massive feasts and subsequent oppression and unrest. To celebrate Kayla and I taught some of our fellow students how to draw hand turkeys. For me one of the highlights were all of our British friends wishing us a Happy Thanksgiving. It represented the hospitality which I have received time and time again since I have been in this country. Here was a very American holiday which could have been entirely depressing and a stark reminder of how far away from home I was. However, with each cheery greeting I was reminded that the heart of the holiday is the love of family and friends. Therefore, as much as I missed home, at the end of the day, I was thankful for the new friends that I have made and the community we have created. This was brought to the foreground even more over the weekend when Kayla and I forgot about our pending papers and spend 15 hours in the kitchen of some friends’ house cooking up a “proper” Thanksgiving meal. It included all the fixin’s from both of our families. There is nothing like a post-Turkey coma to remind you of home :).

So, there it is. Next week is our last normal week of classes. Following that is a week-long intensive class followed by a four week break. There is more to come, but I hope that this will appease those of you who have been checking and not seeing any changes. Here is a gallery of more pictures from the past month. Click through and enjoy!

The beautiful Ampleforth Abby in the Fall.

Statue of St. Benedict at Ampleforth

LJW reads the Methodist Worship Book

Me at the English McDonalds

The best Fish and Chips in England.

Me with my birthday Fish and Chips (Note the Mushy Peas)

Whitby, home of dracula

Wesley Hall in Whitby.

The Whitby landscape (Whale bone archway)

Me and my travelling companions with LJW.

Sorted

Sort•ed: (past participle) To have everything in their proper place, to have something figured out or under control.

Of all the British words I have learned in my two weeks in this country, this is the one has been almost a theme for me. I really don’t like to move. There is something disconcerting about taking all of your possessions and moving them to another place, unpacking it all, getting settled only to do it all again in a few months. I know that this is an unfortunate feeling for a future United Methodist minister committed to itinerancy, but I think that living in five different places in the past five months has been about four too many. I like having roots. There is a deep sense of comfort to having a home, a community, friends and family nearby and meaningful work to do. That is one of the main reasons it has been so strange to pack up one suitcase full of clothes, books, and some other essential items; board a plane; and arrive in another country with an ocean separating you from all of those roots you love.

When I stepped off the airplane at Heathrow all I had with me was my luggage, camera, and $100 (which quickly turned into £51.29). What I also had was a promise that at 9:00 a young man bearing a sign with my name on it would pick me up from the airport and take me to his house to stay for a week. It was this promise which would be the beginning to what was a fantastic week.

How I met the Logans is a long story, but they were such a means of grace for me in my first week in Great Britain. They welcomed me into their family helped me get oriented  to not just the city of London, but also British Methodism and British culture. Because of them I had a fantastic week in London and Cambridge. There are so many stories from this week that I cannot fit them all into one post, however, I do hope to post some of them in the future. Suffice it to say when I boarded the train for Durham I took with me not only my luggage, but an English phone, a large stack of pamphlets from all over London, 1,000 pictures, and the beginnings of a new community in this country.

When I left the safe comforts of London and the Logans and entered Durham I once again became uprooted. Now I had to navigate a University bureaucracy in which I as an exchange student operating outside the conventional structures for international students was was utterly clueless. Again though I boarded the train with the promise that at the station, Debs, one of the British students who had studied at Duke last year, would meet me at the station. With her help and that of the persistant and patient administration I managed to get my room, my ID card, my finalized schedule, and a vague understanding of how this year was going to work.

Do I have everything figured out? No. Are there still many things which are up in the air? Of course. However, as we begin our induction week (orientation), and I meet my fellow students who will be on this journey with me over the next year I can’t help but come back to my (already messy) room and, for the first time in a long while begin to feel sorted.

P.S If you would like to see some of my best pictures from London check out my Flickr photo stream here.

My American Lives

I know that two posts in a row about death, is a bit morbid, but this is my blog, my life, and my grief, so deal with it.

Having lost two grandparents and my last great-grandparent this year, I have been doing a lot of thinking about death and grief. One of the surprising things I have discovered is that in grief there are certainly tears, but there are also a lot of laughs. Usually these come with remembering a funny story, or a particular quirk. The tears and the laughs so intermingled that they could be the same thing.

Today I saw a post by This American Life which featured a series of obituaries which only they could do. They focused on one story in the person’s life told either themselves, or by someone who was close to them. As with TAL, it is a celebration of the everyday person and the beauty we often overlook in our own lives. (My favorites are this, this, and this. Oh and for the math nerds, this.)

As I read each story, my mind went to the stories of my grandparents, and so I thought I would memorialize them here in a similar fashion. Having already told my favorite stories about Granny, I want to highlight the other two here.

Luella (Lala) Killinger (Aug 31, 1912-May 4, 2011) was born in the farmlands of Iowa and moved to Gainesville with my grandfather. She worked at the Police station as the Chief’s secretary for many years, where according to one of  the officers “she ran the office.” She was an avid fan or bridge, BINGO, and of course the Gators.

Stewart (Stute) Munson (July 26, 1929-July 9, 2011) was raised in Titusville, and worked for IBM fixing typriters. He and my grandmother got married (both for the second time) at parents’ house, catching them both completely by surprise! He enjoyed playing around in the kitchen, sometimes with success.

The Story

When I was in Middle School, my family was trying to decide where to take Stute for his birthday. After a few boring suggestions, we decided on every man, and Middle Schooler’s dream location–Hooters. We decided to keep it a surprise (a risky idea for a man who had already had one heart attack). We get him into the car and drive up to the restaurant, and the minute he sees where we are his eyes got as big as…saucers…and his face turns bright red. As much as he protested we draged him through the doors and over to our table. The entire night he was the center of attention. Young attractive servers sat on his lap to take his order, sang happy birthday, and tried to get him to dance on the table. Through the whole ordeal, his face remained the same color and he hardly said a word. It was hilarious.  However, the funnier person was Lala. Having told her in advance where we were going she spent the whole week telling everyone  at her independent living facility who would listen where we are going. To say that she was excited would be an understatement. As we were picking her up, she walked down the halls wearing it as a badge of honor, stopping to remind her friends where we were going. Sitting in the restaurant opposite Stute’s frowns, she was all smiles, looking around, taking it all in, and ready to report her adventure to her dinner buddies the next day. I think they both had a night which will soon be relatively famous.