I think I have too many friends on facebook now to really keep track of what they are up to. And now, I have people doing this ning thing, and it’s just too much.
No, no, no…I cannot be getting another cold. Because I just got over one that was so bad that my nose bought me a t-shirt that says, “I survived snot-fest 2008″.
I have some fabulous new shoes. And a blister. How come fabulous new shoes come with blisters? I hate the process for posting pictures here, though, so no picture. Yet. Maybe later when I’m not so crabby.
I should have gone for a run today. I ate pulled pork instead. This is not a good trade-off.
A few small and greater conversations I’ve been in during the past few weeks have brought me to this (not so surprising) conclusion:
Church folk are really fearful about the future of the church. Frightened. Worried. Anxious. Afraid.
In all honesty, it turns my stomach.
Because, a few other conversations and moments I’ve been in during the last few weeks have brought me to this (perhaps more surprising) conclusion:
Younger church folks aren’t so afraid.
Maybe we are young and stupid. Maybe in a few years we won’t be so idealistic. Maybe the fact that we aren’t so afraid is a cause for the afraid people to be even more afraid.
But, in the past couple of weeks, I’ve been with high schoolers and then with young (under 40) pastors. And it was a good. And it was not about fear.
We didn’t all agree about everything. We are all sure the church won’t look the same in 50 years.
But we don’t seem to be afraid.
As a young pastor, I wish I could find a way to tell afraid people that it’s not helpful to get sucked into a big funnel-cloud of fear. I wish I could get people to sit down with this group of younger people and let them see that the church will likely be OK. Different. But OK. Still Jesus’s church.
That’s a line from a movie I saw recently…but what movie it was, how it played into the plot line, those things are not important…because there are so many movies and stories and books and urban myths in our culture that tell us that everything goes back to high school…
I’m not sure if I agree completely with that statement, with the idea that our whole lives play out predetermined by our teen years. I am sure that I don’t want to relive my own teen years, but there so many people and experiences from that time that still haunt me, for good and for bad, that I resonated when I heard the line in that movie: Everything goes back to high school.
Now, for those of you who are teenagers right now, you are living in that reality and if you’re not a teenager yet, my guess is you are eager to get there. This sermon might not take too much imagination for you…But, it’s going to take some work to get the over-20-folks among us on board for the rest of this sermon.
And so, this morning, if you are however far past being a teenager, I would ask you to indulge me for a the next minutes: I’d like to ask you to invite you to reach down and get in touch with your inner teenager
…yes, you heard me right: your inner teenager, not your inner child.
I’d like you to reach down deep and pull back to the surface the person you were as a teenager, whatever wonderful blend you were of impulse and insecurity, hi-jinks and hormones, creativity and caring, possibility and pimples, I’d like you to bring that person back for just a few minutes, and let him or her sit next to you in the pew for this sermon.
Because, this morning, before we climb into the boat with the disciples, I’d like to invite you all of you to join me and four teenagers from this church on a trip we shared this month, to North Carolina, to the Presbyterian Retreat Center, Montreat, to a week when we and 1000 other teens took over this little mountain town.
So come along on this trip…
Two weeks ago, in the middle of the night, Cassidy van Cleve, Kata Williams, Nicole Ludema, and Sam Eichelberger were brave and excited enough to get on a bus with me and Loy Williams, a bus that was already filled with a group from the Presbytery of Milwaukee. And very quickly, we recognized ourselves to be in the midst of other disciples traveling where we were traveling, anticipating what we were anticipating.
12 hours, 2 truck stops, a Perkins and a Pizza Hut later, we were in the middle of a great gathering , a crowd of people from all over, people who came from North and South and East and West , gathered in the mountains to pray and play and listen for Jesus. We would spend hours in a hot auditorium, singing, and worshiping, laughing and even crying, hours in smaller groups, groups of people we hadn’t known before, hours in those groups spent meeting new people, trying to forge quick relationship, talking, and sharing.
Now, if you’ve ever been to any Christian youth event: a camp, a retreat, a mission, a week or a weekend, you probably know…the hardest work is making yourself open and available, and just vulnerable enough to let those new relationships form, and to let God in, and to let Jesus say something new to you…
And so, we all stretched ourselves, to meet new people, to know god better, to know ourselves better, to make our spirits available to a changing and challenging word from God.
In my small group, a group from all over, a group of people who were all completely new to me and to each other, I saw people open up slowly, and watched them listen to each other more carefully, and listen for God more deliberately.
I don’t know for sure, but it seemed like it was a little harder for us adults to be open: I know I was never able to fully let go of my self-conciousness and pride enough to get fully engaged in the crazy morning “energizer†dance routines…but our church’s delegation delighted in watching Loy, who is, it turns out, an incredible practitioner of the energizer.
There’s such a beautiful openness and impulsivity about being 15, and I was humbled in the moments when I saw kids not just playing and laughing and being silly and joyful together, but forging new friendships, caring for each other, and bringing God’s presence into the room.
Some people were braver than others…they were ready to step off the boat and get into the water right away. Others put a careful toe in first. Some waited a whole week just to dip in a fingertip.
Whatever we did, we always knew that we were in this whole thing together. For one week, we were in the same boat, sharing experience with this gathering, sharing the time and place, sharing a sense of Jesus’ presence with us.
But, the entire week, we carried a schedule in our back pockets with this reminder…we were going to be called away from this place.
And, we carried enough of ourselves from home to know that we were not isolated from the things that buffeted our lives at home.
And finally, the last night came, and there we were, standing and singing around a lake, each holding a candle, in a circle of light, but a circle that would not last.
Because Jesus was calling us to go down from that mountain…
And as candles were blown out, as the singing slowed, we hugged, and took last pictures, exchanged phone numbers, and within the hour, our bus was rolling back down the mountain to the midwest.
There were so many things to take away: friends and pictures, t-shirts, cell phone numbers, a whole raft of new facebook contacts, the need to get a good night’s sleep…funny stories, videos of Loy doing energizers,
But if there’s one thing that can last from that week, one thing that might take our minds back when we get distracted by the wind and waves of everyday living, it’s the presence of Jesus, holding us up, catching us when we are afraid we’ll go under.
Everything is about high school…
Most of us are relieved that, as we’ve grown and changed, everything is not about high school.
But, as Christians, maybe everything is about that moment in the boat…being sent out on our own, in a little ship, buffeted by the wind afraid of the waves, on our own, sent out by Jesus.
Maybe everything is about that moment when Jesus comes in such a terrifying fashion.
Maybe everything is about that moment when our eagerness gets ahead of us, when we jump out of the boat, ready to walk with Jesus.
Maybe everything is about the things that distract and distress us, the wind and the waves of everyday living,
And, maybe everything is summed up in that moment, when we cannot help but focus on Jesus, the who reaches out a hand, and catches us, the one who says, “Do not be afraid.â€
“Lord, if it is you, let me come to you on the water.â€
A few recommendations for your listening and reading pleasure:
I am listening, for the third time, to an interview Adam McKay, Will Ferrell, and John C. Reilly about their new movie. (I have a 2 year old–I think I missed bits and pieces the first few times.) Hysterical. I can barely type straight because I’m laughing so hard. (For example, the word “sass-mouth” is just too too funny coming out of John C. Reilly’s mouth.)
In the reading world, I’ve been working on Morte D’Urban, by JF Powers. It’s about a worldly, snarky priest from the fictitious order of St. Clement in the 1950s midwest. And, I cannot believe how many little details of ministry feel similar.
12 days on the road (1 night, less than 18 hours at home in the middle), 5 nights in a tent, 3 strange beds, over 50 relatives, 3 generations, both sides of the family, more beers than I like to admit, 2 servings of Uncle Howie’s chicken, 2 hotels, 35 driving hours…
I am tired.
But there’s hope: I’m still on vacation for two days and tomorrow Zora goes to Grandma for a few. I’m thinking in: naps, a pedicure, a little unpacking.
Update:
Well, it turns out I wasn’t just tired. Monday morning I woke up with a raging headache, incredible muscle pain, lightheadedness, and no desire to eat or drink. Bleach…After a day in bed, I’m feeling much better.
Back from the camping trip, and here are 18 things to catch up on the 18th:
Zora just took her first bath in a week (not counting dips in Lake Michigan) Honestly, I was suprised by how not-completely-foul she was.
Amazing camping accomplishments: making pizzas (from scratch) over a wood fire; keeping Zora out of profuse poison ivy; packing 5 days of equipment, 2 teenagers, a toddler, 3 bikes, a bike trailer, clothes, beach gear, etc in a Scion x; figuring out how to use vaseline to make my MI state park’s year pass movable from one car to another; being the person on the trip who was not afraid to deal with spiders.
Not so amazing camping accomplishments: 3 hours average each day spent in the tent getting Zora to sleep (I am not exaggerating); forgetting to pick up a gas cannister for my stove AGAIN (I did this last summer, too); seriously straining a muscle in my arm from lugging too-heavy things; bending half of my tent stakes.
I do not understand why people fly to the Caribbean. (OK, also, I can’t afford to do this.) We had a beach-front camping spot, with our hammock slung between two trees, and the lake just a few steps from our tents. White sand, blue water, the works. If you bring along your tropical drink of choice, you’re set.
I could not have managed this trip without the incredibly fabulous duo of Elena and Grace. (My 9th grade cousin and her best friend.) They are the best. Ever. Period. So, in Zora’s word’s “Teek oo, lnena; Teek oo, Geese.”
Dutch people are inbred. I spent 5 minutes at a hot dog stand trying to convince someone that I was not the blond Erica who looks exactly like me that she knew because I do not have an older sister. But, in West Michigan, I think this is a normal conversation. We all look like cousins.
Speaking of tropical drinks, it’s not tropical, but seems appropriate for the upper midwest…my drink of choice for this trip was the Leinekugel’s Summer Shandy. Perfect.
Books read so far on vacation: Northanger Abbey (Jane Austen); Sister Pelagia and the Black Monk (Boris Akunin); and I’m part way into River Angel (A. Manette Ansay).
We are offically moved in to the new place and out of the old place. We are not officially unpacked. In the interest of setting acheivable goals, my goal is to be unpacked and organized in time for the first snow, so that we can park our car in the little attatched garage instead of our boxes.
I’ve hit my goal weight, and stayed there for a few weeks. But, I just ate too much chocolate in celebration of the first nap Zora’s taken in over a week that has not involved extreme parental soothing.
Erik’s birthday/anniversary/Father’s Day sweater is coming along nicely. But I also started a sleeveless silk/wool sweater for myself because I needed something a little different. Grace and Elena learned to knit on this trip, too. They are pros already. We stopped at a knitting store in Travese City to get them a new project, and the store-owner’s yes bugged out of her head when we told them how many techniques they’d learned in a few days.
Local meal this week: lots and lots of cherries.
We were relieved at the end of our trip to stay at my aunt and uncle’s really wonderful cottage on the way home. Mostly because we like them, but also because we like the cottage
I bought myself a berry bowl from this place. It’s near the aforementioned cottage, and I think the berry bowl is so cool: it comes with a little plate underneath, you wash your berries, and then you just leave them out for attractive snacking.
Another car ride tonight: Zora and I pick Erik up from the train after work, and then head for Wisconsin for a weekend with his family. I will not be driving, lifting heavy objects, or putting Zora to sleep.
I need to listen to the news on the radio less. It makes me a crazy person. Lack of eletricity is a good thing for my soul.
Did you know that Germans eat really spicy radishes with their dark beer? I just learned this at the farmer’s market this morning. Then I bought some spicy radishes. But all I have is the Leinie’s Shandies in the fridge. So I’ll have wait to try this.
And, look for a few more posts with video next week. Possible attractions include: Zora eating ice cream; Zora using cherries as body paint; the hammock; and other things involving, of course, Zora.
One of the first times I got to hang out with moms who I really truly think are my peers: Heidi and Meika went to seminary with me. (And, Meika and I were actually campers together as jr. highers.) While our male classmates’ wives had babies, we studied (OK, and Meika wasn’t married, yet, so…)
And now, within less than a year of each other, we’ve all had one baby, Heidi is the proud new mama of number 2, and Meika’s got a second one on the way.
When I’m with other moms, I usually feel like I’m younger, like they don’t know what I was like pre-baby, like we don’t have much history together.
For one morning, it was good to watch our girls together. And talk. And know where we all came from.
And here, should you care to watch, is what happens if you load three toddlers into the same crib. (From left to right, Samara, Zora, and Chloe.)
Zora and I had a girls afternoon together. Lunch at this place (no brew for Zora, just pizza), and a little strolling and bargain hunting the main street of Holland, MI.
Sitting at our table outside the restaurant, I was having a bit of a nostalgia trip. When I was 6, I marched down this street in Dutch costume with my first grade class (we were holding up boards that showed the ingredients of Dutch soups…). Would 6 year old me have ever imagined me now having pizza and a beer with my 2 year old in tow?
And, while we’re doing the nostalgia thing, this is the town that my grandparents grew up outside of, where about half of my ancestors planted themselves after them immigrated. Would any of them imagine me and the girl sitting out there in the sunshine on a perfect day, sharing pizza, talking about our visit with old friends from seminary (the seminary part, definitely not something they could have imagined…)
I don’t know what those folks who came to the US wanted specifically when they came. New starts, something better, maybe just a little adventure. How far ahead did they look? Did they ever think about what this would mean for their families in 100 years?
And really, do I ever think about these kinds of things myself, where we’re headed, what Zora’s kids will do, where they’ll be, what they will do that would shock me?
But now for the REAL nostalgia trip…after lunch (after the heavy thinking), we went to one of my childhood favorite, the Holland Peanut Store. How can you not love that retro sign? (And, the candy inside is as fabulous as the sign outside promises it will be.)
I am so proud of myself…I packed camping equipment (including a bike, a bike trailer, a stroller, and a toddler), loaded the car, and got out of town on my own.
Just because you consider yourself a hipster parents and let your kid listen mostly to “adult” music does not mean said child will not find ways to be annoying. We listened to “Alberta Bound” all the way from Chicago to GR. 20 seconds into any other song, desperate pleading from the back seat: “Bound, please!!” (Thanks, Meg.)
Fireflies keep glowing after they hit your windshield.
